Gratitude

No doubt about it. God has blessed me with more than I could have ever imagined, or deserve. I try my best to teach that concept to The Boy, and this past week helped to illustrate some of the finer points of gratitude.

We packed up our Subaru on Thanksgiving morning and headed to Arizona to spend a few days with my parents. On our way out of town, we pulled over for a caravan of emergency vehicles that were on their way to some sort of tragedy or another. I said to Jacob, "Let's pray for whoever needs help," since that's our tradition when we see a fire truck, ambulance or police cruiser with lights and sirens ablaze.

Breakfast bellies calling us, we whipped into a McD's to carb- and fat-load for our mini trip. As we pulled out, headed towards the freeway, there stood a man on the curb with a bent and curling sign asking for food. I don't always stop ... if you've driven through San Diego you know that nearly every major intersection is filled with the hungry and homeless. But I pulled over, rolled the window down, and handed him a 5. I asked Jacob if he wondered why I did it this time, when I hadn't the day before. He said, "No, Mom. I know that we have so much to be thankful for. What if he doesn't? And even if some people that ask for money don't really need it that much, or they'll use it on something that they shouldn't, that's not our place to judge."

Three hours later, we were unpacking our 'Ru in AZ, and getting in Mom's way as she put the finishing touches on a traditional Thanksgiving dinner -- no small feat when accomplished in an RV. We spent the next few couple of days basking in the glow of family. Swimming, bike-riding and shopping were the most pressing agenda items. In the midst of our store-hopping, we were stopped by a major traffic accident at an intersection. Numerous ambulances, fire trucks and police were racing to the scene, and as we inched by on the shoulder, we could see that the emergency workers were trying to free passengers from a vehicle. I was more worried about getting by than anything else, but Jacob said, "Shouldn't we pray?" I told him yes, and that he should lead it.

"Dear God, please take care of whoever was hurt. And if they've already died, may they rest in

peace and know that they are with God. Take care of their families. Please help them to heal."

I had a hard time making my "Amen" audible over the tears I was choking back.

Today is Jacob's tenth birthday. I spent much of yesterday teasing him with "this is the LAST swim you'll have as a 9-year-old" ... and "that's the last hot dog you'll eat as a single-digit-aged kid" and .... well, you get the picture.

As Joel and I watched him rip into presents, feast on cake and generally act like a 10-year-old, we know one thing... we couldn't be prouder of the double-digit-dude he's become.

'Tis the Season

I got "the call" today.

It's a call I start looking forward to in August. Once summer vacations are done, YMCA camp drop-offs are over, school is getting ready to start ... I wait for the phone to ring.

It'll be Dad on the other line. He'll make small talk, chat about weather and work, and then he'll get to the point.

"Getting ready to winterize the barn. Starting to think about packing for our trip. What kind of tools should I think about bringing?"

My parents spend the greater part of the cold months in my general vicinity. The last few years, they've landed in Yuma, AZ for several months. I can always count on their arrival by The Boy's birthday (always around Thanksgiving). I can plan on them heading back east to get their granddaughter fix around December or January. And I can bank on them heading back to the southwest and hanging out until the threat of snow is all but past.

My dad is a man's man. He knows something about everything. No offense to my husband, but I did not marry a tinkerer ... a builder ... a fixer. My dad is the guy who I call when my car is making a noise, I've got a door that sticks, or I need a cabinet built. And my husband's ok with that.

Getting "the call" gives me a little thrill that has nothing to do with putting my to-do list together for my dad. But it has everything to do with knowing that my folks will be here next month.

Can. Not. Wait.

Where Does the Time Go?

Can't believe that my last post was at the end of the summer of 2010. Here I am feeling like the summer of 2011 is whizzing by now.

The Boy and I spent just over two weeks in Michigan. Whenever I would tell people where I was going on vacation, I would usually hear something along the lines of, "Visiting family? That's not a vacation. That's an errand. You're taking a long errand."

A lot of families can feel like a checkmark. Not mine. I count myself fortunate that I wouldn't pass up time with my parents or my sister for just about anything. I don't dread holidays with them. I don't tense up when faced with a long car ride with them. I look forward to those things.

I truly love San Diego, but I'm not sure I'll ever feel like it's home for me. My son can't run

down the street to visit friends because none of his buddies live in our neighborhood. We may not have mosquitoes, but we also don't have room to run. When I sneeze, it's often my neighbor who God-blesses-me.

My parents and sister humor my excitement at going back home to Michigan. They look for touristy things for us to go do, and we either all pile into a car to go see something, or Mom & Dad graciously entertain the kids for a day or two while we head out.

This year's My Michigan was simply beautiful. We went to the BalloonFest in Howell, an art fair in Northville and drove along the Old Mission Peninsula in Traverse City to check out wineries and take photos of the quilt barns. But that was just the on-the-road stuff.

Back in Davison, I tried to maximize my son's Michigan summer. We caught lightning bugs, had a backyard camp fire, visited Sabo's ice cream shop and set up backyard soccer and baseball games. We kept watch over a nest of Robin's eggs in my parents' front yard, from which emerged the fuzziest littlest birds I've seen in a while. My mom even set up an all-nighter with the kids ... she fed them crazy amounts of sugar and yummy treats, arranged for bowling, movies and ice cream-making. Jacob had non-stop doses Vitamin D, and he didn't care how hot it got.

San Diego summers are different. We walk over to the park for concerts. We plan week after week of summer camps at the Y where he will get to skateboard, play soccer and even iceskate. At night we sit outside and listen to the crickets, bundled up because it gets pretty chilly when the sun goes down. It's not quite the same to me without the lightning bugs, though.

I often wonder if I'm as sentimental about my Michigan summers simply because that's how I grew up, or because they truly are better than our SoCal experiences. I guess Jacob will have to tell me when he's 40, and bringing his kids over to Grandma's house for their own summer vacations.