Spiders and cobwebs cloak the front porches lining our streets. Kids are over-extended, but vibrant with energy from trunk-or-treats, block parties, and school festivals. Mine certainly are. Six o'clock came way too early for the Gemelli household this morning. I can appreciate the fact that not everybody participates in Halloween. I get it.
But as for my family, I'm going to tell you how Harry Potter became an evangelist this week. And J.K. Rowling might drop her butter beer at the news.
The dog leash is wound tightly around my wrist. Her little body begins to shake the moment the bus comes lumbering around the corner, eventually rolling to a stop. She chases her tail, excited and anticipating boy cuddles after a long school day apart. Oversized backpack slung over his shoulder and a coat hanging off one elbow, my youngest meanders down the bus steps, hollering final goodbye's to his friends. He doesn't notice that his brother isn't following behind like usual. Chattering. Gathering things that have likely dropped on the floor during the ride. I think of a million reasons for a delay by my social butterfly.
But then, he appears. Eyes welling with tears, he stumbles down the stairs and throws himself into a bear hug, burying his face in my jacket. Alarmed, I guide his eyes up to mine and give him a questioning look. "She said our house looks stupid, Mom. She thinks we're funny and she made fun of Jesus."
School days. The first (traditionally scheduled) week is flying by and Moms and Dads everywhere are catching their breaths. Transition. While some of our young ones pop up from beneath bedsheets and leap into action at the first beep of the alarm, others require being dragged out of bed by a leg.
Dear sons, with forced smiles because your Mom took way too many pictures of you that day,
It's me again. As of this week, I'm a 34-year-old woman. To you, I know it sounds ancient, but as best as I can remember, I was a teenager last night when I went to bed. The other day you asked me how many days I had left to live. You promised you'd miss me if I died and assured me we'd meet in heaven when you guys "get old" too...like 35 or 100.
I figure with your woeful understanding of age and ladydom, we could tackle the Mars and Venus birthday situation together. It's my job to help you navigate the world of women long before you even attempt to chart the solar system.
Maybe someday you'll get married, or at the least, you'll go on a few dates and keep kind female friends. This is pending your ability to conquer the toilet seat situation. I have faith. You've mastered the monkey bars and can swirl spaghetti on your forks now.
Here are a few things you should know about when your wife turns 34...
Dear sons with your honey-colored, summer hair and those mischievous grins,
I picture you twenty years from now, launching into a world full of adventure and choice, creating stories written in your own script and choosing partners to pen them with. By that age, your Dad and I will (most likely) find you (slightly) intolerable. Because, if you're anything like we were, you'll believe you know more than parents do about all the things. I'll pray about that in advance...
Believer. Wife. Mom. Writer. Marriage and Family Therapist. Accidental Speaker. Crossfitter and Total Book Nerd.
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PEOPLE I FOLLOW:
BECAUSE I LEARN:
BECAUSE I LAUGH:
Elizabeth Laing Thompson
Liz Curtis Higgs
BECAUSE I ADVOCATE:
Juli Slattery at Authentic Intimacy
BECAUSE I CRY (HAPPILY):
Inspiring Writing Groups:
Suzanne Eller's #LiveFreeThrusday
Holley Gerth's #CoffeeForYourHeart
Kelly Balarie's #RaraLinkup
Jennifer Duke Lee's #TellHisStory
Susan Mead's #DanceWithJesus