Jif

So, the first argument Spence and I had as a married couple was over peanut butter. I had just finished my grocery shopping, and had arrived at our 250 square-foot "honeymoon shack" as our landlord lovingly put it, complete with leaking septic tank and moldy closet, when my darling new husband saw the jar of Jif peeping out of the grocery bag.

"Heather, what's this?"

"Peanut butter. Oh, I'm sorry would you have rather had crunchy?"

"Well yes, but that's not the point. You know we don't always need to have the nicest things."

"What are you talking about? Of course I know that. Are you saying that I'm spoiled?"

We were very poor college students, and Spence was concerned that I had bought name-brand peanut butter--thus setting a precedent for our marriage that we couldn't afford. And when I indignantly proclaimed (through tears, I'm sure) that Jif was on sale and was actually the cheapest peanut butter in the store, he felt chagrinned, and I never did let him live it down.

The sting of that silly argument was the first of many as we worked to figure out this partnership we'd formed. Together we could conquer the world, but Spence had better not play basketball once a week without checking with me first. We wanted only to soar like kites with nothing but the wind beneath us, but kept getting tangled in each other's strings.

It has been thirteen years now, and I still do the grocery shopping. Spence still helps me put things away, but I can't remember the last time he questioned what I bought at Safeway. We have grown together and changed immensely, and he has become my anchor. The tangles are much fewer and far between as I have come to know that he holds both my heart and my kite string close to him, and simply cheers me on while I soar.

But let's be honest, he had still better check with me before he plays basketball. ;-)

Yeah, I've Got Time

The drive that Mr. Incredible makes to the chapel on the way to his wedding keeps coming to mind as I think the day my middle child first climbed onto a school bus, embarked upon her 13-year journey through public schools, and began kindergarten. We parents ache with the dread of and anticipation for that moment (the yin and yang of watching a child grow up)--hoping that our child survives and thrives as she navigates the "establishment," that someone will see her through the same rosy lens of wonder and awe through which we see her, that they will accept her, give her their stamp of approval, and tell her she's doing "ok." And on this Friday morning, as all of these subconscious emotions and thoughts were brewing in the back of my mind, I put myself into auto-pilot and just tried to get my girl out the door.

Have you ever tried to get five kids under the age of nine out the door by 8:45 in the morning? Keep in mind that the two oldest, most responsible children are 9 and 7 year-old boys who would rather "curse" each other with a Harry Potter "muffliato" charm than make a pbj and load their backpack. The baby is great as long as he hasn't had a blow out, is completely fed, and you're holding him in your arms. And the middle two girls, my sweet little chocolate and vanilla twist? Well, just think of constant (and I do mean constant) talking interrupted only by a cry of pain while brushing out a tangle, a scream of exasperation with a sister who is "taking her toy," or crying because of, yet again--a teasing brother. Sorry guys, Mom doesn't have a chance.

So as Mr. Incredible drives to his own wedding (a moment full of at least as much anticipation as the 1st day of kindergarten), he keeps hearing crisis calls over the radio. He checks his watch, and says, "Yeah, I've got time," and he takes detours to save people's lives. While the calls I hear as I'm trying to get my kids ready for school may not be as life threatening as a run-away train, or as glamorous as capturing "Bon Voyage," I too look at the clock and say, "Yeah, I've got time." It may be a dryer timer, a baby cry, or most frightening no sound at all coming from the two-year old. And on Friday morning, there were several calls. I won't go into the grueling details, but suffice it to say, I let myself get "detoured" once again--so badly in fact, that my darling little kindergartener had to run her guts out while my neighbor held up the bus. Even though I tried to console myself by thinking she had eaten a hot breakfast, had a healthy lunch packed in her backpack, and was wearing argyle tights to boot, I couldn't help but shed a few tears that I didn't have the moment I'd anticipated. I don't know what I wanted--a hug and kiss maybe, a slow, meaningful goodbye? It would have been nice not to have her running like mad to our corner bus stop, leaving the baby in a parked stroller in the driveway, and me and the two-year-old trailing behind her. She did stop to pose for our neighbor to snatch a picture.

But then again, maybe a few of those tears were shed because I don't have a lot of time. It flies by all too quickly. And I wasn't the only one crying! Her little sister shed a few tears herself. I held her back as she watch big sis step on the bus. With reaching arms, she crumpled and cried, "But, I want to go!" I hugged her tight and said, "You will Honey. . . in three years." What I didn't say was, "until then, you're still mine!" After we waved the bus good bye, I loaded her into the double stroller next to the baby and we took a silent little walk around the block. Because for just right now, yeah, we've still got time.