The Mary I’m talking about here is ours. Mary Claire. She’s a young lady who wears her name well.

Newly a member of the rank-and-file of teenagedom (having turned 13 on New Year’s Eve), it’s hard to believe  she’s crossed that threshold. When Helen turned 13 and entered that world four and a half years ago, it was just another step to her adulthood. Helen was born old. Mary Claire on the other hand was a baby for so long. Big juicy dimpled cheeks, a sweet round baby body, and then at around the age of four … the freckles. Those still-present, picture-perfect kisses all across her cheeks and nose. She was and has been the epitome of childhood.

Mary Claire

Mary Claire has played harder, worked harder, laughed harder and (at times) cried harder than all the rest. She has embraced her childhood for all that it is worth. During this past year, we’ve watched her hanging on to it for dear life. Not because she’s afraid to let it go, but she just wants to enjoy what it is. She wants to squeeze out every last drop. She doesn’t do anything halfway.

An example? She received crochet lessons as a birthday gift. Took a “learn to crochet 1” class on a Tuesday, five days later on Saturday another class, the next Saturday another and by the next day (Sunday) had crochet a sweater for Lillian.This past Saturday, she spent the afternoon at a ladies knitting circle making blanket squares for the needy.

Our dear second daughter is an ordered thinker. She’s systematic. Deliberate. Dedicated and just plain delightful. I often say, without her, we’d all fall apart. What 13-year-old calls her mother from a visit with grandparents in Florida to remind her that she has an appointment and should be careful not to schedule any conflicts? She operates the snow blower, the lawn mower, the leaf blower and has been doing her own laundry for years. She keeps track of our library books, loves to cook, follow recipes and directions. She can identify just about any vehicle by make and model. She craves independence and can really handle much more than I can offer (mostly because of the times in which we live).  She saves and plans with the money she earns babysitting and cutting lawns. She looks for challenging opportunities and is always interested in discovering something new. And, I’m quite sure, Mary Claire could actually sell swamp land in Florida.

There’s a little true confession to this story. This remarkable young lady was our toughest toddler (and then some). She gave us a run for our money for years. When I hear parents describe their children as strong-willed, I have to be honest, I laugh and think, “Oh really? Well, you haven’t met Mary Claire.” Through my tears and frustration, I was so hopeful that the strength that she exhibited in sometimes less-than-desirable ways would someday translate into the amazing strength she embodies now.

So with that, I need to thank Mary Claire. Not just for all the help she provides us every day, or for all the wonderful things she already is and is yet to become. I need to thank her for teaching us how to really parent. She taught us the need to be stronger than even the strongest will, making us better and more relaxed parents with the children who have followed. She has taught us how to look at the big picture with each child and to always keep our eye on the prize.

I am happy to say that in our world, one of those precious prizes is a chestnut- haired, strong and compact, freckle-faced 13-year-old beautifully blessed young lady named appropriately for a Queen.

This is a great article from Dr. Ray at Faith and Family Live about children, discipline and apathy. We’ve all been there. (If you haven’t, just wait. It’s comin’.)

You know those mile markers on the freeway? Well, I’m whizzing past them. And I think I’ve just figured out, there aren’t any rest stops. Life just keeps speeding by.

I spent last Friday with our of dear Helen at her first university music audition. One down, three to go. Yep, just counting them down. Soon enough, the auditions will be over. Decisions will be made, bags will be packed and she’ll be home on weekends. Sometimes.

And those markers will just keep whizzing by.

I started the day in tears when I felt the little sharp teeth that finally poked their way through the baby’s swollen gums. I announced their presence, looked at my dear spouse and just cried. And not because Cilff will bite me now with a newly fortified jaw of torture when I nourish him, but because that’s it — no more toothless gummy grin.  Whiz. Past another one.

We packed lunches, snacks, diaper bags, music, tea, toddler, teenagers, baby and boy and headed out. Richard took the younger four with him to a museum by the university after dropping Helen and me off at our destination. Helen and I attended information sessions and listened to student rehearsals. We found a vacant practice room. She warmed up her voice, we ate peanut butter sandwiches and drank ginger tea. I hid my nervousness. She sang more and got sillier. My morning waterworks  continued, but they tears were from laughing. (Love that crazy girl!)

Like my singing? Call me.

Soon enough, the day was done. She sang for her supper (beautifully I might add — I stood outside the door) and was pleased with herself, regardless of the outcome. We piled back in the car and soon enough were home.  In a few days we’re off to number two. A farther trip — a longer ride, but then (fortunately) back home. For now.

New teeth. New adventures. New worries. New joys … are all just part of the journey. I used to feel like the driver on this adventure, but now realize I’m just grateful to be along for the ride. And I have faith enough to trust that the driver knows where He’s leading us.