At summer school this morning, one of my first grade students put his hand over his heart for the pledge and then whispered to me, “I can already feel my heart beeping.”

My house is pretty quiet these days. Having no one to cook for, clean up after or talk to, leaves me with far too much time on my hands to dwell on the recent break-up. I decided to throw myself into my school work to keep myself occupied (read that: sane). Last night I spent several hours watching chick flicks working on school work, including loading my car with more materials from my third grade classroom so I could spend the afternoon after summer school and tutoring working in my new room.

I arrived at school with the loaded car only to find an email from the custodians saying they would be waxing floors in my new building today and no one would be allowed into the building until Monday afternoon. Sigh. The best laid plans, you know…

Not to be derailed, however, I took the 80 degree, low-humidity weather as a sign that I should instead spend the day out-of-doors working on my gardens and lawn. (I’ll admit, this seemed like an even better idea than Plan A, as I’m still not 100% gung-ho about the idea of first grade and who doesn’t love a day spent out in the garden?!?!) I returned home, changed my clothes and was about to head outside when I decided to follow Flash’s example – I grabbed my ipod. I was thrilled that I had remembered to charge it the other day; while I love my shuffle, I don’t use it nearly as often as the teenager. I even took the time before heading outside to get it hooked behind me and to thread my earphones up through the back of my shirt so the chord wouldn’t get in the way of digging, weeding or watering. Flash would be so humiliated proud.

I wasn’t outside ten minutes before I realized the error of my ways. My hands were already covered in dirt, I couldn’t begin to see or easily forward the songs on the playlist, and I couldn’t even easily detangle myself from the contraption altogether to chuck it across the lawn take it back into the house, when I realized I was listening to the playlist WG had put together for our trip to IL last month. Double sigh.

Nothing like an entire playlist of your ex-boyfriend’s favorite tunes to help keep your mind off…well, your ex-boyfriend.

Triple sigh.

A week ago Saturday, my sister and Bear drove from Michigan to Cincinnatti to get the kids to my dad for vacation. They returned home for a brief stay before driving a couple hours north to Bear’s parents house while his dad had heart surgery (he’s doing fine). They left northern Michigan and drove to Knoxville, TN for the rest of their vacation at my dad’s. This Monday they made the long trek back to Michigan and returned home shortly after a severe storm had passed through town, leaving the town and many surrounding without power. 2400 miles in the car together over the past week and now no television, no computer and no dvr for two days, left my sister to remark to Bear last night, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t like you this much.”

Break-up + power outage at school means I have time on my hands and no constructive place to use it. Translation? I’m in chick-flickville! Not usually my style, I’ll admit, but desperate times call for…well, Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Anniston, apparently. I wouldn’t normally tout wisdom from such flicks as something to set your sails to, but I have to admit, this sort of resonanted with me. I quote, “Figure out what you want and learn how to ask for it.” I thought I would give it a go. Ready?

I want tootsie pops without the sticks.

I want furry pets that don’t shed all over my carpets.

I want to get thin without trying.

I never want to start my snowblower again.

I want more money in the bank.

I want new windows before winter.

I want to go out to eat where there is great live music.

I want to teach third grade again next year.

I want gas to be under $2 a gallon again.

I want my teenager to get a job.

I want my pine tree to be cut down, chopped up and removed from my premises immediately.

I want to be 29 again.

I want a hammock.

I want the government to decide what NFL/NBA players get paid and I want the salaries the players currently believe aren’t high enough.

I want a politician who says s/he is an advocate for children to actually ADVOCATE FOR CHILDREN.

I want all my far-away friends to live nearby.

I want to go somewhere new for vacation.

I want to be invited to a BBQ so I can take this great broccoli salad I discovered this summer.

I want mascara that doesn’t smudge all over my eyes minutes after I put it on.

It’s Chick-Flick Philosophy, but hey, it was worth a shot, right?

This isn’t the place for the details of something that meant so much to me, but it needed to be acknowledged at least – WG and I have gone our separate ways.

If it wasn’t obvious from previous posts, suffice it to say, I really liked this one.

It’s the Fourth of July at summer school reading camp and we had a variety of fun activities that adeptly disguised reading to make the kids feel like it was a day full of nothing but fun while still teaching a little by incorporating many of our traditionally American activities and songs. We made flags and sang patriotic athems around our pretend campfire; we made graham crackers look like American flags with icing, licorice and blue sprinkles; we played relay races that involved spelling patriotic words correctly. At our station, we played Bingo, and I asked the students to identify the 4th of July words on their page by giving hints about syllable types or stealer letters or whether they were compound words, proper nouns, etc. There were a few pictures, clip art style on their Bingo boards as well, which prompted one third grade boy to say, “I just need this German guy and I have Bingo!”

Ahhh, I see we have much teaching left to do…

For Christmas, I gave Flash two concert tickets to a Christian music festival in June. Last night was the night for his favorite rock band to perform and so I drove Flash and a friend an hour and a half north of home to a muddy, messy fairgrounds. The boys had planned to be there early to catch a few other groups, so my waiting time in Po-dunk, Michigan was going to stretch somewhere between 6 or 7 hours. While it wasn’t ideal, I figured I could sit and read in my car as easily as anything and it would certainly save on gas and mileage.

WG, had been travelling further north for work yesterday and being the uber-boyfriend, added nearly 50 miles to his trip just to meet me for dinner (totally his idea, not mine). We had just gotten seated at the restaurant down the road from the concert when Flash sent me a text. “Hey Mom! Pastor B says hello!” It wasn’t a shock that he might run into people we know, especially our pretty-hip pastor from church, but what excited me most was the idea that maybe I wouldn’t have to wait, maybe he just found a ride home.

“Does he have room in his car for two more?” I texted back.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask him.” Of course not. That’s adult logic, not teen logic.

“If you see him again, perhaps you could ask.”

“He’s sitting right next to us.”

“So, maybe you could ask?!?”

“Ask him what?!”

At this point, WG is laughing hysterical in the booth with me. I am giving that look of “Are you kidding me??” and counting the hours until Flash and his completely absent teenage brain are a problem for his father and not for me.

“Ask him if he has room in his car…” You know, so you mother doesn’t have to spend SIX HOURS ON A RAINY THURSDAY NIGHT IN THE PARKING LOT OF WALMART!?!??!

Sigh.

As it turns out, Pastor B did not have room, but as I sat and waiting (and listened to the concert, which I could hear quite clearly from where I parked) I realized that as a parent, there was nothing I would rather do with my evening than sit and wait for my teenager to attend a Christian concert with a friend from school, filling their hearts and souls with Christian lyrics and encouragement. They were soggy and a muddy mess when it was all over, but they are pumped up for the Lord!

“OW!!!”

“Flash? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just hurt my hand on a bag of lettuce.”

?!?!?

Um…Guinness Book of World Records?! I think we’ve found the world’s wimpiest teenager…

We went out on the deck, down to the little bed full of herbs, obstensibly to clip some fresh basil to accompany dinner, when he sat down on the step and gently started the conversation. “Tell me about the argument you had with Flash last night.” It wasn’t anything I might have brought up, other than to say we could chalk up one more disagreement between the teen and the mother, but he wanted to know, he had been wondering about it.

And so I explained – another laziness versus expectations argument, really, and he nodded and listened. And I dug a little deeper and questioned whether my consequences were appropriate and how I might produce a change in Flash’s attitude, and he listened and nodded and asked a question or two. And he told me of a conversation he had with Flash earlier in the day and what he saw in that and how he had calmly steered Flash through that dialogue.

The moment on the steps, looking out over the lawn was so simple, so easy, so unremarkable, really, but it’s all those reasons that make it remarkable. This man so easily slid into the routines of family life, so gently came alongside me and somewhere along the way has taken my hand and walked in step with me, listening and encouraging as we walk this journey together. He doesn’t pretend to have the answers to parenting questions, nor does he come with a critical view as an outsider looking in. He sits with me and validates my concerns and allows me the freedom to be frustrated, angry, worried or stressed. He offers nothing more than an ear, a shoulder and sympathy.

I am not the same kind of friend as he is. When frustrations are shared, I’m quick to think of solutions, or ways it might have been avoided, or even judgments on those involved. I’m ready with advice or my own story when a friend comes with a need to share.

But not him. I am so touched by the way he loves me, so moved by the grace with which he relates to us. Sitting on the back steps, talking through a silly fight that will be remembered if only for the number of times we’ll have these in this stretch of years, I learned a lot from the man sitting next to me. He is true, and honest and real. He is genuinely concerned, sympathetic and there to share the load. It is hard, being a single parent for so long, to release that load or share the burden. But he knows I will handle it and I never feel as though he doubts my ability to do so, in fact, he encourages me and supports me in such a way that gives me the strength I need to handle things as they come. He knows Flash and I will work it out. He knows his place right now is simply to support us both, to sit on a step and listen. And he does so with such grace. Such gentle grace.

And I feel so blessed to be loved by him.