When Your College Student Doesn't Call Home

I’m going to begin with a disclaimer: I have sons – three of them – and so any advice I have is a result of the male mindset. From what I hear, it seems as if daughters are better than sons about emailing, texting, calling, and being more communicative, but I’m aware that this is a huge generalization. There are daughters who don’t call home, just as I know there are sons who faithfully call their moms. In our household, we fall somewhere in-between -- sometimes they call, and sometimes they don't. But now that we have two done finished with college, and one about to start his sophomore year, here is what we've learned along the way.

1. When our sons don’t call home it doesn’t mean they don’t love us. Or need us. Believe me, the second they need their winter jacket or help with a resume, they will call. And they will be so nice about it.
2. We ask for one day a week – we let them choose – in which they are expected to call home. This puts the ball in their court and allows them to take the lead. A friend of mine once told me that she had to train her sons in this area, and I am so glad took her advice. For us, Sunday evening is the time we catch up with our sons. That doesn’t mean we don’t/can’t talk during the week, but at least on Sunday evening our sons take a break from their busy college lives and think of their family back home. Sometimes the call comes in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening, and sometimes late at night – but that’s okay.
3. They are expected to respond to our texts.  We have watched our sons arrive late for dinner, stop in the middle of a conversation, or rush out at the end of church in order to answer a text from a friend. We know they will do anything to answer a text, and as parents we deserve the same courtesy. But there is a caveat . . . and it is IMPORTANT so listen up: We do not text our sons all they time. They need their space, and the last thing we want to do is hover-text (and yes, I just made up that word).
4. When they call, we don’t grill them about everything they’ve been doing. It’s a conversation, which means information flows both ways. They share a little of their life and then we give them some news from home. For them to hear about Dad’s new car, their baby brother’s latest Lego creation, or what we did for Friday Family Night will remind them that we are still family and that they are still an important part of it … even though they are way over there, and we are over here.

Of course, things happen. Sometimes they will “forget” to text back, sometimes Sunday’s call comes Monday morning, and sometimes they call but aren’t talkative, but it’s all good. Besides, I know how to get the communication flowing ...

Two words: Care Package

And To All a Good Night . . .

Tonight I will sleep.

I won't be listening for odd noises, or getting up to make sure windows and doors are locked, or have a sleepless night like I do whenever Joe is out of town.

I won't toss and turn worrying about Jonathan in Atlanta.

Or stay awake thinking about Nicholas in Little Rock. 

And I won't wait for Timothy's text informing me he's driving home from work. 

No, I won't do any of those things because tonight ... we are all home.

Together.

So tonight I will sleep.

 

 

A Life Lesson . . . Spot on

Life lately seems to be so much about labels--democrat, republican, black, white, mask wearer, non-mask wearer--that we forget there is a person behind the label...

A few years ago I needed to find a way to teach my son not to always focus on the negative. So one day as he was having his afternoon snack I placed a red circle sticker in the middle of my forehead and sat down across from him.

"Hi, sweetie," I said. "Do you notice anything?"

"Yeah, Mom. You have a sticker in the middle of your forehead."

"Is that all that you see?" I asked.

"Are you trying to be like those women from India with those red dots on their foreheads?"

"No, I'm not trying to be anyone else," I assured him. "What else do you see?"

He thought about it, and tried again: a target? (no); a zit band aid? (definitely no); a third eye? (the better to see you with ... but no).

I finally took pity on him.

"I know you see this red spot on my forehead," I said. "But don't you also see me?"

He was a little taken aback. We then talked about how focusing on one aspect of a person limits our understanding of that person, just as focusing on the negative makes it all too easy to let the one thing that hasn't gone right distract us from everything else that has. 

He's a bright boy; he got the point.

I used this same lesson one day when I was teaching high school and some of my students had been laughing at another teacher's quirky character trait, a teacher who stayed after school to help students with their homework and who attended every single sporting event to cheer for them. I drew a circle in the middle of a big piece of paper and went around the room asking everyone what they saw. They saw a circle, a black hole, a planet . . . but NOT ONE person said they saw a piece of paper. When I pointed this out to them and mentioned the teacher's name, they became quiet.

They, too, got the point.

We can complain because rose bushes have thorns,

or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.

~Abraham Lincoln

 

Timothy, Italy 2006

Buen Camino: Finding the Way

For you, on this Feast Day of St. James ... 

           

In the very northwest corner of Spain is a beautiful shrine called the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela where, according to tradition, the apostle St. James is buried. Beginning in the 9th century, this cathedral was the destination of what became known as The Way of St. James (El Camino de Santiago), a leading pilgrimage route for people all over Europe; in fact, the pilgrimage to the shrine became the most renowned in Europe, and it was customary for those who returned from their pilgrimage to bring back a scalloped shell as proof they made it to the coast and completed their journey. Over time, the scalloped shell became a traditional symbol of the pilgrim because the shell’s grooves, which meet at a single point, represent the various routes to Santiago de Compostela.

           

Today, people still make that pilgrimage, walking el camino (the way) over mountain ranges, alongside streams, through beautiful open fields and, at the end of each day, stopping to rest in one of the countless villages along the way. The pilgrims typically carry three things: a walking stick, a scalloped shell as symbol that they are a pilgrim, and a “pilgrim passport” which is stamped with an official St. James stamp at every village where they stop to spend the night. By the time they reach their destination this passport is filled with stamps marking the points along their walk.

           

Just this week I watched a beautiful movie entitled The Way starring Martin Sheen and directed by his son, Emilio Estevez. The movie tells the story of a grieving father walking to Santiago de Compostela carrying the cremated remains of his son. Along the way he meets other pilgrims, each one with a different reason for walking el camino: to lose weight, to get over a relationship, to grieve, to find God. Even those who were doing it for no reason whatsoever, in the end, found meaning.

           

Perhaps the most beautiful part of this modern day pilgrimage is this: over and over, as people pass each other on el camino, sit down for a meal together at the end of the day or stand in line to get their passports stamped, you hear them wishing each other a buen camino. Translated literally, buen camino means “a good walk/path”, but within the context of a pilgrimage the phrase takes on a deeper meaning. To wish someone a buen camino is to wish them well in finding meaning and purpose on their pilgrimage.

           

And during this time in which the way is unclear, this is what I wish for you … a buen camino. 

Boy, Oh Boy

I'm surrounded by boys, and sometimes ...

Sometimes, after spending all day cooking, I wish they would linger over the meal and not wolf everything down in two seconds.

Sometimes, I could do with less wrestling matches in the house.

Sometimes, I'd like someone to go to the mall with me and not act like they're being tortured.

Sometimes, I would like to watch a Saturday afternoon movie instead of basketball, football, or golf.

Sometimes, I get tired of tripping over size 12 sneakers all over the place.

Sometimes, I wish for something pink in my house.

Sometimes, I'd like to walk into a clean boys' bathroom.

And sometimes ...

Sometimes when they sing in the shower, lean over my shoulder to see what I am writing, kneel next to me in church, show me their latest essay, call just to talk, or plant a sloppy kiss on my cheek, then I think ...

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Noted

Do you note?

I am all about the note. I take notes, write notes, leave notes, and send notes. My notes can be funny, inspirational, and instructional. Sometimes all three. Sometimes they even come from the files of very bad poetry by Bia.

Instructional. Definitely.

from the files of very bad poetry by bia

Inspirational ... school is cool! Right?!?

instructional ... mental note

supposed to be funny, but epic fail

instructional (i.e. a mom threat)
all these shelves, and the shoes are usually on the floor.

One of my masterpieces ;-)
funny + inspirational + instructional + from the files of very bad poetry by bia

inspirational

            NOW I NEED A NOTE FOR THIS PROFUSION OF LEFT-OPEN DRAWERS!

Taken by Surprise

Yesterday Timothy asked if I would proofread his essay on the intersection of health and technology. It was a very good essay, but I had a few suggestions. So I called him over, and as he leaned over me I showed him some ideas on how he could bring together his thesis and concluding paragraph. All of a sudden, he leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

And just like that I forgot what I was saying.

I have written before how the first time you hold a child in your arms--when it's just the two of you and the world is a far off place--is but a brief moment because you then spend the rest of your life letting go. In little ways (when a child begins to crawl or takes that first step) and in big ones (the first day of kindergarten or freshman year in college) you are watching them go.

As I am typing this I am all too aware that this afternoon, as soon as school is finished, Timothy will be taking the test for his learner's permit, which starts a whole new chapter in the art of letting go.

But then I think of that sweet kiss on my cheek. So nice. So unexpected.

And it's all good.

Spring Break and the Kindness of Strangers

Two years ago, when Nicholas was a senior at Clemson University, the Nonni let him and three buddies use their Myrtle Beach timeshare for spring break. It was their last moment of freedom before graduation.

This year, it is Jonathan's turn.

After four years of working every summer and holiday, this is Jonathan's first official spring break. He and his three roommates left Sunday morning and stopped on the way at Nonna and Nonno's house for lunch. In honor of Timothy's birthday the Nonni had prepared a veritable feast: grilled ribs, pasta salad, potato salad, bruschetta, vegetables, oven potatoes, and ice cream cake.

It was so nice to have those young men--all seniors--seated around the table. They talked about their plans for the future in the fields of accounting, business, environmental science, and marketing. They were all charming, polite, and paid attention to Timothy, the Birthday Boy.

Before they left we loaded their car with beach chairs, a basketball, a football, and a few bags of groceries.

They arrived in Myrtle Beach, checked in, and went to dinner at Myabi Japanese Steakhouse, a hibachi-style restaurant on Broadway at the Beach. It's a very nice restaurant. Seated at their table was a middle-aged couple who must have been impressed with our guys because at the end of the meal ... the couple paid for ALL FOUR OF THEM!

I think their spring break started off well.

How Popeye-with-the-Harley-tattoo helped deliver an early Christmas present

Once upon a time (a few days before Thanksgiving) Joe and Maria had the brilliant idea to get Timothy his very own workbench for Christmas. So they took advantage of a Black Friday deal at Lowe's and snuck out to purchase it; in fact, the deal was so fantastic that they decided to use part of the savings and have it assembled simply for the wow factor on Christmas morning.


That was the last time anything went according to plan.


On Monday Maria went to the service department to pick it up and a few minutes later a Lowe's employee wheeled out a HUGE, fully assembled workbench on a trolley. Now before you ask if Maria had looked at the measurements before ordering, please know that, yes, she had looked at the measurements beforehand. But you know Maria and math; numbers don't translate into the real world for her which is precisely why she married an engineer. She leaves all the math stuff up to Joe.


"Gosh, will that even fit in my van?" Maria asked the Lowe's employee.


He was willing to try so they walked outside, opened the back of the van, and contemplated the space. It was obvious that ALL the seats would have to be folded down. No problem! Maria knew how to do this! She folded one, two, three seats, but couldn't get the last one down even after she crawled in the back of the van to get better leverage. After a few minutes of huffing and puffing she crawled back out to let the Lowe's employee give it a try. He huffed and puffed and couldn't do it either.


They stood in the parking lot wondering what to do when suddenly a behemoth of a man walked out of the store. He was Popeye with a beard, Harley tattoo, and leather boots. His biceps were the size of Sequoia trees (and he didn't get that way from eating spinach). Maria and the Lowe's employee looked at each other and then he timidly bravely asked Popeye-with-the-Harley-tattoo for help.


Popeye-with-the-Harley-tattoo (who seemed even bigger up close) looked at the seat, looked at the strap, and with one finger ... JUST ONE! ... pulled up on the strap and the seat folded down. Just. Like. That.


Later that night when Timothy was in the shower, Joe and Maria went into the garage with the intention of taking the workbench out of the van and carrying it upstairs to the attic until Christmas morning.


Except, when they pulled it out of the van they realized (again) how big and cumbersome it was. And then they thought about having to carry it up the front porch steps, through the front door, up the steep steps to the second floor, and then up another flight of steps to the third floor attic. Joe couldn't do it alone and Maria ... well, by then she was kind of tired of that workbench.


Where was her Popeye-with-the-Harley-tattoo when she needed him?


In the end, here's what they did: Timothy finished his shower, came downstairs, and on a Tuesday night the last week in November and exactly five weeks ahead of schedule, Joe and Maria took him to the garage and yelled, "MERRY CHRISTMAS!"


The End.

chocolate and puddles and spoons

I was walking outside with our youngest son, who was four years old at the time. It had rained the night before and as I stepped over and around the puddles, he was jumping right in.


"How do you make mud?" I asked him as he made a truly spectacular splash.


He stopped to think for a minute. Then he smiled.


"First you dig a hole, then you put water and chocolate in it," he answered as he hopped over to the next puddle. "Next time let's bring a spoon."


I had forgotten this conversation until yesterday when I came across it in my journal. That cute little boy, who used to lick the foam off the top of my cappuccino, is now thirteen years old. He's playing basketball, finishing up a Future City science project, insisting (like boys everywhere) that he  does NOT need to wear a coat, and likes talking about engines and gears.


He's also taller than I am and yesterday when I needed to open a jar which was tightly sealed, I handed it to him and he popped it right open.


Sometimes it takes my breath away to stop and savor those moments when you realize your little boy is shedding his childhood and approaching life -- hesitantly, messily, but most assuredly -- as a young man. It is very humbling, more than a little scary, and all kinds of marvelous.


But I do miss those days of chocolate and puddles and spoons.

My Kind of Touchdown

This past Saturday I decided to leave the guys with their Penn State victory while I went to Ulta. I had my obligatory $3.50 coupon and an ad for a free flat iron with a purchase of a Hot Tools hair dryer. Then, I opened a credit card and received an extra 20% off AND a free Urban Decay eye liner. THEN, the sales associate gave me five really fantastic free samples. Ulta trip = my touchdown victory!

When there is too much testosterone in the house ...
I head to Ulta.

Free samples (and decent size, too) make my day!

Everything he knows he learned from Top Gear

Timothy's top two favorite television shows are A/ Top Gear (Britain) with Jeremy, James and Hammond, and B/ Top Gear (America) with Tanner, Adam and Rut. The fastest way to get into an argument in our family is to claim one show is better than the other. We have serious discussions about this. Like, really serious discussions, and we are a family divided -- Nicholas and Jonathan prefer Top Gear (America) whereas Joe and Timothy prefer Top Gear (Britain).


Where do I stand in this little brouhaha? Right smack in the middle, not because I'm trying to be magnanimous and fair, but because both shows are so incredibly laugh-out-loud funny. I mean, for me to sit down and watch a car show you know it has to be good.


And Timothy swears that Top Gear (both countries) has come to the rescue on numerous occasions when what he has learned from the show has been relevant during a geography quiz, a history test, or even a PAGE Academic Team competition.


For example:


The Rubicon Trail extends from Lake Tahoe to Sacramento.


The bullet trains in Japan are magnetized and hover just above the tracks. They can reach speeds up to 320 mph.


The Yungas Road in Boliva, a 43-mile single lane dirt road clinging precariously to the side of a mountain, is known as the world's most dangerous road.

One of the local road rules specifies that the downhill driver never has the right
of way and must move to the outer edge of the road. Unlike the rest of Bolivia,
vehicles are required to drive on the left side of the road to give the driver
a better view of the vehicle's outside wheel and making passing safer.

Then, of course, there are the car facts. Millions of car facts. Important things, like a Lamborghini can reach a top speed of 210 mph, a Bugatti can reach 225 mph, but the fastest car in the world is the Koenigsegg ZR1 with a top speed of 270.


Honestly, who needs to go to school when there is Top Gear?


Heck, even I have learned a thing or two: A Mini Cooper is more expensive than a Fiat, a Smart Car is less expensive than both. And, a vehicle with 4-wheel drive is not indicative of the number of wheels on a vehicle ;-)

What are boys made of?

Pipes and tubes and ducts,

fittings, connectors, and struts ...

that's what boys are made of. 

~from the files of very bad poetry by bia

I know what makes my son happy.


It doesn't take much. Just give him a few blissful, uninterrupted minutes in the PVC PIPE & FITTINGS aisle at either Home Depot or Lowe's.


I kid you not.


Connectors, fittings, end caps, pipe elbows, lever tube benders, flexible foil ducts and -- wonder of wonders -- copper pipes!


And who knew a 4-port manifold can be flute?


He walks up and down the aisle thinking, planning, dreaming. When he gets home he makes plans, draws designs, and starts a project. He pulls out his prized possession -- a box of his older brother's leftover engineering supplies from Clemson University containing switches and wires and circuit boards. He gathers foam board, ruler, protractor, computer fan, and a box cutter. He gets to work.


And I'm beginning to get ideas, too. This weekend I'm challenging him to convert my bird bath into an outdoor water fountain. Stay tuned ...

Timothy wants to build a Bob-the-Builder.

Airplane designs (printed from the internet), foam board, ruler, and a box cutter.
And he gets to work. 



 Three generations ... two engineers and one engineer-in-training.

Five Minutes at the Mall

It's not often you find the words Jonathan, shopping, and mall in the same sentence; however, with an internship that begins Monday, and with a closet that has way too many graphic t-shirts, I found myself in the unusual situation in which Jonathan and I went shopping at the Augusta Mall.


Stop. The. Presses.


Now, I'm a good Mom. Kind. Understanding. So to minimize the torture I promised two things: 1/ that we would stick to the list (which meant no Sephora for me) and  2/ that afterwards I would take him out to lunch.


(In hindsight, I should have just promised the food and kept the Sephora visit.)


Anyway, we arrived to the mall and walked into JC Penney. Within four minutes we were done.


Finito.


Two golf shirts, two dress shirts ... just like that. He said he didn't need to try anything on. In the shoe department he took one minute to find a pair of shoes.


Jonathan is very decisive.


You think?!?!?!?!?


At the register a nice young man named Bruce took my Mother's Day coupon ($10 off!) and divided our items into THREE separate purchases so I could use my coupon THREE TIMES!


I love Bruce.


I also love Jonathan, and with the shopping done we then went and had a very nice lunch together.


Tomorrow, though, I'm going back to Sephora. I have another Mother's Day coupon to use.

Mall with Jonathan = No Sephora for Me

How Guys Pack

Last weekend Jonathan came home for my birthday, arriving Saturday around lunchtime and leaving Sunday after lunch. (See what he did there? Impeccable timing.)


When he walked in we chatted for a few minutes, and then I told him to go get his stuff out of the car.


"I don't have anything." he responded.


I stopped dead in my tracks. He was holding his phone, keys, and wallet. Nothing else.


"What are you wearing later?" I inquired.


"This," he said, gesturing to the clothes on his back.


"What are you going to wear to church tonight?" I wanted to know.


"This," he said, again with the gesture.


"Tomorrow?" I asked, knowing that the odds were not in my favor.


He didn't even respond. He just grinned.


And I was like ...

Sent with Love

"Okay, it's not the most exciting package I've ever sent, but it comes with love." Me, in a note to my son as I prepared to mail him all the socks and underwear that he forgot to pack.

Novajosky News: Jonathan

Last week I pulled out my 2017 planner and contemplated the rows of empty calendar squares marching into the coming months. It’s going to be an exciting year – one which will include a college graduation, a 50th birthday celebration, a new job, a personal journey – and I look forward  to embracing it all (embrace: my one word resolution in 2009).

So here we are. We’ve barely tiptoed into the New Year and we already have a lot of news.

But I’m going to dole it out piecemeal. Timing is everything (especially when you have to wait until things are official) and patience is a virtue (especially when it involves paperwork and red tape).

In the meantime, though, let’s talk about Jonathan.

Oh yes, let’s.

A few days after he came home for Christmas, Jonathan received an email announcing that his accounting professor had requested Jonathan as a Supplemental Student Instructor for a general accounting class. Basically, Jonathan will meet regularly with the assigned professor, sit in the class with the students and take notes (a class in which Jonathan has already taken and in which he made an A) and then prepare, plan, schedule and facilitate SI sessions in which he will tutor, provide practice problems, and help students study and prepare for tests.

Now, I’m not going to lie. When Jonathan told us his news, this was our initial response:

“BUT YOU DON’T TALK!!!”

Same response – word for word – from every member of his loving family.

Well, we could never have imagined it, but apparently our Jonathan – he of the enigmatic smile and flashing dimples – does indeed speak.

Not often, but often enough to impress his professor who submitted his name for this position in which he will (hooray!) be paid.

Whoa. You go, Jonathan. Keep us guessing. He returns to school tomorrow, two days ahead of schedule in order to fill out some paperwork and to attend a training class on Sunday.

But all joking aside, we are proud of him. Jonathan may be quiet, but he still manages to speak volumes. He appears to be laid back, but he is a hard worker. Most importantly, the little boy who almost caused an international incident at the Milan airport, who jumped a barricade to step on holy ground, who got his finger stuck in a wiffle ball, who once morphed into Captain Jack Sparrow right there on Disney's Main Street USA and who always made his bed in the morning (and still does), well, that little boy turned into a nice young man.

I think we’ll keep him.

The Worst Week EVER

"This has been the worst week ever," announced Timothy when I picked him up from school this afternoon.


"Worst week ever, EVER?" I asked.


"Ever." he said.


"Of your entire life?"


He nodded.


Oh boy. He's only 12 and it's only Wednesday.


So on the way home he told me about this and about that. There wasn't one specific thing, just a bunch of little things that, when added together, did indeed make it seem like the worst week EVER.


And in listening to him, I realized I had forgotten how rough these middle school years can be. It's a messy, confusing time. A time in which sometimes kids need to figure things out by themselves.


Joe and I have always said that one of the hardest things about parenting is finding the wisdom (and courage) to step back and allow our sons to work things out on their own. Our son had a bad day, I knew that, but I also knew there was nothing I could do to fix the problem. Offer words of encouragement? Yes, of course. Try to make him laugh? Sure. Pray? Yes, often and sometimes desperately.


But fix the problem? No, not all the time.


So I listened to him, gave him some advice, told a corny joke, and assured him that things always look better the next day.


Then we stopped at McDonald's because, you know, sometimes French fries help, too.

The Story of an Afternoon

With my Math Man out of town, guess who has to help with math homework?


Yeah, you guessed right.

After an hour being surrounded by variables, distributive properties, associative properties, and algebraic expressions, Timothy and I were like this ...

So I decided to cook fish for dinner. Brain food. We needed it. And after eating we were like this ...

THE END

The Blue Pillow

Men are basically uncomplicated creatures, but I still can’t figure them out. Honestly, I don’t have a clue.

Take their powers of observation, for example. My guys don’t notice when I rearrange furniture, place a new quilt on their bed, or fix an elaborate meal. When I ask if they like my haircut they are puzzled: “You got a haircut?”

Really, not the most observant creatures.

But then something like The Blue Pillow happens which just confirms their alien-ness.

So yesterday, up to my elbows in a deep house cleaning, I decided to place this blue pillow on our reading chair in the family room. I thought a little pop of color would be nice.

And one by one, that blue pillow stopped my guys in their tracks.

 “What’s up with the blue pillow?”

“Where did you get that blue pillow?”

“Why is there a blue pillow on the chair?”

Well. It’s as if the tectonic plates in the earth’s crust shifted, or the stars aligned in some fantastical way, or the events in Area 51 really happened because that blue pillow crash landed in their consciousness.

Folks. I literally walked that blue pillow 20 feet from the rec room to our family room. That blue pillow has been around since the older boys were in grade school. That blue pillow has been used for pillow fights and indoor forts.

And they act as if they've never seen it before.

Like I said, mind-boggling.