Miracle Worker

The term "Miracle Worker" is not a term we use lightly.  In fact, the only person I think we may have "deemed" worthy of that title might be our pediatrician....until now.  Harper is perhaps the pickiest eater we have ever come across.  He will not touch a vegetable...literally, won't touch it.  He will pick out the smallest bit of green, red, or yellow virtually unseen to the naked eye.  He is very, very selective on his fruits...and even then, will barely eat any.  Anyone who knows Harper, knows this to be true....even his pediatrician!

His Kindergarten class is currently completing a unit on Space.  They've learned that it costs between $7,000-$10,000 to send one pound up into space.  It's for this reason that the astronauts travel with dehydrated foods.  So, to really "nibble" on this piece of learning, Harper's teacher, Mrs. Joyner, brought in a food dehydrator.  For the past couple of weeks, they've been experimenting with dehydrating different fruits.  They've made dehydrated apples, bananas and pineapples.

This past weekend, we talked with Harper about making healthier food choices.  We told him that he must at least take one bite of whatever vegetable (or various fruit) we have at dinner.  The other night we had bananas and blueberries.  Sticking to our word, we told Harper he had to at least eat one blueberry.  (He already likes bananas, so that wasn't an option.)  After Warren was excused, we sat for over an hour, listening to Harper cry over one stinkin' blueberry.  "Can't you just give me a pass since I tried the apples at school today?"  So, after spending his evening crying over his plate, it quickly became bath and bed time.  He went to bed mad and in tears.  And though I stayed in his room and rubbed his back, he surely did not want me there.  He covered himself up under his bedspread and through his tears kept yelling "Weave me awone."  Then at one point, he came out from under the covers and said "But mommy, can't you and daddy just show me some grace?"  To which I replied, "Harper, buddy....mommy and daddy have shown you grace for the last six years."

Skip ahead a couple of days to today.  I got a text this morning from Mrs. Joyner:
Teacher:  He didn't like it, but he tried a banana chip today!
Teacher:  But he wanted to try an apple chip again and LIKED IT!
Teacher:  I started jumping around!
Teacher:  
Teacher:  Sorry, he just asked for the pineapple and LOVED IT!
Teacher:  Pardon my French.
Teacher:  Asked for seconds!
Teacher:  He's about eaten half the jar of dried pineapple.
Teacher:  Straight up pineapple, no sugar added nothing.
Teacher:  He just asked for a to go bag.
Teacher:  Someone just asked him to share and he zipped it up and hid it.
Teacher:  My day is seriously made!  I'm so proud of him!

So as if this conversation (which was really more of a one-way conversation) wasn't enough to excite us, the first thing Harper said when he walked into my office this afternoon was not...."Mom, can I have some M-n-Ms?"  Instead, it was "Man, I can finally have the rest of my pineapple!"  And sure enough...he pulled out his to go bag!

Then, to end our very successful day, tonight at dinner we had pulled chicken sandwiches, apples, and green beans with mushrooms.  He, of course, had to try at least one bite of either the mushrooms or the green beans.  As soon as Chris and Warren finished, they went outside to play and work in the yard.  So, Harper and I sat while he very strategically planned his one bite.  And low and behold....it wasn't even 10 minutes before he tried it.  He didn't like it and, in fact, ended up spitting it out....but he tried it!  Mrs. Joyner.....Miracles never cease!

I Watched

Like most people in Lakeland, I grew up going to the Dreadnaught football games on Friday nights.  I remember sitting in the stands pretending to watch the game, while instead watching the cheerleaders, the Anchorettes and the band.  I remember walking down to the south end zone concession stand to get snacks.  And I remember watching mobs of boys playing their own games of football in each end zone.  Little did I know how fast I would revert back to watching those boys playing their own games of football...but this time, with different lenses.

Last night, Warren and Harper became "those boys."  They played football in the end zone.  Warren knew one of the boys, but the other handful we had never seen before.  As they played, I watched.  I watched to make sure they stayed safe.  I watched to make sure they stayed out of everyone's way.  I watched to make sure they didn't play too rough.  I watched to make sure they played fair.  I watched to see how they interacted with the other boys.  I watched to see how those other boys treated my own.  I watched....until I wanted to cry.  

In tears himself, my big, solid Harper ran over to me to tell me that those other boys were teasing him and called him "weak."  And if I'm honest, my heart did break, but I felt a slight sense of relief.  I was prepared to hear "Mommy, those boys called me fat."  "Weak" I can handle!  There on the sideline of a Dreadnaught football game, I held him in my arms as he cried.  I told him that those boys were only teasing him because they were scared of him because he was so strong and they were the weak ones.

Wow!  Little did I know the power in those words.  Harper quickly dried up and turned around and ran back over to those boys, who seemed to be a good bit older than he.  He ran straight to them, and did nothing but look them in the eyes.  Never did he raise a fist, never did he yell, never did he take a swing.  It wasn't needed; he simply needed the confidence to make the "big boys cry."  And while they didn't actually cry, they did scream and run a good bit.  And while they ran, again, I watched...and chuckled.

While a small part of me felt guilty that I found such pleasure in Harper scaring those big boys...a bigger part of me was proud.  I was proud that Harper did not walk away defeated, rather stood up for himself.  I was proud of him for not hitting those other boys.  And I was relieved to see that he can handle his own.  Maybe at the next game, I can watch a little bit less.

The Fence

Chris and I love our house.  But, probably like most, we dream of living in an "American Dream" kind of house.  We've thought about putting in a pool, but when we work the numbers, it just isn't cost effective...and it'd be better to move.  We've tossed around the idea of moving so much that we've even met with a realtor.  We get daily emails from Zillow alerting us to houses for sale in our area.  And, I'd be lying if I told you that there wasn't any part of us that doesn't want to "keep up with the Joneses."  I think, somewhere deep down, everyone feels that way.

But, what I've realized is that "keeping up with the Joneses" is exhausting.  And expensive.  And, at the end of the day...totally not worth it.  You see, if we had moved to that "American Dream" house...you know the kind.  Two story.  Beautiful front porch probably with two rocking chairs.  A gorgeous, well manicured yard.  A fireplace.  A pool.  A nice white fence.  If we had moved to that house, we would've missed our fence.  Crazy?  Yes, maybe.  Especially when you see our fence.  Chris and I built our fence when we moved in, before the boys were born.  A lot of sweat went into that fence.  And now, on one side of our fence, there's a board missing.  It fell off some time ago on the neighbor's side and they have yet to fix it.  This weekend, we learned why.  

When Inca and Poncho started talking about fixing the fence, their 4-year old son, Boppy, stated crying and said "No!  You can't fix the fence.  If you fix the fence, then I won't get to see my friends."  Little did we know that our two boys have been meeting up with Boppy at the fence every afternoon.  They talk through the fence about their plans for the afternoon.  Sometimes, I'll hear Warren say "I'm going to go do my homework.  Let's meet back at the fence in 15 minutes."  What fun memories being made at our fence.    

So, we may not live in the Joneses' American Dream home....but we're not keeping up with them.  We live in the Mayeses' American Dream home...where it's a lot less exhausting....a lot less expensive....and a whole lot more worth it!