The Cat Stays in the Bag

A common theme of previous blog posts is my complex emotions about 11-year-old "Huckle" reaching the middle school years. 

A common theme of my non-posts (ie, reasons I don't post) is my complex emotions about writing publicly about Huckle. It's one thing to blab about your cute baby or preschooler; it's quite another to blab about a kid who will soon be developing his own internet presence.

But sometimes I need "blog therapy" to navigate the push and pull of wanting my guy to stay little and yet being so proud of the man he's becoming.

So let's just keep this post among ourselves, shall we? Keep the proverbial cat in the proverbial bag?

Earlier this month, Huckle had his first multi-night sleep-away experience: two nights on a church youth retreat two states away. He didn't seem too worried. In fact, he's a big fan of growing up and trying new, more grown-up things.

The day before the trip, I handed Huckle the packing list and told him to practice his grown-up-ness by gathering the necessary equipment into a duffle bag. Huckle managed to read the list and throw a few things in a pile. But he spent more time snickering over the word "toiletries" than actually packing. And then, when I asked him about a few essentials, it became clear that he took the list too literally:

Me: "Did you pack underwear?"   

Huckle: "What? Underwear wasn't on the list!" 

(Imagine the snickering, if 'underwear' had been on the list...).

When the departure time was an hour away and the dufflebag was only presumably somewhere under the haphazard-looking heap of "packed" items, I realized something: it's hard enough to let your kid go on a trip without you, when your kid is fully packed and ready to go. It would be even harder to let your kid go on a trip without you, if he left behind some important things (like the packed duffle bag) or if the packing wasn't completed until five minutes before the bus left, so you're all stressed out and yelling instead of saying fond farewells.

So I got involved...

Now, on family trips since Huckle was maybe six years old, he has made a point of bringing his favorite stuffed animal cat Tangles (pictured above in the little sleeping bag with attached pillow that Huckle made several years ago). Tangles has been to many states and even foreign countries. He has looked out the window of planes and over the edge of balconies. He's been lost in Chicago and the Omaha zoo (in fact, the current Tangles is actually Tangles 2. Or maybe Tangles 3). In other words, Tangles has been an important companion for many years and the subject of many family discussions ("What do you mean you can't find Tangles again?") and creative stories ("And then Tangles blasted off in his rocket..."). Tangles also owns a prime piece of real estate on Huckle's pillow.

Tangles in the arms of St. Francis;
Mexico 2011

 Cue the Mommy nostalgia, as I looked at Huckle's luggage pile and wondered -- not if he remembered toothpaste -- but if Tangles was somewhere deep in there. If Tangles didn't go, would this mean we had reached a new stage of grown-up-ness, a stage when stuffed cats are no longer essential travel companions, are no longer necessary to battle the forces of evil, and no longer offer some sort of magical protection in a dark bedroom or hotel room? I needed to know.

Me (casually): "So, is Tangles going?"
Huckle (shrugging but looking at me closely, as if my answer really mattered to him): "I dunno. Should he?"
Me: "Well, I think he should. He's been so many places already..."

Huckle didn't say more and neither did I. But, when he came back from the retreat, tired and happy, and I pulled the dirty clothes from the duffle bag, you can imagine my joy at seeing Tangles deep in the bowels of the duffle bag, complete with his little hand-stitched sleeping pouch.

There's plenty of time to grow up, dear Huckle, my precious son. Plenty of time.

Why I'm Praying for a Huge Snowstorm This Weekend

Our area has been getting pounded by snowstorms lately.

Case in point: School was cancelled on Monday, delayed 90 minutes on Tuesday, then cancelled again today (Wednesday). 

And now another big storm -- possibly the biggest yet -- is expected to hit this weekend.

That would the third this week in a region where the usual snow drama goes like this: (1) BIG hype about a HUGE snowstorm (2) leads to ridiculous lines at the grocery store and gas stations, (3) followed by a dusting of 1-3 inches of snow (4) that melts away within three days, (5) and then everyone makes French toast with their stockpile of eggs, milk, and bread.

Then again, this is also an area that has survived some major hurricane drama in the last few years, so preparedness is a virtue. I can't hear these apocalyptic forecasts without my heart racing and my mind picturing days without power and trees falling through the roof, somehow ending up in a dark, dystopian, Hunger Games-like scenario.

So why am I praying for a big snowstorm this weekend? 

Because it would solve -- or at least postpone -- my latest ethical dilemma. It goes like this:

Husband and I grew up in Christian families that took Sundays seriously. Sunday was a day of rest, a day set aside to worship God. We went to church (twice each Sunday, in fact) and that was about all that happened all day. My parents wouldn't take us anywhere that required others to work, even volunteer work: not to the mall or the pool or even to weekend basketball tournaments in which our Christian school participated.

You can imagine how unpopular this was with my sisters and me, especially when our junior high basketball teammates were outraged that we disappeared on Sundays.
"I know, isn't it stupid?" I'd say to my friends. "I'm not going to do that when I'm a parent."

Well, guess what. Now I'm a parent, and I see what my parents were doing. They were following the Fourth Commandment:

Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your male or female servant, nor your animals, nor any foreigner residing in your towns. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. (Exodus 20:8-11)

Now I get it. They weren't being legalistic or lazy or unfair, they were following a mandate important enough to be one of only Ten Commandments, up there with do not murder, do not steal, do not commit adultery, and all those other "big ones."

By not allowing us to play in Sunday basketball tournaments, my parents were demonstrating to us that God comes first, even if it means sacrifice. And, really, that's not even much of a sacrifice in the big scheme of life.

So far Husband and I have managed to get away without our kids making Sunday sacrifices. Neither Huckle nor Sally plays on teams with weekend games, so it's been a non-issue.

Well, that's not entirely true. Huckle takes tae kwon do lessons and needs to participate in tournaments. We did allow him to be in a Sunday afternoon tournament once, because it didn't interfere with our church attendance. That was our compromise. And, I told myself, it was only once. Then again, our Sunday afternoons look a lot like Saturday afternoons sometimes -- a quick trip to the pharmacy or grocery store, if needed. So I guess the real compromise is that we've set apart Sunday mornings, not Sundays.

Meanwhile, Huckle has been working hard for more than a year to earn his senior red belt, the rank right below black belt. It's been a long haul with lots of hauling:  me hauling Huckle to classes three times a week, Huckle hauling a big bag of gear and pine boards to practice breaking, Husband hauling out the virtual checkbook to pay the exorbitant monthly fee.

And now the long-awaited testing date is about to arrive -- the day Huckle tries to qualify for his senior red belt... And... And the school announced it will be held this coming Sunday morning.

So I went to the karate staff and explained our problem. I asked if we could do the make-up testing date to avoid missing Sunday worship. The office staff initially said yes but then spoke with the owner (a nice Catholic man, by the way). Who said no. He said it's too complicated to have those at the senior levels test outside the actual testing day.

The administrator, seeing that I was upset, added, "But there's a chance the Sunday test will be postponed due to this storm they keep talking about on the news. In that case, the test will be held next Wednesday or Thursday."

I reluctantly signed Huckle up for the 10am test. He's worked hard for months to qualify for this test, and I respect that. But I don't feel good about it. At. All.

• I feel like a sell-out, compromising my most important value -- putting God first -- for a kid activity. 
• I feel indignant about a facility that makes my kid repeat their Five Tenets every class -- Courtesy, Integrity, Perseverance, Self-control, Indomitable Spirit -- expects me to violate my own tenet so my kid can participate. (Integrity, indeed!)
• And, most of all, I feel angry at myself for not being too weak to do what my conscience tells me is the right thing, the difficult thing, the sacrificial thing.(Indomitable Spirit, indeed!)

And that's why I'm praying for a huge snowstorm this weekend. 

UPDATE:
Okay, so the storm manifested as a light snow sprinkle, and the tae kwon do testing took place that Sunday morning. Husband took Huckle to the event, while I -- and here's some irony for you -- cut bagels and brewed coffee in the church kitchen before the service. As I worked, I confided in a friend, who gave a thoughtful response. He pointed out that my children will learn from seeing the efforts I take to keep Sunday holy and from the heartache I feel when Sunday is compromised. These times are opportunities to talk together about how we don't want it this way or like it this way. But Sunday worship, like everything else in life, is tainted and broken and in need of redemption -- like my heart when it feels bitter about Sabbath encroachments.

Life doesn't fit into the neat little boxes on our calendar. It spills over from to the next. But still. That day made me realize I need to stop praying for a blizzard to solve my dilemma for me. I need to put thought and prayer into what it means to keep the Sabbath holy. Is it an amorphous-theoretical-virtual thing, all about setting apart my heart for worship? Or is it a concrete-literal thing, about setting aside an actual day, a full day, and calling it God's? I need to pray for guidance, not snow.