Sharp Dressed Man

Last week, I took McKay to buy his first suit.

The Husband was out of town, so naturally the man-task fell to me.  Driving over there, laughing and joking with my biggest boy, I felt content.  He picked the music, and even managed to not critique my driving.  He reminded me for the millionth time why I love and adore him so much.

We arrived at Macy's and started flipping through the racks of suits.  I tried to be helpful and point out colors and textures of fabric that looked cool.  He rolled his eyes and laughed at his mama.

Before long, we were saved by a helpful sales clerk.  He took one look at my boy, told us his size without taking a single measurement, and began to pull suits from the racks.

Grateful for the help, I sat with my phone outside of the dressing room and casually perused the Instagram.

When my big boy walked out of the dressing room, I was wholly unprepared for the emotion that would overtake me.  It was like a jolt to my heart.  Seeing him in that suit, his broad shoulders held high, his tall frame tailored and strong – I nearly lost it. 

It was like a vision came to my mind.  A vision, as unexpected as it was unwelcome.  I saw him as the missionary he would be – and in just a few short years.  I saw him, not as my child in holy Nike socks and a dirty t-shirt, but as the man he is becoming.  I saw him all grown up.

And, I won’t lie, I was not at all prepared to face that vision. 

I immediately teared up and felt like I couldn’t breathe.  The air around me was thick and heavy, and I feared the weight of it was going to crush me.  Looking at this man/boy before me – the flesh of my flesh – and knowing that before long he will be out on his own was more than this mama heart could bear.

I felt so small, watching him.  So helpless.  

Right then, ZZ Top’s song, Every Girl’s Crazy About A Sharp-Dressed Man came on overhead.  It was so silly and so appropriate that we both burst out laughing.  It cut through the emotion and brought laughter higher than my tears.  I took a shallow breath.  Then another one.  I smiled at him.  The heaviness passed, but left in its wake a weight on my heart.  One that I know will probably hang there forever, getting heavier with each passing year.

Tender mercies come in all forms.  Mine came in a song, played ever so timely, as I watched my child casually slipping through my fingers.  In a dressing room at Macy's.

Forty: My new favorite

When I last left you, on November 8th, I had gone to lunch and a movie with some new friends here in Texas.

What I did not know was that hours later, I would be in for the surprise of my life.

As I drove home from the movie, I thought about all the movies and lunches I used to have back in the Lou.  I felt the all-too familiar melancholy ache for my St. Louis girls.  So I picked up the phone and tried calling them.  I got voicemail each and every time, which was a bit unusual.  But I thought nothing of it and went home.

I wrote the blog post and looked forward to a night out with the Husband.

A few hours later, the kids started trickling in from school.

As is my usual routine, I started gently nudging Chase out the door to go on his run.   Dude likes to procrastinate, so it's always a lengthy process to get him out there.

In the meantime, the Husband came home and we started chatting.  Banter, happy talk, and excitement over the upcoming weekend.  

I heard a noise behind me, and figured it was that tall boy of mine who STILL had not left on his run yet.  Turning to tell him to GET HIS BUTT OUT THE DOOR, I saw my four best girls.

STANDING. IN. MY. HOUSE.

For a half a second, I wondered what was wrong.  Why were they here?  What had happened?  HOW?

Then I immediately burst into tears and ran screaming into their arms.  It was caught on video, but I assure you, no one wants to see that hysterical chubby mess.

My dear, darling Husband had got them all here to help me turn 40 in style.

It was no small feat.  As per his usual life, there were missed flights, late meetings, and scrambled travel plans.  But he got them all here and made sure HE was home to see the look on my face.

The next best part of the surprise?  He and the boys were leaving to fly to the BYU game in Wisconsin.  We would have the entire house to ourselves for an entire weekend.

As we walked out to the car to grab the luggage, there was yet ONE more surprise.

Maren had brought her daughter, Jilian, to hang with Hannah.

Seriously.  So many surprises, I would have not been shocked to see Hugh Jackman walk in the door next.  It was absolute happiness all around.

First order of business was grabbing some Mexican food at Chuy's.  Because one should never leave Texas without some of their divine creamy jalepeno dip.

The weekend was absolutely perfect (even without Hugh Jackman coming).  The Husband sent gorgeous flowers that arrived Saturday morning - enough for every room in the house.  

We laughed, we ate, we shopped, we stayed up late.  I could not have imaged a better way to celebrate my big birthday.

These women have been a part of my life for the past six years, and I was beyond thrilled and touched to have them here.  The Husband knocked it out of the park on this one and I can never tell him just how much it meant.  I love these girls like sisters.

It was JUST what I needed, right when I needed it most.

I'd say that 40 is feeling pretty darn good.

To serve and protect

Today, I went to the mall with a couple friends. 

I know!  I have friends!  Hooray!

I'm actually feeling quite thrilled about that fact.  I dragged two of them with me to see a movie (side note:  If you have not seen this movie yet, get yourself to a theater STAT.  The BEST movie I have seen in ages.  Thank you Annie, my long-time BFF and movie-buddy for the recommendation.  Sobbed my way through it.  So phenomenal). 

ANYway, I dragged these new friends of mine to see a movie and have some lunch. 

When I got out to my car, there was a note on my windshield from our local police.  It looked like this:  

Apparently, I had failed a spontaneous inspection of my vehicle.  The reason for the failure was that my Property was in Plain View (and so important they felt the need to capitalize the aforementioned Property in Plain View). 

I looked around the car and wondered what Property was in Plain View. 

Internet, I give you my very valuable, very-worth stealing, lucky-I-still-have-it Property. 

(Try not to rush here all at once to break into my home and steal it.) 

First up is the bottle I fill with pool water once a month and drive to the pool store for water testing.  While this item is extremely valuable in ascertaining the correct acidity of our pool, I doubt anyone would want it badly enough to steal. 

But I could be wrong.   It definitely takes all kinds to make the world go 'round. 

Next up is this ratty, fraying, mate-less glove.  Worn by me two nights ago at the football game where it was FREEZING cold.  We lost, in case you wondered.  Which made it all the more worthwhile to sit in the stands and freeze my ever-expanding arse off.

While a matched set of a ratty, fraying glove might be worth something at auction, I doubt thieves would risk incarceration for a single. 

Also of little worth is this pile of old receipts, one of which was the dry cleaning receipt I had my daughter dig through the trash to find.

But then forgot to use at the dry cleaners when I picked up the clothes.   Oops.

[Has anyone seen my Mother-of-the-Year-Award?  I've been watching the mail and it hasn't come yet.  Hmmm.... odd.] 

Lastly, and probably the most valuable item I own, is this antique treasure.  It has been in our family for generations and is an heirloom that I hope to pass onto my own children someday.  I have often wanted to take it to the folks at the Antiques Roadshow and get an appraisal, but I've honestly worried about damaging it in the process. 

Internet, meet my most valued possession. 

It really isn't a surprise that I failed the inspection.  Any one of these items are worth the risk of staph that you'd likely get by smashing the window in to steal them. 

Thank you, ever-diligent police, for keeping me on my toes. 

Also?  I'm pretty sure we live in a great area if this is the way our officers' time is spent.  For that, I am legitimately thankful. 

Dear Chase,

Exactly 45 days ago, you turned 14. 

Aaannndd exactly 45 days ago, I was wallowing in a pity party for one, feeling wounded, and alone, and did not get a chance to write you this letter. 

It was pathetic and I am so sorry. 

Fortunately for me, you are so kind-hearted and easy going that I know I'll be forgiven before I even ask. 

Chase, I think of all of us, this move has suited you most of all.   

You have slipped into a new skin here in Texas as smoothly as putting on a warm jacket.  You immediately decided you wanted to play football - a concern for me at first - seeing as how you had no idea how the game was played and had never done it in your life.

You know.  A small hiccup in an otherwise grand plan. 

I worried about it, I'm not going to lie.  Knowing how the Football is king here in Texas (and deserving of the capitals), I worried it would be ultra competitive, and that your inexperience might hurt you or prove damaging to your confidence.  Raising your sports-driven brother has shown me what the world of athletics can be like, and I was terrified of negative consequences for you. 

Oh, silly me.  When will I learn that you know your own heart best of all? 

You have dived in with your natural enthusiasm.  You boldly explained to your coaches that you had NO clue what you were doing, and studied the playbook hard when they offered it.  You researched YouTube videos and asked help from your brother.  You took your inexperience and turned it into a prowess on the field that is so fun to see.  I love watching you play.

Football has been the BEST thing for you. 

Case in point:  We were at one of your very first football games.  Your team had finished playing and you and I were walking together through the stands.  No less than a dozen times were there cheers and congratulations from your classmates as they shouted your name and praised your efforts on the field.   They shouted your name!  That means they knew it!  All these people already knew who you were and liked you!

I looked back at you, my mouth agape, and asked you why you didn't tell me you had all these friends. 

In the classic Chase way, you grinned and shrugged your lanky shoulders.  As if it was no big deal.  Tears filled my eyes and love filled my heart because in that moment I knew:  You were going to be all right here. 

And you've been more than all right:  You've thrived.   You've grown.  You've broadened your circle and found strength in new ways.

Chase, I am infinitely proud of you.  You have a heart that is ten times your size.  And, believe me, your size is considerable.  Just a few months ago, you officially became the tallest Halverson - surpassing your father and (long ago) your older brother.  You were pretty proud of yourself, but yet made sure that your brother didn't feel slighted.  You reminded him of how tall he was, and that he might pass you up one day.  

Kid, you are always thinking of others. 

And it's one of my favorite things about you. 

Chase, I love your creativity, your enthusiasm for life, and your pursuit of your passions.  You inspire me to dream big.  You never take yourself too seriously and are more than happy to let others have the spotlight.  You work hard and have more discipline than anyone I know. 

Except when it comes to the treats.  You have a sweeter tooth than anyone in our family and I swear you must have a hollow leg.  Because I don't know where else all that food goes that you eat.   Seriously.  

I love you more than this feeble letter can ever say.  Thank you for making our life so stinkin' interesting.  Thank you for always being so easy-going, for your big plans, and the happiness you bring us by being close to you.  Your joy is infectious.  Your big grin, flanked by that one, lone dimple that I love, is one of the best parts about my day. 

And, please, could you promise to stop growing and stay this way, just for a few more years?  Because this phase of life is the funnest one yet.  I just can't get enough of it.

I love you, Chazini. 

Love, 

Mami

Identity

Moving to a new city automatically changes your identity. 

In my old town, I was the girl who always brought really fabulous desserts to a party.  The girl people asked to take photos of their babies, their families, and even their corporate executive husbands.  I threw parties, and luncheons, and always made too much food.  I was the girl who texted everyone once a week to organize a girl's lunch out.  The girl who was known to stay the longest at get-togethers and laugh until I peed a little.  You could count on me to be the chubby friend you would gladly sit next to because my plate would be full and my smile always ready. 

I was confident in that identity.  

It was woven into the very fabric of my character, its threads strong and confident.  It was my heart and my soul.  It was who I am. 

Suddenly, I am not that girl here in Texas.  I find myself always in a room full of strangers, my heart pounding and insecurities coursing through my veins.  None of them know that I am a really good baker.  Or photographer.  Or laugher (and pee-er). 

None of them know just how desperately I love to host parties. 

And when I'm struggling to help my kids cope with the loneliness and heartache that comes with this crappy business of starting over, I put on a brave face and strap a pep talk to my belt.  Constantly pulling that pep talk out, telling them things I hardly believe myself, I keep moving blindly forward.   We are all struggling, and it's just plain hard.

I fall into bed at night, exhausted and emotionally wrought, and just pray. 

Pray that soon it will be easy and natural. 

Pray that it will feel like home. 

Pray that I will feel like me again.

Because I desperately miss that girl.  

Helpless

I heard the front door open and ran to meet him.  The knots in my stomach had been swirling all day until my insides felt like a tangled mess of anxiety and pain. 

The look on his face told me what I needed to know.   What I had feared the most.

The silent tears that spilled down his freckled cheeks broke my heart in half. 

Taking him in my arms, as I had not needed to for years, I embraced my oldest and cried with him.  I had no chance of being strong at this moment.  No hope of providing comfort.  No words to say, except choked sobs of I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.   

Never have I felt so helpless.   

Never have I been so helpless. 

I have no idea what it feels like to be him.  I did not move until the day I went to college.  And, even then, I went with my six best friends from high school as roommates.  I did not really learn how to make new friends until I was a married adult. 

I will never know what it feels like to be a sophomore in high school and sit alone at lunch.  I will never have to face class after class of stranger's faces or wander unfamiliar  hallways on my own. 

I will never know the courage it takes to do such things. 

When we moved here, we gave them all promises of happiness and new friendships.  Not knowing that 95 percent of our congregation at church would go to a different high school.  Not knowing that the handful of boys he would meet in his high school would all have different lunches than him.  Not remotely comprehending just how hard it would be.

It's been a week and two days, and I still can't talk about it without tears. 

My heart aches for what he's going through -- how exposed and alone he feels each day.  I see the vulnerability eating him raw, and I see the walls he puts up to protect himself.  I see anxiety and worry on his face.  This is not the boy I know.  

But, mercifully, every day, it seems we gain a little bit of new ground.  Really, even an inch will do.  A friendly conversation with someone at football practice plants a glimmer of hope inside him.  Finding someone to sit with at lunch has been huge.  Faces are becoming recognizable.  Days are melting into routine familiarity.  We are slowly pulling ourselves out of the lonely despair of that horrible first day.  Thanks, in large part, to an amazing family who moved here about a month ago themselves, and who have kids that match up exactly to ours.  

It's been so nice to know we're not alone.  To have someone to commiserate with.  To have a shoulder (for me) to cry on.  To know it's not just us.  We're in the trenches together, this mother and I, helping our kids cope with some really tough stuff.  Going through battles like this creates an instant bond.  I am so thankful for her.  

I know the answer to this problem lies in persistence and time. 

But I would give anything to take away all the pain from my boy.  To ease his heartache and make his sweet, kind soul whole again.   He is doing an amazing job and handling it with grace.  I am so proud of my boy.  

I know he is going to be all right. 

But would it be so terrible if he was all right sooner rather than later? 

-------- 

[SIDE NOTE:  In an effort to document monumental family experiences, I am writing about this personal experience.  I do so not to elicit pity or praise, but merely to help us remember the hard things that allow us to grow.  This is an intensely personal post for me, as it exposes one of my children's vulnerabilities in ways I am not accustomed to.  My vulnerability?  Up for grabs and there for the mocking.  But my kids are off-limits.  Please remember this and be kind.  There is a real person behind this post and he's struggling in an extremely real, and very huge, way. ]