The Ow Plant and Being 11

Jare was born while his father and I were both trying to adjusted to married life and earn college degrees. Jare spent his first three years of life at one college campus building or another, waiting with one of his parents, for the other parent's classes to end, so that other parent could walk him across campus to wait at another building for the original parent to pick him up later.

It was an exhausting life.

A college campus isn't a terrible place to grow up and Jare took full advantage of his surroundings the minute he was aware of them. He loved the fountains, the gardens, and the endless array of sidewalks that could be found on campus. Mostly, Jare loved people. Consequently, people loved Jare. No matter where he waited, there were students who knew his name and couldn't resist saying hello.

The music building was my son's favorite place to be, and with a father who was a music major, he spent a lot of time there. Whether in the practice rooms in the basement or walking up and down the stairs that led to the auditorium, Jare knew how to have fun.

But his favorite place in the music building was a light-filled atrium on the side of the building. Comfy couches and tables provided places for students to study, or toddlers to climb and play. And in the corner of the atrium was a huge collection of diverse potted plants that Jare loved to look at.

Even as a newish mommy, I knew that my two-year-old was less interested in the botanical qualities of the plants, than he was with how they would feel and taste when he shredded away the leaves for further exploration. I constantly reminded Jare not to touch the plants, and I kept a watchful vigil as I wrote criticisms of Shakespeare and waited for my turn to go to class.

One day I was a little wrapped up in editing a paper and Jare's hands were a little faster than I'd given him proper credit for. Before I knew it, he was running towards me saying, "Ow, ow, ow, ow."

I took his outstretched hand and realized that he had grabbed one of the cacti, I'd failed to notice hidden among the other leafy plants. Little spines from the plant were still in his hand and he was in pain.

Within a minute, his Dad was right there too, and we worked together to remove the spines, clean and bandage his hand, and kiss the little tears from his cute chubby cheeks.

From that moment on, Jare walked on the opposite side of the atrium and pointed to the cacti saying, "Ow plant. Ow plant." He never touched a cactus again.

Jare turns 11 today. He's come a long way from the chubby little boy who grabbed a cactus. Next year he'll go to middle school. This week he spent 4 days away from his family at a school camping trip. And unfortunately, he's learned about intolerance, bullies, and the injustices in the world.

And I thought the cactus was painful.

I would have kept him from all of that. In fact, if I could go back to that atrium, I would have stayed behind him the entire time, pulling his hand back and keeping him from the pain of the oww plant. That's what mommy's do best, right?

But I can't. There are more cacti right around the corner. Some, that I can't even spot. There are some around corners where Jare will walk without me. I won't be there to pull his hand back. I won't be there to keep a watchful and warning eye.

I can try to teach him to recognize those things before they happen. I can teach him to discern trouble. I can pray continually that the Spirit will go with him in those places I won't be.

And I can always be there when he runs back. I can dry tears no matter how old he is. I can bind wounds, and I can hold him tight.

Because that's really what mommy's do best.

A note to Jare: 11 is huge! I'm so proud of the boy you are, and the young man you are becoming. I'm still as lost as a mommy as I was the day you were born, handsome. You keep putting me through new stages that I'm not ready for. But, sweetie, you make them so much fun. I mean it about the stuff that waits in the future. Not all of it is fantastic. But, it all has a purpose. Use the Spirit to know which way to go. And if you get stuck, and find yourself on the wrong path...backtrack and start fresh the way He would have you go. And if there are any "ow plants" on the way...avoidance is best. And yet, you must choose for yourself. I'll be here no matter what...always. I love you.

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A Rollicking Band of Pirates

I had a unique opportunity recently to observe a band of pirates pillaging for treasure.

From my vantage point I was able to make some interesting observations.

Pirates don't mind pausing from their raiding to take a picture if you pay them for their time in chocolate or lollipops. Candy corn is iffy.

A random blue ninja doesn't stand a chance against pirates when they work together.

All pirates appoint a lookout whose job it is to stand near the loot and keep it safe. The lookout may also occasionally pilfer a Twix or two. Or twenty.

Pirates enjoy the wide open spaces of a parking lot nearly as much as the expanses of the sea.

I call this photographic study, "Piratry in Motion".

But, at then end of the day, all a pirate really needs is a bucket of edible loot, a patch of pavement, and their fellow buccaneers. (A friend in a jack-o-lantern shirt comes in handy, too.)

*Hope your Halloween was as fun as ours. We ended up winning the family costume theme. The pirates were very happy.

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