Potty talk

When S was 7 and M was 4, they developed an inordinate fascination with potty words: "poop", "pee", and the most forbidden word of all, "butt". One afternoon when my patience was at a low point but my sense of humor was mysteriously elevated, I told them that if they were going to use potty talk, they had to do it in the bathroom. Thus ensued several days of lengthy (for a 7 and 4 year old -- like 20 minutes) sessions of joyfully making up songs having to do with BUTTS.

I doubt if that falls into any category of brilliant parenting, but it was the beginning of an alliance. The lifelong kind, the us-against-them kind, the kind we Always Come Back To. Last night they were on the phone for hours, reviewing potential romances, deep spiritual matters, and idiotic teachers.

The alliance, now happily progressed far beyond naughty words, serves both as a protection against opposition and an accountability for right living. It is the foundation of future Thanksgivings and Christmases and family reunions, and I am so grateful.

Many Homecoming Dances

My 17 year old daughter is at a Homecoming Dance tonight, the first of 4 she'll be attending in 4 weeks. It's complicated. The first one is with a guy who is Just A Friend, the next 2 with groups of girlfriends, and the final dance is with a boy who creatively invited her, using a white board. I already like him.

When I was a junior in high school, the Homecoming Dance was right after the Homecoming game, so everyone went in their jeans, unless you were one of the fortunate few who were part of the Queen's Court, in which case you simply looked ridiculous in your formal gown (no sour grapes, I was in the Court my senior year, looking absurd and out of place). You met up with your date or your friends after the game, and walked up the hill to the cafeteria, elegantly draped in school-colors crepe paper and balloons (the cafeteria, not you). You fast danced most of the night, never touching your partner. 3, maybe 4 times during the evening, came the much-anticipated slow dance, where you got to move around in a slow spiral while hugging your partner.

Now they simulate sex on the dance floor, and every year there are rumors of couples who actually perform the act, escaping the supervision of vastly outnumbered chaperons. I have heard from teachers who are chaperons that my daughter is one of the few who don't grind. This makes me happy, but at the same time I am sad that the magic and mystery of future romance is being removed for these kids.

I wish she didn't go to the dances, but I won't forbid her from going. I wish she never had to see any of this, but I know that it is a part of her world. I wish that her first year of marriage would be full of the amazing discoveries of something previously unknown, and I still think it might be. I wish I could change her world. I can't do that at all.

So I offer advice, even though I know it may be ignored. And I pray. For her to be wise, for her to be protected, for the decisions she makes not to hurt her future. That needs to be enough for me now.

Long Distance Academic Advising

We used to sit down together with the high school course catalogue, the graduation requirements, the life plan, and map out next steps. His goal? An Ivy League school. I told him to go for it, not to limit his hopes -- all things are possible with God.

Now he's there, at Dartmouth, sophomore year, mapping out his next steps. He wants to drop computer science and take another history class. The kid who aced 2 AP math classes in high school has barely gone near his left brain since he arrived at college.

I want to shake him:
This is the time to diversify! Try everything! 19 years old is too young to settle into English/History/Psych!

We communicate through facebook and text messages. If we have a phone conversation once a week, I am amazed. But this is how it works. He is on his own. If I give an opinion, or make an observation, he is likely and able to ignore it. Do they have great academic advisers at Dartmouth? Is anyone else helping him with this?

But the truth is, it is not my job anymore. Even though the decisions he makes today may have lifelong implications, they are his decisions to make. I struggle to trust God with him, my oldest child, my only son. I know that God understands about sons.