SUPER DEE DOOPER SMART

How I know Joshua is a good kid:

Let's be real for a second; if your child looked like this, why would you even care?

Who's going to let him out long enough to cause problems?!

REALLY SMART

How I know Evan is a good kid:

He sent me a Valentine's Day card, on time, in the mail, with a nicer message to me than I have ever written to anyone. He really touched my heart.

He has also indicated that he misses my cooking. If you know my cooking at all...then you know it's a thing that should be missed.

Love you, Evan.

SMART

How I know Lane is a good kid:

One day, not too long before the State swim meet, Lane came home with his hair cut in a mohawk.

You can imagine the double take I did when I first caught a glimpse of his (not so) hunky handsomeness.

That night Michael, Joshua, and I left for a soccer tournament in St. George. Lane had very clear instructions to cut his hair before the Sweetheart's Dance that weekend.

Which he did.

With no parents to push him and no grown ups to ground him, he still did what we asked.
He also went to his church basketball game, mohawk and all, despite the fact that he hates playing church basketball. He got himself up and to early morning seminary. He didn't skip school. He didn't drive the car we left. He did his laundry. He put his dishes in the dishwasher. And he made it home on time from his swim meet to go to a dance he had no interest in attending. Sporting a new haircut.

He also told the people who were making fun of his new "do" that it isn't nice to make fun of cancer patients.

And I doubt he told them that he wasn't one.



That's a good kid. And one that makes me laugh.

MEAN

One of the teachers I often sub for told me (jokingly, I hope) that she can't ask me to come in much more because the kids like me too much.

I'll have to let her know she's safe.

Joshua overheard one of this teacher's students say she didn't want to come to class today because "Mrs. Vance is mean."

What?! I'm what??

What I am is busy right now, beating my own child for smiling when he heard that.

OBEDIENT

When faced with the daunting task of writing something worth both my time and yours, often I just give up. Nothing, I figure, is better than something that would have been better off left at nothing.

Got that?

But my mom said, "Write something." She's seemingly interested in the hum-drum of my life.
So, in Honor of Mom:

My house. I mean my chaos.



My home improvement (and reason why nothing else is getting done).


My homies (for whom I paint).


My honey (for whom I pant).


My honey's hound.


My hair.


Lane's hilarious (?) invitation to the Sweetheart's dance.


The place where I spend hours and hours of my time.


A six year old historian's horrifying illustration for his February calendar. (Needless to say, I did not let him display his picture, no matter how historically accurate...)


The hon(s) (book, that is, in Japanese) most recently in my hands.


And that, my friends, is how I spend my hours.
Hope yours are happy ones, too!

BACK

Evan came home for the weekend.

This is how much we saw of Evan:
His head peeking out of the covers.
His shoes left by the front door.
His suitcase and clothes in the basement.


He came home to see a girl. And that girl wasn't me.

Evan also came home to find his bedroom looking like this:

Since his departure to school, both Lane and Joshua have turned Evan's room into a dumping ground for any and all things no longer wanted in their own bedrooms.

I asked Evan how he felt about coming home and finding his room no longer his room.

"Well," he said, "It felt kinda' weird, but I guess it was bound to happen."

Kinda like me not being the girl he'd come home to see in his life...

This growing up thing...I wonder sometimes if I like it.
And yes, actually, I suppose I do.

THERE

Evan is there. Away. At school.
And, by all accounts on Facebook (the only way we've really managed to hear from him), he is happy and well, and apparently "NEVER MOVING BACK HOME!"

How quickly we went from this:

(Evan reading his acceptance letter to BYU-I )

to this:

(Driving away to Rexburg, ID. That car was so jam-packed, we barely had room to fit the family!)

and to this:
Boo hoo.

I really did cry, but this wasn't when. This was when Evan was saying, "I have to go, Mom... The guys are coming...You don't need another picture...I'm leaving now," all because people from his welcoming team were coming to get him for first night/get to know you activities/night games.
The guys did come and Evan did refuse any more pictures. Our last view of him was as he ran down the hall yelling, "Lock the door when you leave!"

"Well," said Michael, "I guess that's it. Eighteen years* of raising him, and he runs down the hall with his friends."

Only if you do it right.

So that's how dropping off our oldest child at college ended;
with him dropping us.

This is how it began:

We drove 30 minutes from our nephew Adam's Idaho Falls apartment to the very small, very clean, very snowy BYU Idaho campus in Rexburg. It is beautiful, and set right below the temple.

We found the building where Evan was to register.

He got out of the car, and I started to cry.

"You can't go to college, Evan. I haven't taught you everything! I'm not done yet! I promise I'll be nice if you stay! I'll do your laundry. I'll clean your room!"

Sweet Evan put his hand on my arm and said, "I know, Mom. It is kind of sad."

And then he walked away!

He registered, got his dorm room key, paid for food, had his ID card made, bought his books, got a job (thanks, Adam!), talked to his counselor, and went to the meeting for incoming students.

Later we found his dorm room, brought all his stuff into his dorm room, shopped for more stuff for his dorm room, and then, he left us in his dorm room!

The end.
And another beginning.

*Being a late-comer to this family, I have only had just shy of 13 years raising Evan. And every moment was...exactly as it should be. Sometimes hard, often fun, always joyful.

When I think of the joy I've had with these boys, I also think of the gratitude I have for their real mother, Lynne. Without her, there wouldn't be any of this.

Certainly it's easier not to have to share. That's my tactless honesty about the whole thing.
But also in all honesty, I would be oh so wrong not to know that she's still a part of things, and oh so much more wrong not to say thank you for the gift of motherhood she gave me, wittingly, willingly, or not.

So here's my ethereal shout out to the heavens: none of us truly knows the effect we have on others' lives. Thank you, Lynne, for all the ways you've affected my life for good. Your boys are genuinely good, grand to the core, and awesome to the hilt. I am grateful to you for the opportunity I have to know and raise them.