Losses and Gains

Because there is nowhere else to go with this...

2009-05-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days where I had to wonder if I can ever really end this journal of sorts. As much as I move forward and find there is less and less that can only be said here, I wonder if something will always come along. And even if no one reads this, it feels so much more satisfying to send these thoughts out into the universe with a click of the mouse than to just write them down with pen and paper and shove them in a drawer.

I just don't know what to do with the People magazine article featuring now grown, former micropreemies. Healthy, happy young adults who were all born between 23 and 27 weeks. I don't know what to do with the image of their smiling, life-filled faces now burned into my consciousness. I don't know what to do with the images of what they looked like at birth, so like my own tiny two, in contrast to now. And more than anything I am weary of trying to figure out what to do with the swirling emotions that inevitably bubble up to the surface every time a story like this makes it way into the mainstream media.

If only I hadn't insisted on taking the boys to get haircuts. That's the only place I ever pick up People magazine. Little T was right (again), haircuts are dumb.

The last page

2009-02-23T08:47:00.000-08:00

I think I have come to the last page in this journal.

That's how this blog began- as a way to put my thoughts out into the universe. It felt different than putting pen to paper even though I had no idea whether anyone would ever read my words. What I wanted, I think, was for Molly and Joseph to have a bigger mark on the world. I wanted to make sure their story had been told and that our love and longing for them was chronicled. I wanted their names to go out beyond our own little world and to know that maybe, just maybe, they could have an impact on someone else.

I think I did that, and I think I am done.

I have exhausted the words I can find to express the fulness of their existence and I have grown content with the quiet thoughts of my heart.

There are things I could write about- my other kids, my life, my faith. I have done that before and I could continue on that way but I don't have a need for that. I am not interested in writing from a purely superficial level, but I am also not thick skinned enough to take the heat when more controversial topics are raised. I'm not sure I was ever cut out for blogging but I have appreciated tremendously my experience in this strange little land and the friends I have made.

I will probably keep visiting my blog friends now and then, but I am closing up shop.

Be well. God bless.

Peace.

Life in Babylon

2009-02-22T12:07:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder if it is even possible to raise children of faith in this culture? I speak primarily of my own faith, Christianity, but I imagine it isn't any easier for Jewish parents here in the States. I'm sure there are geographical pockets where one would find the task easier than I do in my corner of the ol' USA. I know there are communities in which one faith group is so concentrated that it must feel somewhat less challenging to pass along your faith traditions, values and beliefs. Maybe. I don't know.

I live in a highly secularized area of the country. We are, in fact, statistically one of the most "unchurched" populations in the nation. We have plenty of zealots in our area, they just tend to be fanatical about things like politics, the environment, or public transportation. Even within our communities of faith it can be hard to determine who is there primarily out of a sense of tradition/obligation, and who is there because of deeply held spiritual beliefs. To be a Christian, an open, practicing Christian, is an act of defiance against the majority in this city. Or, at least it feels that way at times.

Big J loves skateboarding. He also loves watching skateboard videos on Youtu.be. Our computer is in a central location of the house and his Yo.utube account goes through my email so I have full access to his viewing habits and any communications he might receive via that medium. Therefore, under our watchful eye, we allow him his You.tube.

This morning I received an YT email notifying J of some new videos posted by some of his favorite skateboarders. Normally I scan these emails quickly, make sure they appear on the up and up, and then delete. But this morning the title of one of the videos caught my eye. It referenced the name of the summer camp Big J has attended every summer since he was in the 4th grade. This camp is his favorite because it has a large, covered skate park and thus offers skateboarding as one of its many activity options. J has loved that camp every single summer he has attended and always comes home beaming and excited and talking about how he wants to be a counselor there someday. Let's call the camp, Camp Skate.

One of the videos listed in my email today was titled, "Camp Skate Sucks."

Camp Skate is a Christian camp. It is a very open, honest Christian camp. It does not pretend to be otherwise and it is clear in every piece of PR they put out that they are a Christian camp. What this means for the kids is that they pray before meals, sing a few God-songs at campfire, and pray with their counselors before bed. That's about it. Other than that, it is a camp with swimming, and crafts, and archery, and moto-x, and skateboarding etc.. etc.. etc... As I said before, Big J has loved it.

During the non-summer months, Camp Skate opens the skatepark during certain hours for kids to come and skateboard for a small fee. They are still quite clear that they are a Christian organization and they consider this part of their ministry. I believe at the end of the session they ask the kids to gather together and they say a short group prayer and then send them on their way. Again, they make no secret of who they are and what they are about.

I checked out this video "Camp Skate Sucks" and while the video itself wasn't too bad, the comments from the boys who attended one of these sessions made my heart sink. They claim to have been unaware it was a Christian skatepark. I don't know how they missed that one. I have never seen a piece of advertising or PR for this camp that wasn't very forthright about their affiliation and intentions. They claim that all they heard was that there would be free Gatorade and so they decided to go.

Their comments weren't surprising to me. I know that not very many kids these days view religious beliefs and practices in a positive light. What was upsetting to me was thinking about how Big J might feel if he should read their comments. The boys were clearly very annoyed and disgusted by the Christian affiliation. One of the comments read, "it is a Christian skatepark-sooooo g.ay!!!" Which is an offensive comment on so many levels.

The part that really bothered me though, on behalf of my son, was their very clear insinuation that anyone who would regularly skate at this skatepark, or profess themselves to be a Christian, is not only idiotic, but not a true skateboarder. In fact, one of them wrote that he thought it was "weird" that any kid would go to this skatepark by choice. A Christian who skateboards? Obviously you would have to be completely and totally lame.

I don't know if Big J will see this video or not and I am torn about whether or not to say anything to him about it. You have to remember, he is our kid who is never enthusiastic about any conversation that might get deep and real. I'm not even sure I could get him to talk about this or admit to having seen it even if I tried. But I do wonder how he feels about these kinds of comments and attitudes. I wonder if he shrugs them off or if they get into his psyche and make him doubt who we are and everything he has been taught? I wonder if it will make him self-conscious about the camp he attends, or telling other skateboarders the name of his school (a Christian school)? Just how much courage and self-awareness can we expect from a 14 year old boy?

It makes me wonder. It makes me worry. It makes me sad.

Monday musings

2009-02-02T08:33:00.001-08:00

- Big J looked painfully tired when he left for school this morning. Disheveled hair, rumpled clothes, bleary eyes, the works. I almost felt a teeny bit guilty when I crawled back into my warm bed after he left. Almost.

- I don't believe for a minute the diet gurus who tell us that if we just eliminate unhealthy starches and sugar from our diet long enough we will no longer crave them. I haven't had an unhealthy starch or refined sugar in almost three weeks and if I could have a big bowl of cookie dough right now without any repercussions to my health or waistline I would eat it in a minute. Seriously, yum.

- I don't know if there is anything sweeter than my Pumpkin when she first wakes up in the morning. When she wraps her arms around my neck and her warm little body snuggles into mine... it's heaven on earth.

- In other news, this "stimulus" package that is about to be foisted on all of us, as well as our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, has got me so angry it is almost causing me to forget my vow never to let anything that politicians do cause me any emotional distress. As a member of a fourth generation family construction business I know full well what happens to government money allocated to "infrastructure." Garbage.

- Why can't I ever get Pumpkin to preschool on time? Could it be because I am sitting at the computer fifteen minutes before she is supposed to be at school?

- Why is it so hard to think of what to fix for dinner every night?

- I know we won't be having another baby. We just won't. And, at the end of the day, it's probably more about missing the two babies I didn't get to raise than it is about wanting another one.

Just when you think...

2009-01-31T16:49:00.000-08:00

I really thought I had settled this. The past six months or so I have felt amazingly content with my life as it stands. The longings and wonderings had faded into a distant memory.

Then today, it hit me again.

Maybe I do want another baby.

Sigh... here we go again. Welcome back emotional roller coaster.

Looking for a do-over

2009-01-27T21:32:00.000-08:00

When I think of my role as a mother, and how well I have fulfilled that role, I often think of the years 2003-2006 as the Missing Years. I do so privately because anyone else in my real life would immediately assure me that I am being too dramatic or too hard on myself or a little of both. And they would be right. To call them the Missing Years is a bit dramatic because, of course, they happened, and I was here, and remarkably there was probably more good than bad.

Still, they were hard, complicated years and I was not always the mother my boys probably needed me to be.

A quick recap:

2003- Became pregnant with twins after 2+ years of going through fertility therapy; unexpectedly had to change schools for reasons beyond our control and not to our liking; started a new school while quite largely pregnant with twins; lost twins two months into the new school year. Grieving commenced.

2004- Still grieving lost babies; became pregnant again; learned my father was diagnosed with cancer.

2005- Still grieving lost babies; new baby born; Dad dies; now caught up in the throes of grieving father while mothering a rather high-need infant.

2006- Still grieving all of the above, still busy mothering beautiful baby- but the fog begins to lift...

And the thing is, when that fog lifted, my boy that had been all of 8 years old when this all started was now 11. And I think I missed some crucial windows of opportunity during that foggy, overwhelming time. He didn't lack for hugs, or smiles, or kisses good night. He didn't lack for love or even attention. What he missed out on was having a fully attuned, intentional mother. I gave him what I had and what came naturally, which was my love, but I didn't have the energy to think of what he might need beyond that. I wasn't looking for where he needed guidance, or support, or critical lessons about life and what lies ahead.

He made it easy, that one. He's a pretty simple guy with pretty simple needs. That's how he likes it, smooth and easy... everything on the level. Don't get too deep, don't push too hard, and we'll get along just fine.

But at 8 years old he was a little more open... a little more willing to hear, to talk, to listen. And I missed that.

Some things never change

2009-01-26T11:07:00.000-08:00

There is a sandwich shop near our home which we frequent all too frequently. The manager knows us by now. If I come in alone she always asks about the kids and she's always excited when I have Pumpkin with me. Clearly she enjoys children.

Today I popped in there just to get my precious diet soda (yeah, whatever, sue me), and she happily revealed to me that she is expecting twins.

Now, I've been at this long enough now that it wasn't any trouble for me to smile and offer her my most sincere best wishes. She told me she is really happy and excited and I told her that she should be, that it is wonderful news.

What surprised me was how much I wanted to tell her that I too was once expecting twins. That I had twins. That I know that excitement of planning for two babies to arrive at once. I wanted to share the good parts, but there was no way to do that without also sharing the bad. And sharing my own sad experience would not have been fair at all to her in the midst of her own happiness. She doesn't need my cautionary tale. I'm sure she has plenty of worries all of her own making. She's only 17 weeks along, she doesn't need me planting the thought that 7 weeks from now it could all be over, especially when in all likelihood it won't be. She, like the majority of other mothers who carry twins, will probably bring her babies home. And that is exactly what I want for her.

I got in the car and found myself needing to take a few deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I felt the tears starting to rise and I didn't want them to. I just didn't. So I stopped them, but somehow I haven't been able to lift the heavy weight that has settled on my heart since our conversation. Sometimes you can only push aside so much.

So much has gotten better in the past five years, but some things... I think they will just always be hard.

The song remembers when

2009-01-07T22:16:00.000-08:00

Today as I was driving along listening to Pumpkin chatter in the backseat a song came on the radio, one of the many songs that always bring Joseph and Molly to the forefront of my thoughts. As I let the lyrics penetrate my consciousness (something I sometimes prevent myself from doing) I felt tears spring to my eyes. No real tears, no sobs, just that abrupt swell of emotion that overtakes us when we are suddenly confronted with a memory so powerful it resonates in every fiber of our being.

Five years later I now possess an emotional Stop Button that functions quite nicely most of the time. It is the button I can press when I simply do not want to go there, right now, in this moment. It is the button that allows me to attend a birthday party for boy/girl twins and focus solely on my own adorable, living almost four year old child. And now, five years later mind you, it is the button I can go to when I feel the melancholy start to descend and yet there are dishes to wash, homework to correct and bedtime stories to be read.

I am grateful to have at long last acquired this handy Stop Button. But, at the same time, I am also glad that there are moments and memories that cannot always be so carefully controlled. I am glad to know a song can still bring them back to me- even for a moment.

Progress

2009-01-03T21:52:00.001-08:00

Progress- We are home. We are all reveling in the complete absence of snow and are not uttering a single complaint about the rain. I am choosing to ignore the overflowing suitcases and boxes yet to be unpacked.

Progress- I have declared an immediate end to the EatFest 2008 I have engaged in over the past two weeks and have initiated the beginnings of Return to Healthy Living 2009. I have exercised yesterday and today and have cut my daily calorie count by about 12,000 (that might be an exaggeration).

Progress- Pumpkin was asleep by 9:00 tonight as opposed to the 10:30pm bedtime she adopted over Christmas break.

Progress- Big J has conceded that he probably should formulate a plan for studying for his finals which will take place in three short weeks.

Progress- Today I took Pumpkin to a birthday party for four year old boy/girl twins and I suffered only the smallest ache when they sat side by side and blew out the candles on their cupcakes.

Progress- I am learning to celebrate progress rather than seek perfection.

And so it begins... or doesn't

2009-01-01T10:57:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year one and all!

And yet we are still here on The Other Side of the Mountains, feeling as though we are living our own version of Groundhog Day. More snow... Pass closed... can't get home.

It's a good thing I don't hold much stock in New Years, or resolutions, or artificial beginnings, because I might consider this a rather inauspicious start to 2009. But instead, in my Pollyanna way, I will see the blessings.

At least we weren't already on the road when the Pass was closed thus needing to either turn around or wait it out in Small Town, Northwest.

At least we have a warm, dry, cozy home in which to bide our time until the storm passes.

At least, and in fact there is nothing least about it, we have each other.

So, all of those choruses we sang about dreaming of a white christmas... enough already.

Prepare Ye

2008-12-19T21:33:00.000-08:00

We are safely on the Other Side of the Mountains. We managed to travel in the perfect weather window. Today the pass is closed and snow and wind are making even travel about town very difficult. It doesn't matter now though, we are safely tucked inside our warm little house here on the other side of the state.

It's been years since we have seen this much snow at Christmastime, even on this side of the state. It's really something. Well over two feet of snow has fallen and the drifts are considerably higher. A winter wonderland is putting it mildly. It's beginning to feel a lot like the North Pole around here.

I spent the day preparing and organizing our home for the endless stream of wet shoes and clothes that will be traipsing in and out of doors over the next two weeks we are here. It is critical that an adequate and carefully planned system be in place. One cannot have wet snow boots, hats and mittens simply thrown about willy nilly. That level of anarchy will only lead to a cranky mother. Hooks have been installed, cubbies put together, and appropriate drying locations have been designated. Everyone has been initiated and schooled on Winter 101 and so hopefully there will not be any breakdowns in the system.

Preparations for Christmas are in full swing. I have been furtively wrapping whenever I have a spare moment to myself. Unwrapped presents are carefully hidden along with all of the little items that will go in their stockings. I can feel myself starting to get very excited to see their faces on Christmas morning. I confess that I do love to give my children Christmas gifts. We resist giving them many "extras" throughout the year, so this is my time to indulge them a little. It is truly a delight for me to try and think of that special something that will both surprise and thrill them Christmas morning. I think I have succeded this year.

On our drive over the mountains, I asked the boys what gifts they could bring to give everyone that weren't things. Little T was initially confused, but Big J caught my drift right away. He immediately rattled off things like, "patience", "kindness", "helpfulness". Little T, now understanding my meaning, added "generosity", "good attitude" and "being calm". I told them that those would be the very best gifts they could give me and that I would try to give the same gifts to them in return. So far, I think we are all doing pretty well.

I'm rambling.... the snow is having a quieting effect on me. It's hard not to just settle onto the couch under a blanket and plan on not moving until Christmas. But there are things to be done, snow forts to build, stories to be read, presents to wrap.... And, hopefully, somewhere in there will also be time to watch, listen, pray, and wonder at the amazing reality we celebrate at Christmastime.

For God so loved the world....

Merry Christmas... blessings to everyone, everywhere.

His moment

2008-12-17T17:27:00.000-08:00

Someone forgot to tell someone that December in the Northwest is no longer soccer season. Someone forgot to tell Little T and the rest of his team that if they keep winning in the tournament they will still be playing soccer one week before Christmas- in the freezing cold, with the potential of snow. Someone forgot to tell someone and so now my 10 year old is off playing in the semi-finals, in freezing temperatures, with the potential for snowfall at any given moment. Someone apparently also forgot to tell him that all of this doesn't sound fun because he left the house very, very excited.

I found him on the couch staring into space. I couldn't help but be curious/concerned by his lack of movement and noise and inquired as to what he was doing. He sheepishly told me he was meditating.

Meditating? I asked, ever more curious.

Well, kind of.... I'm trying to visualize my game.

What are you visualizing? I asked him with a smile.

Oh... I'm picturing us scoring goals and everybody gathered together at the end of the game cheering. He told me with a big grin.

I've never seen Little T so keyed up over an athletic event. He is our sports-guy, and he shows admirable talent for a boy of his age, but he has always had the ability to carry the pressure of sports lightly and with a sense of humor. Seeing his anxiousness immediately made the butterflies fly from his stomach into mine.

How do we do this? How do we encourage and celebrate our children's triumphs without fearing their disappointments? How do we share in their joys and sorrows without owning their joys and sorrows?

I haven't been able to go to all of Little T's games but I told him I was planning on bundling up Pumpkin and trying to catch at least some of his game.

He blurted out, Don't do that!!

Confused, I asked him, You don't want me to come?

No, he confessed, it will just make me so much more nervouser (yes, he said nervouser).

I assured him that I didn't want to do anything to add to his nerves, so I would look forward to hearing all about it after the fact. But I couldn't help but add that there was no one in the world more on his side than me.

No matter what happens tonight, Little T, I will think you were fabulous.

He smiled, but declared, Yeah! Especially if we win!!

And off he went... into the frozen tundra, to slay his own dragons and learn how to hold his head high in either victory or defeat.

And I am left at home, keeping the home fires burning, pacing, watching the clock, and wondering how my little knight is faring in battle.

Update: They lost. It went to a Shoot Out (when the game is tied at the end of regulation time, they go to a series of five penalty kicks per team). That's a tough way to lose. Still, Little T has been bouncing around with his characteristic grin and sparkle. He seems a little disappointed but, as usual, he's not letting it bring him down for long.

Because it is a double-elimination tournament, and this is their first loss, they play again tomorrow for one more chance to go to the championship. Even if they lose, they will have finished in 3rd place, which is terrific. That will also mean we can leave to head Over the Mountains on Saturday as planned. So, now.... I kind of have mixed feelings on whether I want them to win tomorrow. I guess the good news is that there will be good news either way.

First Snow

2008-12-15T10:46:00.000-08:00

What's old is new

2008-12-12T22:18:00.000-08:00

Many thoughts these days, few words.

Instead I will share some beautiful words I came across that have startled me with their timelessness. I love finding words written in a completely different time and space that speak so clearly to me today.

What good is it to me

if this eternal birth of the divine Son

takes place unceasingly

but does not take place

within myself?

And,

What good is it to me

if Mary is full of grace

and if I am not also full of grace?

What good is it to me

for the Creator to give birth to the Son

if I do not also give birth to him

in my time

and my culture?

This, then,

is the fullness of time:

When the Son of God

is begotten

in us.

Meister Eckhart (1260-1329)

Looking out for the littlest

2008-12-06T22:18:00.000-08:00

Like most young children, Pumpkin has a tendency to get on bedtime book jags. Night after night, in spite of my attempts to entice her with all of the other lovely books on her shelf, she will select the same book from the pile. Night after night I read the same words, with the same inflection, and try not to drift off to sleep before the exciting conclusion. The past few nights the book of choice has been The Three Billy Goats Gruff.

The version we have of this classic story is really quite charming. I enjoy the illustrations and it has been re-told in such a way that is very true to the original. This particular book was also a fan favorite of each of my boys at various times and so I am quite familiar with its content. But as we all know, familiarity can breed complacency which was why I was so delighted when Pumpkin opened my eyes anew to this well known little tale.

The other night, after the three billy goats had successfully gotten themselves to the lush meadow of green grass and daisies, I proceeded to close the book with a cheerful, The End. Pumpkin, however, was not quite finished.

She took the book from my hands and studied its cover in silence for a moment. She ran her small hand over the picture, pausing for a second on each of the three billy goats. Then she slowly said, Mommy? Her brow furrowed and her gaze became increasingly quizzical. She said again, slowly and thoughtfully, Mommy? Why didn't the BIG billy goat just go first?

Before I could answer (or start laughing) she said again, answering her own question, Yeah. He should have gone first. He was the BIGGEST. Why did the little one go first? He might have been EATEN!

I looked at the picture with her and said all that I could think to say, I don't know, Pumpkin. But you're right, that would have made more sense, wouldn't it?

She nodded firmly, Yes. The biggest one should have gone first.

I thought her new enlightened view of The Three Billy Goats Gruff might mean it would get relegated to the bottom of the pile again, but no. We read it again tonight and she still wondered why that tiny little billy goat was sent to the wolves first when the biggest billy goat had the power to defeat the troll all along.

I guess I can take comfort in knowing there is no way Pumpkin will allow herself to be manipulated by her two older, much bigger brothers into being the first to cross any bridges occupied by trolls.

On growing up

2008-12-03T07:17:00.001-08:00

I imagine it would surprise most people to know that Pumpkin still sleeps in a crib. She is fast approaching four years old and I realize most children move out of the crib and into a bed long before then. It doesn't strike me as odd mainly because I have always been one to delay the move out of the crib as long as possible. Big J was exactly three when he was bumped from the crib in anticipation of the arrival of Little T. And Little T also remained in the crib until he was three even though there was no one coming along after him at that point. But Pumpkin has definitely set the record in this household.

I remember clearly Little T's move out of the crib mainly because I wasn't here for it. When Big J was in Kindergarten, he and I went to visit friends of ours who had moved to Paris. It was a big adventure for my little guy and I, and we left Little T and Superdad at home to fend for themselves (grandma came to take care of Little T during the day). At some point when we were away Superdad got a wild hair and decided it was time to move Little T from the crib and into the toddler bed that Big J had previously occupied. By the time I came home, the crib had been taken down and there was this little big boy bed in its place. I was stunned. In truth, I was a little angry. How could he make such a momentous decision in my absence? How could my baby boy not have needed his mommy to help him through this transition? How could they both be acting like it was positively no big deal??

The crib had been taken down and remained so for a long time after. We were hoping for another child, we were trying for another child, but another child remained an illusion.

We lost the twins before we had even had a chance to set that crib back up again. We had started discussions of buying a second crib but had decided in the early weeks they could sleep together in one crib. After they died, I gave the crib away. I gave a lot of things away, in fact. All of those boxes of baby clothes and pieces of furniture felt far too hopeful. They represented a faith in something that I couldn't muster at the time and I needed them to go away.

My sister helped me sort through the mounds of baby clothes I had left over from the boys. She encouraged me to keep several of my favorites and then she bagged up the rest and took them over the mountains to share with her sister in law, who was in need of baby boy clothes.

Superdad watched my sorrowful, maniacal purge with patience. He let me give it all away, even driving the crib himself to the Catholic church down the street who would be able to give it to a young mother in need. A friend, who helped arrange for the crib donation, asked me gently, are you sure? I simply said, yes.

When I became pregnant again, and all throughout those long 40 weeks, Superdad never once said anything to the effect of, we never should have given all that away. Never once. He let me set my own timeline as to when and how to plan for this new life, and never said a word about the dollars that were spent to replace items we had previously owned.

My mother and father bought Pumpkin a new crib. A few weeks before she was due to be born Superdad and I set it up in her freshly painted nursery. Neither one of us spoke of the optimism being expressed in those spring green walls, upholstered rocking chair and flowery crib bumpers. In the end, we could no longer speak of our fears, or our hopes, we just forged ahead.

Once the crib was set up, I remember sitting for a long time in the rocking chair looking around her room. With my eyes wide open I began to picture her in every corner of that room. I could see her in her crib. I could feel her in my arms. I imagined her twirling before her closet trying to decide what to wear. I could see her. Everything in me felt that if I could imagine her vividly enough, I could will her into existence.

Last night, Pumpkin complained again that she was ready to sleep in her big bed. It's already there. She has always had a twin bed in her room, left over from when that room was Little T's room. But it has been only recently that she has begun to understand that bed is her bed, and available to be slept in. Once again I promised her that we would get a rail for the bed soon and she would be able to sleep in it. I reminded her that she doesn't want to fall out of the bed and so we need to wait until we have a rail for it.

A pink rail, she reminds me.

Yes, a pink rail, I tell her.

I imagined the empty space that will be left when the crib is taken down in this house for the last time. And then I imagined all of the moments and memories that will come along to fill that space. She is here, just as I pictured. And the last thing I should wish for is for time to stand still.

Advent, expectation and hope

2008-12-01T07:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the first Sunday of Advent. In keeping my promise to myself that our family would become more aware of, and centered in, the calendar of our faith, I gathered my brood together in the evening for some "Advent time." They dutifully made their way to the living room and I am pleased to say there was not a single grumble. Big J did inquire as to what exactly we were going to be doing, and how long might it take? But he did so politely and didn't really seem all that bothered having claimed a comfy corner position on the couch.

Pumpkin scrambled into the middle spot on the couch, delighted to be seated between her beloved eldest brother and her mama. I only had to admonish Big J once to be a good example to his sister rather than encouraging her to be silly and disruptive. They responded by looking at each other and giggling.

Because it was Sunday, we had two reflections to cover. The lighting of the Advent candles, along with a short litany I had prepared, and the daily devotion for our Jesse Tree. Neither one is long or involved, I am not stupid, but the boys still managed to be moderately annoying and unfocused. Nevertheless, they did obediently participate and I think they might actually be able to explain the meaning behind the Jesse Tree. Maybe.

Pumpkin begged to be the candle lighter and we all obliged her for the first lighting of the first candle of Advent. However, I am well aware that Little T will not be interested in being so accommodating every evening and so I have a feeling we will have some tears, or multiple candle lightings, over the next few nights. It will be easier when there are at least two candles to light.

At the end of it all, it felt more like an exercise in gritted teeth patience, then the atmosphere of quiet expectation I had fantasized about. But as Superdad assured me, there is no way our kids are growing up without understanding what we value and believe. What they do with these traditions someday will be their own choice. Ultimately, their faith will be between them and God. But, in the meantime, I can continue to plant seeds, fertilize the soil, and pray for all of our efforts to bear fruit.

The first candle of Advent is the Candle of Hope. Indeed.

Just thankful

2008-11-27T21:04:00.000-08:00

It's getting late. I am stuffed full of turkey, pie and all the trimmings. Pumpkin needs to get to bed and so do I. The boys have already retired to their quarters and soon the house will be quiet.

We are spending this Thanksgiving on The Other Side of the Mountains, in our country home. It's our first Thanksgiving here with our own little sanctuary. It is positively wonderful. I spent the morning baking pies and trimming green beans in my own kitchen. In the early afternoon we went up to my Mom's and had a wonderful Thanksgiving with all of the family that could be in town. And now we have the blessing of being able to retreat back to our own space and end the day on our own terms. It's perfect.

My Mom seemed happy today which also makes me very thankful. I don't forget for one minute how stark and empty the holidays must feel for her without my father here- even though she doesn't show it. This is also her first Thanksgiving without her mom, my Nana, which must also feel strangely hollow.

I admire my Mom. She does an amazing job of focusing on the blessings in the present while allowing herself to remain mindful, even wistful, for those things she wishes were different. Those things we all wish were different.

So, I shall head up to bed thankful. Thankful for family, for home, for my children, my parents, my siblings... just thankful.

Good night. Happy Thanksgiving.

Moments on memory cards

2008-11-25T07:10:00.000-08:00

Having returned from our quick little vacation, and while wading through the 100+ photos I took, I can't help but be thankful for photography and video in all its forms.

I'd like to think I would never forget this face. But I would, eventually. I might be able to conjure up some vague version of her three year old self someday, but it wouldn't have the crystallized quality of this image. The sparkle, the tongue, the gleeful grin... I don't think I would have remembered all that. And so I am thankful for moments like this, caught on "film."

All work and no play...

2008-11-19T21:19:00.000-08:00

...makes this family cranky! So we are going to play for a few days!

Thus, I will be taking a blogging hiatus from my 30 Days of Thanks, but I promise I won't stop counting my blessings! It should be easy since I am never more thankful than when I get to make memories with my little family. See you when we get back!

Oh, and a quick shout out to Little T. The boys came home with their marching orders from their teachers in regards to the two days of school they will be missing. T had a pretty sizable stack of work but he was bound and determined to get as much done as he could before we leave tomorrow morning. He parked himself at our dining table for nearly three hours and diligently slogged through every single piece of work he had been assigned. He finished it all. I need to remember that boy's amazing self-motivation the next time he is making me positively insane with his non-stop energy.

Big J on the other hand.... well, he had a lot of excellent rationales for why it will be better for him to do most of his work while on vacation. Still, he did get a fair amount done and his attitude is a vast improvement over what it would have been last year. So, we will be thankful for progress.

Sunrise blessings

2008-11-16T22:07:00.000-08:00

Well... this is kind of starting to become the Every-other-day-of-thanks, but the truth is I really do spend all day focusing on my blessings because I am always trying to figure out what I will write that night! So even if I don't always write it down, it is still having its intended effect.

Today's blessing arrived with the rising of the sun- which is always a nice way to start the day. Pumpkin was in bed with me after a 2:00am nightmare that left her shrieking, "Moooother!!!" (Yes, mother. She prefers to call me mother these days.... I don't know why).

I had shot out of bed and dashed down the hallway as fast as I could knowing that the decibel was only likely to grow. I moved toward her in the darkened room and found her already standing, arms stretched out, ready to leap into mine as soon as I was close enough. She wrapped her little arms and legs around me like a chimpanzee and nestled her tear-stained face into my neck.

I have mentioned before that my tolerance for sleep deprivation is very, very low. This has caused me to adopt a whatever-gets-mom-the-most-sleep philosophy of nighttime parenting. I am all for short term results and care little about long term consequences when faced with a parenting conundrum at 2am. I console myself with the knowledge that this same lackadaisical attitude was used with my boys and they both sleep perfectly fine now and have for many years. All of this is to explain why once Pumpkin was firmly attached to my body my immediate path was back to my own bed where I plopped her down between Superdad and I and climbed back underneath my warm, cozy covers.

I have a confession to make... I don't really mind when this happens every now and then. There is something so profoundly reassuring about how quickly our daughter can move from terror to complete peace by the simple act of lying her down in between the two people who love her most in the world. Without fail she falls back to sleep nearly instantly. Her breathing slows, her body relaxes, her arms fling open wide in complete trust. She rests easily in the knowledge that nothing in the world could possibly harm her now that she is in this place- this fortress of love.

This morning we all slept in a little and so Pumpkin and I awoke at the same time. As we stretched and yawned we began to peek at each other through bleary, sleepy eyes. Once she realized where she was, and who was next to her, she scooted even closer to me and burrowed her head into my arms. We both dozed that way for a little while longer and then slowly started to say our good mornings.

I whispered, I love you, Pumpkin.

She whispered back, I love you too, Mother.

And the day began...

Mixed blessings

2008-11-14T11:55:00.000-08:00

I mentioned few posts ago that I have made a new friend, and indeed I have. This is momentous for me because although I have plenty of friendly acquaintances and a few good friends, I don't make new friends easily. I have trouble pushing past the barrier that stands between friendly chit chat and actual friendship. Somehow this time I have succeeded and I have enjoyed having a new person to call up for playground playdates or to share a laugh over lunch. I'm starting to think that my social need may be higher than I once thought.

Here's the trouble... my new friend will only be living here for another 9 months or so. Her husband is doing his fellowship work here and at the end of the fellowship they will move back to Michigan. I certainly don't begrudge them this arrangement, I want only the best for them and their family. They both grew up in Michigan and have family there so it all makes perfect sense. But I am a little sad that this new friendship comes with an expiration date.

I realize there is no reason we cannot continue to be friends in some fashion. I imagine we will exchange Christmas cards and send each other occasional emails, but let's be realistic... Michigan and my corner of the States couldn't be much further apart and life has a way of moving on.

I have decided though that their impending move is no reason not to continue to enjoy this new friendship while she is here. Really that would be the height of selfishness, wouldn't it? Plus, I have the feeling God is trying to teach me something with this relationship.

So, today, I am thankful for mixed blessings.

Grasping at straws

2008-11-12T20:53:00.001-08:00

Today was one of those days that was just so darn ordinary (see previous post) it is really hard to conjure up much gratitude. Oh, I am always thankful in a sort of vague I'm thankful for my life etc... way- but I would like to try and attempt to be a bit more specific than that.

So... here I go...

I am thankful that I don't have to be 13 again. I am especially thankful I don't have to be 13 while sporting a new set of braces on my teeth. I never had braces (yes, he hates me for that) but it really doesn't seem fun. I am also thankful he is handling it with such aplomb and good humor.

I am thankful Big J's science project is done- a day early.

I am thankful that Little T has school tomorrow after having the past three days off. I've loved having him home... but, well, it's enough.

I am thankful Pumpkin was asleep by 8:30 tonight.

I am thankful that I have the sort of husband who doesn't bat an eye (or complain) when he walks in the door at the end of the day and I say, I have no idea what we are having for dinner.

I am thankful I have very little on my schedule for the next two days because I really need to get some housecleaning done. And before I allow myself to mutter even a single whine about that, I will say that I am thankful I have a house to clean.

So, see there? There's always something...

Next thing you know I'll be changing my name to Pollyanna.

Ordinary time

2008-11-11T21:49:00.000-08:00

The Christian calendar has six seasons. The calendar begins with Advent and then moves to the seasons of Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter and Pentecost. After Pentecost there is a long period of time that is simply known as Ordinary Time.

I have always loved that name... Ordinary Time. To me it speaks to the reality that we cannot live in a constant state of heightened awareness, celebration, or even worship. We can't always be either feasting or fasting. Most of our lives exist somewhere in the middle.

In these final days of Ordinary Time I am trying to be thankful for just that. The dailiness of it all. I am trying to take comfort in routine and even the mundane. Ordinary Time is what allows us to not only recharge for the busier seasons of the church year, but also to anticipate them. As we move closer toward Advent we can start to taste and feel all that comes with that season of quiet expectation. But it's not here yet...

Today is still Ordinary. Tomorrow will be too. I choose to be thankful for that.

The Gratitude Police and grace

2008-11-10T08:32:00.000-08:00

Well, I missed Saturday and Sunday so the first thing I am thankful for is that there is no such thing as the 30 Days of Thanks police and that no one will be coming to confiscate my computer as punishment for my poor participation. Phew!

It was an odd weekend in some respects. Little T had a classmate over to play which gave all of us cause to be thankful and to practice grace. This young boy, all of about 10 years old, is Korean and is going to school here in the States away from his family, his homeland, and his culture of origin. He lives here with guardians whom I believe are also Korean and goes home to visit during school breaks (provided they are of sufficient length to warrant the 9 hour plane trip home). He has been doing this since the third grade.

He is a quirky child and it made me proud that Little T has befriended him since I wonder how well he relates to the other children. He prefers to dress formally, listens to classical music and is a bit OCD when it comes to cleanliness and hand washing. He has no interest in sports (other than Tae Kwon Do, in which he is quite accomplished). He doesn't care for video games or TV. It was a little embarrassing for me when I caught myself wondering, what on earth will they do? But, of course, there are other options and they did find them.

Unfortunately one of the other options turned out to be the destruction of our house. Both incidents were accidents, certainly not intentional, but they left Superdad and I wondering if this boy might possibly be bionic. He was more than apologetic. He actually seemed a bit afraid as to what the consequences might be until I assured him that we were not the sort of adults who believe in punishing children severely for mistakes, however much damage they might have caused to our walls and doors. He seemed slightly reassured by that but never stopped apologizing for his "incompetence" and for giving "a very poor impression."

I don't know if he will ever come over again. It wouldn't surprise me if he felt too mortified to ever set foot in our house again and I'm not sure the playdate was his idea anyway. In surveying the damage Superdad and I had to wonder if we ever wanted him to come over again. But if there were ever a boy in need of forgiveness, love and grace, this is the boy. I feel thankful that we had the opportunity to show him a little bit of all three, I pray we succeeded.

So this weekend I felt thankful that we do not live in a situation, or a country, or whatever the reason, that we feel it is in our children's best interest to send them thousands of miles away from home to gain an education. I felt thankful that we have a son with a kind, open heart who has the capacity to befriend a child so completely unlike himself (think Oscar and Felix). I felt thankful that I am married to a man who can keep his cool even in the face of lapses in judgement resulting in the need to get out tools, spackle and paint. I felt thankful once again for this little family, our home, and the blessing of abiding together under one roof.

Room to breathe

2008-11-07T17:03:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me would have to know how thankful I am to be a mother. Before Big J entered our lives there was a long 2 1/2 years when we wondered if we would ever be blessed with a child. After all of the rounds of fertility drugs, negative pregnancy tests and unanswered prayers, my pregnancy and safe delivery of Baby J was nothing short of radiant. We reveled in his very being and my initiation into motherhood was sweet indeed (that's the beauty of looking back from the distance of 13+ years- long forgotten are all the sleepless nights and fussy evenings).

I love babies. I love all of my babies, the three I got to keep, and the two who now wait for me. But each subsequent pregnancy became increasingly difficult for me, both physically and emotionally. Mothering a newborn while having an older child or children to tend to was not as simple as it was in those first days when there was only one. I discovered I was not the multi-tasker I thought I was and that my tolerance for sleep deprivation was very, very low. My kids never lacked for love and affection, but I can look back now and see so many missed opportunities simply because I didn't possess the energy to rise to every single motherhood moment.

Over the past year or so I made the decision that it was time for me to say goodbye to the pursuit of motherhood and to instead embrace the motherhood that is mine. This came with mixed feelings and more than a few shed tears, but I believe I am beginning to arrive at a place of contentment with this new season. Not only contentment, but excitement, energy and lots and lots of plans.

Oh, it's not that I haven't always tried to be an intentional mother. I have and, for the most part, I believe I have done a good job with my kids thus far. But, as I said, there have been some missed opportunities over the years and I am more than a little revved up about starting to make up for lost time.

One thing I have always wanted to do is to bring more of the liturgical calendar, the Christian calendar, into our daily lives. Living the seasons of our faith has always been important to me but I have done a poor job of sharing this passion with my children. Daunted by elaborate craft-oriented parent guides (ugh!) I have allowed my desire for my children to know the rhythm of the church year to fall by the wayside. No more!

I am beginning to plan now for the seasons of Advent, Christmas and Epiphany. I have learned from my past errors and know that if I do not plan now it will not happen then. I am very good at shooting from the hip in some areas, but not this one. I want our family celebration of these seasons to be meaningful, realistic, and beautiful in its simplicity. That takes some thought.

One book that is proving to be a lovely way to guide my thoughts is The Circle of Seasons: Meeting God in the church year by Kimberlee Conway Ireton. This engaging little book is such a nice introduction to understanding the liturgical calendar without going into an unnecessary amount of church history. It answers very simply how we got from there to here and what we can do now to keep these seasons alive within the fabric of our daily lives.

As I sat on the couch today reading from The Circle of Seasons, musing about my plans for the season of Advent that is only a few short weeks away, I listened to Pumpkin playing in the other room with her animals and dolls. Hearing her animated chatter I couldn't help bask a bit in the glow of her rich imagination, her good health, and her very being. But at the same time it didn't take long to remember what afternoons were like not that long ago when she was a baby. No doubt they were wonderful in their own way and I reveled in her existence then as well. But there weren't a lot of afternoons spent curled up reading on the couch while she happily entertained herself. Of course not, that's not what babies are supposed to do. But she's not a baby anymore and... well, I'm a little bit thankful for that (if that's okay to say).

There's just a little more room to breathe these days. A little more room to be. A little more room to dream. A little more room to plan. And that little more room feels really, really good right now.

I'm thankful.

New friends

2008-11-06T21:00:00.000-08:00

Pumpkin and I have each made a new friend. The best part is that her new friend is the daughter of my new friend. Isn't that convenient?

Our new friends came over today and while the girls enjoyed playing all sorts of games in Pumpkin's room, the mommies actually had a chance to visit. How great is that? An adult conversation. In the middle of the day... on a Thursday. Who would have ever thought?

I am thankful for my new friend.

On a side note: My new friend noticed a couple of the mementos in our home that honor Molly and Joseph and asked me about them. I shared a glimpse into our family story and she couldn't have been lovelier about it. She was appropriately compassionate, asked gentle questions, and offered not a single platitude or cliche. For that too, I am thankful.

In the absence of wisdom

2008-11-05T09:33:00.000-08:00

Loss never really ends, you know? I mean, if you lose something or someone significant in your life there will always be surprising, unexpected moments when that empty space suddenly becomes a gaping cavern again. You will heal, you will making meaning of your losses, you will find ways to live again, but the absence of what was will still find its way into the reality of what is.

Today, I miss my Dad. Really, really miss my Dad.

Last night I went to bed feeling as though I wanted to cry but couldn't. I had no idea why. I don't really care all that much about the election. I choose not to invest myself in politics to the degree that I misplace my proper allegiance. God is first in my life. I place my trust and my salvation in God, not mere mortals who have happened to attain messiah-like status. I refuse to enter into a world where we treat the opinions of celebrities as gospel and journalists act as campaign managers. I do care about my country and its policies. I believe government can be a force for good. I just don't believe it is the ultimate force for good, or even the most effective one.

So why have I felt tears hovering so close to the surface for the last 24 hours?

Because I miss my Dad.

There was no one in my world who understood politics and government better than my father. He was slow to offer his opinion, never one to jump on a soapbox, but if you asked, and he told you... you couldn't help but listen.

There was a time when I was very young when many people were trying to convince my father to run for the state legislature. I don't know what position they were encouraging him to run for, I was too young to know the difference. What I remember was it being discussed between my parents and my Dad's smile when he told us that he decided not to because it would mean too much time away from his family and leaving behind the company he loved. I never heard it mentioned again.

Instead my father invested his time and his resources into his community, candidates he believed in, and causes he cared about. He also read- voraciously. He subscribed to at least four major news magazines (I think there may have been more), and read multiple newspapers. And unlike most of us, he did not seek out only those publications that supported his particular political bent. He thrived on reading both sides of every issue at all times. He was one of the only people I have ever known who could watch Cspan with interest and enjoyment. He knew the name and party of every single senator (I mean it, every single one), and a startling number of the congressmen and women.

Today there is a lump in my throat and tears rolling down my cheeks because I desperately want to hear what my Dad would say. I want to know his opinion, his predictions, his sage advice. I want to hear him sum it all up in 3-4 sentences as only he was able to do. I want to pick the vast knowledge of his sponge-like brain and at the same time hear him laugh again, because he always knew how to laugh.

My father was no optimist. Nor was he pessimist. He was at all times a realist. I could use some help right now figuring out what is real.

But because this is the month for counting our blessings, I will do my best to turn this sorrow on its head. Today I am thankful that I had 35 years to learn from and be nurtured by such a giant of a man. I am thankful my Dad got to know my husband and my husband got to know him (what kindred spirits they were!) I am thankful my Dad got to meet all of my children and that somehow they will all carry a piece of him into the future. I am thankful for the impact my Dad had on so many lives and the ways his quiet generosity lives on in us all.

I am thankful for my Dad, even as I miss him so.

Status quo

2008-11-04T21:24:00.000-08:00

With all of the frenzied excitement around words like change in my country tonight, I am actually feeling very thankful for all of those things that will still be the same when I wake up tomorrow morning. It's not that I am categorically opposed to change, I just tend to like to ease into things. Radical swings of the pendulum make me queasy.

When I wake up my faith will not have changed, my family will not have changed, my home will not have changed, and my friends will not have changed. I feel very, very thankful for that.

When things don't add up

2008-11-03T21:17:00.000-08:00

My 8th grade math teacher was an incomprehensibly bad teacher. I say this as someone who has the utmost respect for teachers and knows how hard most of them work to inspire and educate young people. I say this also as someone who knows though that they aren't all like that. My 8th grade math teacher was not like that.

It was rumored among the students that he was a notorious pothead and was most often stoned. Even looking back now from an adult perspective I think we were right.

He managed to never once correct a single paper or test. We, the students, corrected each other's homework and tests. His only task in the whole process was to decide whether we would hand our paper to the person behind us or in front of us. Once corrected we would call out the scores to him (an exercise in humiliation for math students like myself) and then either put away or toss the graded paper. He never once looked at our work or even seemed to care whether we were giving him accurate information (which not everyone was).

When my parents discovered that I was flunking the 2nd quarter of math, my mother promptly went to meet with my math teacher and the school counselor. He casually admitted that he had no idea why I was struggling because he had never seen me work a single problem all year.

The first morning I went into school early, under the pretense of getting extra help from him, he looked at me over his cup of coffee and said, "You don't want to be here, do you?" Stunned into a compliant silence I stared at him unsure of what to say. It was clear that he didn't want me there, that was very, very clear. Taking my silence as agreement he smiled and waved his hand and said, "Go on. You don't need to be here." And so I left. My Mom hired me a tutor.

The bizarre saving grace of the whole year was that this teacher had another unique practice of letting all of his students choose their grade for the 4th quarter. He would simply go around the room and have everyone state out loud what grade they felt they had earned. There were always a couple of honorable students who opted for a "B", but for the most part every single kid gave themselves an "A." So did I.

I passed 8th grade math with a low "C."

So today, I am thankful for Big J's 8th grade math teacher.

He is the polar opposite of my own 8th grade math teacher which is reason enough to be very, very thankful. He is engaging and interested in his students. He encourages and patiently answers all questions. He allows the students to re-take any test that they do not do well on for the shocking reason that he "would rather they learn the material than just accept a bad grade and move on." He knows his subject, he enjoys teaching, and he is doggedly determined to get these kids to learn the fundamentals of mathematics.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. W. You are a champ.

The gift of time

2008-11-02T20:45:00.000-08:00

Tonight I am thankful for the gift of time.

Time that creates new maturity in a growing boy.

Time that heals.

Time that turns our clocks back and allows an extra hour of sleep and a newfound earlier bedtime for one three year old girl.

Time that marches us closer to seasons of thankfulness and renewed joy.

Time that arrives without fail each and every morning and is ours for the taking.

Most of all, I am thankful that it is now time for bed.

Good night.

Gratitude - Day 1

2008-11-01T23:10:00.000-07:00

November is here and once again my friend Joy has inspired me to participate in a month long celebration of gratitude. The goal is to acknowledge something I am thankful for each and every day of the month of November. I am going to say at the outset I might not make everyday, but I am going to try! I am a big believer in counting our blessings so this will be as good an exercise as any.

Today I am thankful for a warm, dry home, food on the table, and an evening spent catching up with old friends.

It's simple, but it's true. This evening we had over for dinner a family whom we have known since Big J was an infant. The mom and I met in a new mom's group with our tiny infant sons and we have remained friends ever since. Even more wonderfully, our boys grew to be best friends and remain so almost 14 years later. Along came our second sons and they too grew to be best of pals. It is a friendship that has been a blessing on so many levels and it is always fun to get together with their whole family. If only they would have had done us the favor of having a little girl to match up with Pumpkin... (just kidding, of course).

So that's it. Just thankful for friendship.

How about you? Wanna play along?

Tricks and Treats

2008-10-31T22:24:00.000-07:00

Trick- What do you do when you realize that you haven't done nearly all of the things you had hoped to do as a mother with your firstborn and now he's almost 14. Is it too late?

Treat- Your three year old can recite all of Five Little Pumpkins complete with hand motions, proper inflection and ending in a delightful giggle.

Trick- Should adults really be walking around trick or treating with their children with a glass of wine in their hands?

Treat- A 10 year old who looked smashing dressed up as a Milwaukee Brewers baseball player and was perfectly content to trick or treat with just his mom and little sister.

Trick- Is it too early to start strategizing how to approach Advent and Christmas in such a way that your children might actually glean the slightest amount of spiritual growth and understanding from the season?

Treat- A bowl full of some of my most favorite sweet treats!

Trick- How not to eat an entire bowl full of some of my favorite sweet treats.

Treat- A dalmatian puppy costume that has now been worn for the 5th Halloween over the course of three children (Big J-1, Little T- 2, Pumpkin-2). Now that's what I call getting your money's worth!

Trick- Figuring out how to avert one's gaze from noticing the abundance of cute, costumed twins tonight.

Treat- Feeling blessed by the support of those near and far who not only allow us to remember our twins, but remember them with us.

Trick- How to convince a three year old that a bag full of candy is not an appropriate breakfast.

Treat- Knowing we managed to pull off a pleasant, stress-free Halloween and don't have to think about it again for another year.

Happy Halloween!

Five years

2008-10-26T21:38:00.001-07:00

It's quiet now. The day is over and everyone else has gone to bed. Finally I have a few moments to spend with you.

I wonder what this birthday means to you, if anything. Is there a sense of time in heaven? Are you as aware of me as I am of you? Do you still know my voice? My heartbeat? My breath? For a few fleeting moments, every now and then, I think I know yours.

I hope you are still together. Do you remember that I told you to stay together, to take care of each other, until I could come to you? My heart says you are together. I can't imagine you any other way. Hand in hand, forever.

I thought of you all day even if it didn't seem that way. Even when I was helping your big brother with his science essay, or listening to your other big brother relay every single play of the World Series, or reading stories to your sister- I was thinking of you.

I'm glad we have this day. I'm glad there is a day that demands that I set aside some time just for us. I'm glad that the thought of you can still make me cry, and that it also makes me smile.

Love you, little ones. You are always with me.

Momma

To everything there is a season

2008-10-16T10:40:00.000-07:00

I realized this morning that I am grateful Molly and Joseph came to us in the dawn of Autumn. Five years ago I would have never believed I could say such a thing.

As I stumbled through that first Halloween, just days after their death, I remember thinking to myself that fall was forever ruined for me. A season I had always loved for its transient beauty was now tarnished with a bitter melancholy. I resigned myself to faking my way through this season of pumpkins, sweets, and giddy children in costumes.

I had almost forgotten I had felt that way until this morning when I was jolted back to that time after writing to a friend, I think I will always be grateful that Molly and Joseph came to us in the midst of such a definite change of season. I always feel them as the leaves begin to turn, I see them in every pumpkin, and I smell them every time I cook a big, warm pot of soup.

They are the essence of Fall for me.

I wrote it, I meant it, and then I took a step back and had to marvel at the truthfulness of it all. Both then, and now.

So honored

2008-10-12T21:39:00.000-07:00

Recently I was asked to participate in a series at Glow in the Woods. The series centers on the experience of loss from the perspective of faith. Thus far Islam, Hinduism, Catholicism and now Christianity (the Protestant variety) have been represented. I am truly honored to have been a part of this and I hope you might go over and take a look. You need not be a "babylost mama" to read along or comment. It is open to all who value beauty and love in all its forms.

The timing of this has been in and of itself a gift. It was nice to be offered the opportunity to tell a new piece of Joseph and Molly's story as we approach their 5th birthday in Heaven.

I hope you'll stop by.

October state of mind

2008-10-07T08:09:00.000-07:00

The other night Superdad took Little T and Pumpkin to pick out Halloween pumpkins. They came home quite excited with their selections and promptly pulled me out to the front porch to take a look. Pumpkin danced around on the porch, twirling and skipping, while chattering about her "big pumpkin" and bemoaning the fact that they don't have pink pumpkins anywhere.

Little T gave me the tour saying, "This one is mine, it's the biggest. This one is Pumpkin's. We decided to wait and let Big J pick one out for himself. And these two little ones are for Molly and Joseph." I hugged him.

Two of my children are vying for my attention this month. They are crowding into my thoughts and whispering remembrances into my ear.

Do you remember, Mama?

They are normally so quiet, these two. They have grown accustomed to blending into the scenery and being carried along in silent ways. They rarely ask much of me anymore. It only seems fair that there should be one time of year they are allowed to demand a little of the spotlight. A little time. I want to give them that, but it's hard. Hard to be the only one. Hard to make it fit into a life that has moved so far beyond them. Hard to know how much to ask of everyone else, to force openness and acknowledgment on someone who would rather keep their memories to themselves.

But I do remember. I promise, little ones, I will never forget. You are always with me.

Good advice

2008-09-30T12:50:00.000-07:00

My very favorite teacher in my pre-college days would have to have been my AP history teacher in high school, George. George also taught our senior economics class and was the coach of the debate team. In addition to that rather full schedule he also happened to be the Headmaster of the school. Looking back, I realize now that he was quite a busy guy.

It was probably that very schedule that made him stride into class five minutes late every day. He would start talking before he was through the door, flip his tie over his shoulder (I guess he felt it was in the way when he was lecturing?), and begin his customary pace and talk style of teaching. Occasionally he would stop and highlight an important point by writing a single word really big on the blackboard. He would scribble out something like "revolutionary" and we would all immediately write that down in our notes knowing that somewhere down the line it would become important to know that very word.

George was an impressive figure. I can see now that he was one of those men who wasn't necessarily classically handsome but more than made up for that with charisma and confidence. His Texas accent both enthralled us and gave us more than enough fuel for good natured ridicule at his expense. He had a terrible time figuring out how to pronounce most of the smaller cities in the Northwest, all of which carry phonetically obscure Native American names. It isn't exactly intuitive to know how to pronounce Puyallup, Chehalis or Chewelah but since we had grown up with those names on the tip of our tongue we found his bungled, southern pronunciation hysterical. He took it all with great humor evidenced by a booming laugh that was the much sought after reward for a clever comment or quip in response to some historical event.

One of the best parts of George's classes, in fact any conversation with George, were his words to live by. He was brilliant at distilling the most complicated historical or economic concept down to its essence. If I were to come upon one of my classmates from those days I have no doubt I could ask them to offer up a few of George's words to live by and they would do so without trouble. He said them so many times we came to anticipate them and all he would need to do is hold out his hand to us, the audience, and we would recite them for him while he stood there beaming at the wisdom he had managed to convey to a younger generation.

What strikes me now is how many times George's words to live by have actually come into play in my own life. If not personally, I have certainly watched them lived out within present history (since we are always, at every moment, living within history- words to live by). Two favorites have been ringing in my mind quite often of late and I wonder if George himself watches the news shaking his head and wondering why nobody ever asks him.

George's words to live by:

"Never fight a war on two fronts. Especially if it is winter, and one of the fronts is Russia."

"If you see a long line at your bank, get in it."

What are some of your favorite words to live by?

The long road to closure

2008-09-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

Tonight I went to a church choir rehearsal for the first time in over five years. Of course for those who have never gone to a church choir rehearsal, or have never wanted to be a part of a church choir, that will likely sound oddly unremarkable. However, given that singing in various choirs, including church choirs, has been a huge part of my life, five years has been a long hiatus.

Roughly five years ago, perhaps closer to five and a half, we made the painful decision to leave our church home of 10 years. It was the only church we had ever attended as a couple, it was the church where both of our sons were baptized, it was the church where I taught Sunday School, Superdad was a deacon, and I sang in the choir. Singing in that small, highly unprofessional, rag-tag choir was my joy. I grew to love its participants and its director. By default more than anything I became the soprano soloist and overcame virtually every shred of fear I ever had about singing solo. And, as the years went by and so many other houses of cards came crashing down within that little church, the choir was the one place I continued to feel at home.

I know why we left and they are still good reasons. But those reasons don't change the fact that saying good bye was painful and more than a little tinged with regret. It didn't help that shortly after making such a momentous decision we were thrown into the pit of grief and despair. It didn't help that just when we decided to take the moral high ground and walk away from our community of faith we were suddenly in most desperate need of such a community. And, in its own strange way, it didn't help that that same community, those same lovely people, still rallied around us and did everything in their power to let us know they were thinking of us, praying for us, and available for anything we might need (everyone except the minister, I might add). It didn't help only because it reminded us yet again of everything we were choosing to leave.

Since that time we have sporadically attended and recently more regularly attended another church. It is in so many respects a truly wonderful church. It has a good children's program, an excellent pastor of the highest integrity, and a dedicated, faith-filled group of people filling its pews. There is a strong commitment to social justice and it is openly engaged in dynamic, stimulating discussions of faith and all its ramifications. It is a good church. And yet, I have only been able to barely dip my toe into this particular body of holy water. I have been holding back, reluctant to put down roots. First, out of grief. Then, out of apathy. And now, a reluctance to let go of what was and allow myself to imagine what might be.

Whenever I run into people from our former church they always say, "I hope that wherever you are, you are still singing." I have always smiled and simply said, "Not right now. Maybe someday." I had a million excuses- pregnancy, a new baby, three kids, etc, etc, etc... But really, none of those were the real reason. The real reason I stubbornly refused to join the choir at this new church was because I knew it would mean it was really over, we really weren't going back. Ever.

So, tonight I went to the first choir rehearsal of the new season. It was... fine. I enjoyed singing again. I enjoyed stretching my brain again in that way as I tried to rekindle my sight reading skills. The people were very friendly and happy to have some new faces join their ranks. The director was earnest and capable and even moderately inspiring. I'm sure I could grow to love these people too. But tonight, as I drove home, I felt the tears start to come. And I think it isn't just about the old and new choirs and the old and new churches. I think it is about the fact that five years ago everything was different, and I liked so much of what we had and loved so much of what we were looking forward to. Then, it all changed.

I like so much of what we have now, and I certainly love so much of what and who we have now too. But there are still those losses, people I miss, places I remember. Sometimes it's hard not to want to go back, even as I know there is never any choice but to go forward. So tonight I tried to take one more step forward. I'm sure that someday I'll be glad I did.

Happiness has little to say

2008-09-23T14:08:00.000-07:00

I got nothin'. Really, nothin'. Because who wants to hear again that the kids are cute and happy? Who wants to hear that the transition to the New School is going well? Who wants to hear that Big J still hates his schoolwork but is actually taking steps toward handling it with greater independence? Who wants to hear that Pumpkin is finally potty trained!!

I am not so self-effacing as to say these are not big events in my household. Of course they are. But they are only big events to me, to my husband, to our little clan of five. They are the happenings of our small world, nothing more, nothing less.

October is coming and I feel the stirrings of longing and remembering that come with this season, but they are as quiet and gentle as the changing of the leaves. I don't expect this five year anniversary to undo me. I almost look forward to revisiting some of those memories and emotions that are my last palpable connection to my babies. Ah, the beautiful, bittersweet season of autumn. I am ready.

Legacies

2008-09-15T10:55:00.000-07:00

The other night Big J became frustrated with my guidance toward his homework, ie. that he might want to think about getting it done. In his exasperation he stormed, "You always sound mad when you talk about my homework. I hate it when you sound mad at me!"

Two things about his well articulated retort hit me very personally. The first is that it reminded me once again that for all of the armor he displays of rolled eyes, sighs, and "whatever" he still clearly cares very much about what I think and how I view him. It hurts his feelings to think that I am disappointed in him or don't view him as capable of handling his own work.

The second arrow to my heart though pierced even more deeply and has continued to fester since. The fact is, simply, that he is right. Even though I hadn't been mad at him when I was speaking, I knew exactly what he meant, and even more, I knew exactly how he felt. I knew because I had heard that same tone before from my own mother. I knew right then and there that I have inherited her tendency to become too intense in my words and manner- resembling anger- when really my emotions are rooted in worry and concern.

I am rarely truly angry at my children. My mother was rarely truly angry at us. She was and is a loving mother who primarily operates at a pleasant level, with a decent sense of humor, and a reasonably long fuse. She was not a yeller, and nor am I. However, I can look back now and recognize that many of the times I felt she was angry with me were really examples of her great concern. I do the same thing. I get worried about Big J's nonchalant approach to life, I try to offer him suggestions and motivation, and somewhere along the way I know that my voice gets pinched, my mouth gets tight, and my hands start waving around in far too much excitement. It looks like anger, it sounds like anger, and he hates it. So do I.

I need to find a voice that communicates concern, interest and optimism. I swear I am going to start practicing in the mirror. Seriously, that's what I am going to do. I can change this. I know I can. I'm just like The Little Engine That Could... I know I can... I know I can... I know I can...

Oh, and I'll probably pray about it too. That certainly couldn't hurt either.

September smiles

2008-09-09T16:49:00.001-07:00

Thank you to everyone who has inquired about our boy's first days at their New School. I really appreciate everyone who hung with me through all of my tears, angst, worry and wondering. And, as I think we all could have predicted, they are both doing amazingly, wonderfully well with the transition. I am amazed at how quickly they have adapted to their new school environment and routine. These pics were taken on their first day of school and you can see they left with smiles on their faces as they trotted off with Superdad and the dog for their bus stop. The bus has been another highly unexpected, pleasant surprise. Our boys are now taking a bus to school for the first time in their lives, and they LOVE it. They think it is FUN! Go figure.

So... phew! However I still pray every night that God will continue to walk with them through this transition and that the days ahead will bring even more blessings and moments of grace.

Someone else was ready for her first day of school too! Is she ready for preschool or Hollywood??

The religion of politics

2008-09-04T10:51:00.000-07:00

I have made it clear before that I will not discuss politics on this blog, or anyone else's blog for that matter. I don't discuss politics in real life with anyone other than my husband. Not anyone. I rarely watch the news since television news is nothing more than spin and a celebrity circus and I have no faith whatsoever that I am ever being given the whole story. What information I do gather I usually get from various print sources that I have determined to be slightly better at presenting a reasonable facsimile of the truth. I consider myself well enough informed about local, national and international issues but I do not give any of them tremendous weight in my life. My perspective is that the wheels of history and change move slowly and my task in this life is to go about tending to my corner of the world, extending mercy and compassion, and sowing love wherever I can. I do not believe the world will be changed by governments or political agendas, but instead by the people who quietly move through this world recognizing every person as a beloved creation of God and therefore seek to treat every person accordingly.

Recently though, and it is no surprise given the heightened political hysteria with the upcoming election, I have been increasingly disturbed at what I perceive to be the new religion of politics. People in America, and probably other countries as well, identify more with their political parties than their personal faith tradition. Even worse, faith has become linked with political ideology and there is now an overriding assumption that if you are one you must be the other. As a person of faith, this is very upsetting to me. It is bad enough that the terms Christian and Evangelical have taken on such inaccurate and often negative connotations in our society, but I do not want my spiritual life to become even slightly muddied or tarnished by throwing it in with all of the political muck that gets tossed around in supposedly intellectual circles. Therefore I have decided that I will never again identify myself with one party or another. Never. I find both parties so lacking in true integrity and character that I have no interest in ascribing to myself the label of either one. My belief system and my values are rooted in my faith, not in a party platform.

This is what my faith tells me to do and so therefore this is my vote, my statement in the world.

I shall love the Lord my God with all my heart, and with all my soul, and with all my mind, and with all my strength. I shall love my neighbor as myself. There is no other commandment greater than these. ~Mark 12:29-31 (paraphrased)

It got a little tricky when Jesus put those two commandments side by side. In doing so he made it clear that you can't love God and hate people. Even the people of his day were a little uncomfortable with his catapulting loving your neighbor right up with what had previously been thought of as the greatest commandment of all. Why wouldn't it? We all know loving your neighbor is not always easy. I'm sure any one of us would have asked the same now infamous question that followed, "Who is my neighbor?" (Luke 10:29) Can't you almost hear it now in light of the current political climate? "So... like... you don't mean those guys, right?"

Now I am sure there are many who would argue that they don't hate the other side, they just hate their politics, or their ideals, or their perspective... Loving your neighbor certainly doesn't mean that you have to agree with everything he/she says or condone everything someone else does. But considering the amount of vitriol and venom I have read and heard lately, I have to say that I think those people are in the minority. You can't love your neighbor while also taking pleasure in gossip and slander. You can't love your neighbor while secretly hoping for tragedy and scandal to erupt in another person's life. You can't love your neighbor and constantly talk about us and them with clenched fists and fire in your eyes. And it's the us and them that is the problem in my mind. It is the reason I choose not to align myself with any political party. Because as much as you believe public policy can be a force for good as soon as you decide that your side is in less need of divine grace than the other, you might as well start looking for that log in your own eye.

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. You shall love your neighbor as yourself...

That's it. That is how I will cast my vote today, tomorrow and every day that comes after. I will continue to love my kids, cherish my marriage, care for my family, and keep my eye out for anyone needing a helping hand. We will give at least 10% of our income to those in need and will look for ways to stretch ourselves to give even more. I will give my time, my heart and my talents whenever and wherever possible; whether that means setting aside my own agenda to play Candyland one more time with my daughter, or continuing to make room in my calendar to support the mission of an organization I dearly love. I will reach deep into my heart and try to love even when it feels impossible to do so. I will continue to hold fast to the promise of God's grace and mercy and my unwavering belief that He loves us all, every one of us, and is really not terribly interested at all in how you vote, but in how you live... and love.

*This will be all. I will not say one more word about the upcoming election or politics in this space ever again. This is my position, my platform, and I am done.

Whose first day is it anyway??

2008-09-01T22:25:00.001-07:00

My boys sort of start school tomorrow. Well, not really. They both have short little orientations and such but their real first day will be Wednesday. They seem slightly nervous. Little T is full of questions that I don't have answers to, but other than that he is pretty calm. I, on the other hand, cannot sleep and am starting to feel those familiar butterflies. It's ridiculous. I am the mother for goodness sake! I am supposed to set an example of calm anticipation.

I don't think the boys can tell that their mother is insane. I think I am masking my lunacy well. But, then again, don't all crazy people think that?

Best Days

2008-08-28T18:59:00.000-07:00

Don't wait for someone to tell you it's too late

'Cause these are the best days

There's always something tomorrow

So I say let's make the best of tonight

Here comes the rest of our lives...

-Graham Colton Band

Summer days are flying by. Already the sun sets earlier and the morning air carries an edge foreshadowing the fall days ahead. Back to School supplies have been purchased, along with new shoes, backpacks and all of the necessary soccer gear. Fall is breathing down our necks even as we try to eek every bit of sunshine we can out of these last summer days.

Every once in awhile I see evidence of the nerves that must be starting to set in. Little T will appear preoccupied and unusually contrary. Big J will shrug off any question that relates to school. I know they are nervous. I am too. But for now, we all have silently agreed to leave the subject untouched. What is there to say, really? We all know that inevitable first day will come so there is no point in examining all of its potentials and possibilities. Any promises I might try to offer would sound empty, because they would be. I can't promise anything. I can only hope, and pray, and hope and pray some more.

Tonight Superdad is playing catch with Little T. Big J is skateboarding in the driveway and Pumpkin is racing in and around them all trying her best to be included in some small way. Tonight it is still summer. Tomorrow will still be summer. And that is how we will live out these last days of summer. Enjoying every minute of every day right up until the calendar tells us it is time to stop. And then, we will turn to face the adventures ahead with the same energy and determination.

Today is the best day. Tomorrow will be too.

Two worlds- Updated

2008-08-23T07:31:00.000-07:00

This has been my summer of living two lives. I haven't gone into detail about it here, but this past Spring my husband and I made a decision that we had been kicking around for several years. Everything came together in such a way that the timing felt inevitable and in very uncharacteristic fashion we took a leap of faith and went for it. We bought a second home on the Other Side of the Mountains. Our intention in doing so was to be able to spend more time with family without having to spend so much time with family that we no longer enjoy spending time with family, if you get my drift. We love spending time over here, love the summers over here, love holidays here, but have never been willing to give up our life on that distinctly more moist side of the state to move here full time. We finally decided that we didn't care if most people do not consider Eastern Washington to be a prime spot for a vacation home and took the leap toward trying to have the best of both worlds.

We spent most of the summer living over here on the Other Side of the Mountains in what we now affectionately call The Blue House. We have loved it. At the risk of trotting out a tired, overused parenting term, we have had more quality time with our kids here than we could have imagined. All of the time spent at The Lake, family dinners at their grandmother's home, afternoons spent splashing in Oma's pool, making friends with the neighbor boy who is raising bunnies, chickens and roosters in his backyard, pick up games of baseball and flag football with cousins, and hours and hours of just hanging out together uninterrupted by all of those things that always come to interrupt when we you are living your Real Life. It may not seem like a vacation home to anyone else, but it has certainly felt like a vacation for us.

The ease with which we have settled into our alternate lives has actually made it difficult to imagine returning Home. Don't get me wrong, we will be returning Home. I know we will even be glad to be back Home. But in this last week of this magical summer we are all trying not to really think too much about what comes next. We are fully engaged in this life, in this moment, and we will step back into our lives back Home only when the time comes.

These past few weeks I have been living in two other distinctly different worlds. One world, and the world I frankly prefer, is the one of sunshine, the colors of nature, laughter and splashing canon balls, boat rides and perfect front flips. It is the world of those still very much alive. The other world I have been walking through is one where colors are muted, smells are far too antiseptic, and the only evidence of a life lived are the pictures displayed on bookshelves and taped to refrigerators. It is one where I watch my Nana, a woman once so full of personality and spunk (sometimes irritatingly so), curled up on her side, hands clasped together, looking no bigger than a small child. She no longer opens her eyes, no longer speaks, no longer gives us any acknowledgment at all that she is aware of our presence. All we can do is hold her hands when she shakes and hope our touch is of some comfort. All we can do is pray that her passing will be soon and swift, even as it seems so wrong to pray for such a thing. But we do.

There was a time I wouldn't have believed there was such a thing as a "good death." And while that may still be true, I am quite certain there is such a thing as a bad death. In my mind, my Nana is not having a good death. It is lingering far too long, for no purpose at all. We all know she doesn't want to be here anymore. Not like this. We have tried to tell her that it's okay for her to let go, but how do we know what that would even mean- if it is even possible? I am sure she is thinking, Right, people. Don't you think if I could just "let go", I would?

My mother, my Nana's daughter, has been an amazing model of grace during this far too extended good bye. I marvel as I watch her so comfortably accept this reversal of roles as she holds my Nana, reads to her, sings to her and keeps vigil by her bedside. I ask myself if I will do as well when it comes time for me to do the same for her. I hope I will.

I wake up every morning hoping this will be the morning I get the call that says that my Nana quietly slipped away in the night. It is a strange hope, but it is the truth. Every day that the call doesn't come, I wonder how much longer this can go on. How much longer can someone teeter on the brink of death, in fact have almost all of the indications of a person who has died, and yet remain in this life? Is she hanging on for some reason, or is she desperately trying to achieve that mythical ability to "let go"? We have already said good bye to our Nana, the living Nana, the Nana that we knew. Now we just want her to rest in peace. Truly.

*Update- My Nana passed away yesterday. In fact, it was only several hours after I first wrote this post. My siblings and I (along with our spouses) all took my Mom out to dinner last night and enjoyed an evening of warm reminiscing. She was very appreciative to have all of her children around her. It is quite something to realize that my Mom has now lost both of her parents, her brother, and of course her husband. She's pretty amazing and I am thankful we were all here to be able to be of support to her- and can continue to be.

Life on the Other Side

2008-08-12T23:16:00.000-07:00

My jogging route here on the Other Side of the Mountains takes me past the small country cemetery in which my father is buried. I hadn't visited his grave since his burial and as I approached the cemetery one early morning it seemed that it was time. I took the long way around to his headstone, still jogging, glancing at the names and dates on the headstones I passed. It is an eclectic place with no real rhyme or reason to the layout or style of the grave sites. Some are quite elaborate, some are nothing more than a small, flat marker. And yet it is that very simplicity that gives it its charm (if a cemetery can have charm).

When I stopped in front of my Dad's headstone I was immediately reminded why I hadn't been there before. It made me sad. Overwhelmingly, frustratingly sad. I don't want him to be gone and I don't really want to be reminded in such a tangible way of his absence. Seeing his headstone, as lovely as it is, brings me no comfort. It just makes me sad.

Still, I touched the top of the large, stone marker. Ran my hand over its rough edges. Circled around to read both sides, even though I already knew what it said. I even managed to whisper, "I miss you, Dad." And then I set off on my jog again, wondering whether I will ever visit again. Knowing that my Dad would be the first person to tell me that it is okay if I don't.

It's okay, Lorinda. I'm not there anyway.

My Nana is dying. I visited her yesterday and left with a heavy heart. She is old, well into her 90's. Still, there doesn't appear to be anything easy, or peaceful, or blessed about her passing. At least, not yet. I pray that the end might be all of those things, but for now she is in perpetual pain and all too lucid as to the reality of her situation.

I should be better at this. Death, that is. Loss. Grief. I've seen it all a few times now and have felt its sting. I have been at the center of tragedy and I have sat at its bedside. What I am realizing though is that the reason I have always been slow to condemn those who duck behind the curtain when confronted with another's loss, or say the wrong things, or fail to show up, is because deep down I know I am one of them. Or, sometimes I would like to be.

POS?* You bet!

2008-07-29T08:52:00.000-07:00

I accept that I am for the most part a fish out of water who is swimming upstream and against the tide. I accept that our culture has decided to abdicate all responsibility to protect the beauty and innocence of childhood. I accept that my faith is fair game for anyone who cares to mock, scorn and ridicule. I accept that we are rapidly approaching the place where nothing is off limits, nothing is sacred, all boundaries are negotiable, and personal preference is considered a virtue.

I accept all of this... oh, wait... NO I DON'T!!

I certainly don't think that I am the only parent still clinging to old fashioned values and the belief that parents have the responsibility to shape, monitor and discipline their children's behavior. Nor do I claim to be perfect in these endeavors. But I never stop trying. I have never looked at my child's negative or potentially dangerous behavior and thought to myself, "Oh well.. there's nothing I can do about that. He's going to do what he wants to do anyway..." Never. We have made our share of mistakes, and we will make more, but we learn from them. We change. We talk to our kids about those mistakes. We put new rules and boundaries and loving guidelines in place, and we try again.

Which is why I don't know what to do with perfectly nice parents who I know love their children but don't take the time to read a cell phone bill and decide that the fact that their 13 year old daughter is making calls and sending text messages to boys at 2 and 3 in the morning is alarming. I don't know what to do with perfectly nice parents who allow their 12-14 year old kids to "hang out" all over the neighborhood for hours at at time without any real knowledge of where they are or what they are doing. I don't know what to do with perfectly nice parents who give their teens and tweens unlimited access to cell phones, text messages, instant messaging, social internet sites, you tube, uploading and downloading without any boundaries, monitoring, guidance or rules.

I will admit there was a time when my head was in the sand. There was a time that I was sure the headlines didn't apply to my kids, or to my friend's kids, or the kids at our nice parochial school. But reality came quickly and I knew that to remain an ostrich would be the equivalent of throwing my children to the wolves. Either I accept, and accept quickly, that the children I know, the children at my child's school, and my own children could become the next headline or I could continue to engage in a blind game of Russian Roulette with their safety and their future.

Every time I read something and think, "Oh good heavens... surely that isn't going on among the kids I know..." I get proven wrong time and time again. Just recently I read about the common practice among junior high age kids of taking suggestive photos of themselves and then sending them to each other either via email or cell phone. For the most part, this lovely little game usually involves girls taking the photos of themselves, or each other, and sending them to boys who of course don't hesitate to send the photos along to everyone on their contacts list. There are too many things about this that appall me to begin to list them here, and I would hope that I wouldn't need to. Still, this was one of those stories where I shook my head and thought, "I can't imagine any of the girls I know are doing this..." I was wrong.

Just this past weekend I spoke at length to another mother, a good friend of mine, who told me that her son has received more than one digital photo via his cell phone from girls in his class posing either in suggestive ways, or worse.... Luckily she intercepted one of these photos during a "spot check" on his cell phone (way to go, Mom!) and was able to have a serious heart to heart with her son. She also contacted the girl's parents and is looking into how she can disable her son's phone so that he will not be able to send or receive photos. These are girls that I know. These are parents that I know. These girls are not evil, or delinquent, they are otherwise good girls. But they are woefully misguided and are being encouraged and taught by a culture that does not have their best interests or their safety in mind. I don't know what the end result was for the girls who have been sending these photos. I can only pray that parental correction was swift and specific, coupled with a whole lot of very serious discussions about honoring one's body and preserving one's dignity. I also pray that any other boy who received those photos has a mom or dad looking over his shoulder and thus was able to respond to the inappropriate images.

Lest you think I am too naive as to my parental powers, I am not. I am well aware that even with all of our best efforts, careful monitoring, limits and boundaries, and loving, open communication, our children will still test those boundaries, challenge our limits, and keep secrets from us. I also know that they may still make some serious mistakes and have to live with some serious consequences. They are kids. Big J is a teenager. Pushing limits and making mistakes comes with the territory. But as his parents we do not have to enable those mistakes. We don't have to make it easier for him to make them. And we have to keep the faith that the relationship we have built with him over the past 13 years has not suddenly disappeared. We do still matter to him. He does hear us. And we have an obligation to find positive ways to reach him and to inspire the best in him whenever and wherever we can.

We wouldn't toss our 16 year old the keys to the car without any driver's training and say, "Oh well... I guess he'll figure it out as he goes..." Technology is here to stay and all of these forms of communication are going to be a continuing reality for our kids. I'm not saying we can raise them in a bubble and not allow them any of the tools that are now a part of our everyday world. But just as they need training, rules and laws in order to drive a car, they should have just as much training before being let loose on the information highway. We can't assume that our daughters know that it is dangerous and wrong to send inappropriate pictures of themselves in order to garner a boy's attention, we can't assume that our sons know that sending on such a picture is wrong, we can't assume that our teens know that they need to be careful of anything they put in writing for all the world to see, we can't assume that they think about the longterm implications of putting private information or gossip on social networking sites. They might learn these lessons on their own, but at what price? Your words of caution might not stop them from doing the wrong thing, but it might make them think twice. Isn't it worth a try?

I know there are, thankfully, a lot of parents out there who feel as I do. They aren't afraid or unwilling to continue to parent their child through the teenage years. They are engaging their kids in conversations about real issues and they are trying to walk that line between gently sharing their values and beating their kids over the head with them. It isn't easy to find that balance, but I believe it is a grave mistake to assume that our teenagers really don't care about what we think. Studies and statistics have shown time and time again that they do. You have to be stronger than rolled eyes, awkward silences and shoulder shrugs. You have to believe that your words do not really float around endlessly in space but that they have landed somewhere, in a place you cannot see, and that it may take years to see their effect. I know there are parents out there like me, trying and trying and trying again.

My grievance is with the ones who aren't... And by that I do not mean the single mother who is working two jobs and can barely keep her head above water (although, I know there are plenty of single parents who do an amazing job of providing for their family and parenting their children). What I mean is I know there are situations in which a parent's time, health or emotional well being may be so compromised that keeping taps on a child's cell phone or internet use may not make the radar. Those are sad and unfortunate situations for both parent and child and my heart and prayers go out to all of them. I am talking about parents whose lives more closely mirror my own. Two healthy parents, relative financial stability, a safe neighborhood, a supportive network of friends and family, and the time and knowledge to be engaged and involved in your children's lives. I know too many parents with lives like that who are turning a blind eye to their child's social lives, especially their electronic social lives. They have either decided that it's "not that bad" or it would "never be my child" or it's just what "all the kids are doing" or that any involvement on their part would be an invasion of privacy. Believe me, there are days I'd like to join them and go back to my comfortable spot with my head buried deeply in the sand. But I can't, because it is that bad, it could be my child, it doesn't have to be what all the kids are doing, and it isn't an invasion of privacy if a promise of privacy was never made in the first place.

One of our family summer projects is to create both an Internet Code of Conduct and a Cell Phone Code of Conduct. We are discussing both and creating both as a family and we will all sign them. It is important for our kids to know that we will follow the same rules that they will be expected to follow. It is also important for them to know that adults have to be just as careful in their use of technology as children do. Technology is a wonderful tool, but like all tools it must be handled skillfully, carefully and with respect to certain rules of safety.

Rant over. You can go back to what you were doing...

*POS is internet lingo for "Parent Over Shoulder."

How to talk so your kids will ignore you, and listen so they won't tell you a thing

2008-07-18T13:52:00.001-07:00

Summer counsel from a mom who frequently finds herself getting it wrong:

Hint #1: You must first master the ability to say your child's name in a highly exasperated tone of voice. There are two techniques available: The first is to opt for a low, gutteral, growl-like tone- "Biiiig J..."- followed by flinging your hands up in the air and projecting a loud sigh. The second option is a higher pitched, shorter, sharper burst- "Little T!"- again followed by a loud, exaggerated sigh. Practice this several times first before moving onto the other hints. This exasperated tone is the platform upon which all the other techniques are built upon.

Hint #2: Begin as many sentences as possible with, "Seriously, now I mean it..." Apparently those four words are interpreted by children as, she really doesn't mean it all and we've got a long way to go until she breaks.

Hint #3: An equally effective sentence starter is, "Why can't you guys ever...." (fill in the blank with- listen, play quietly, eat like human beings, do something that doesn't require a screen and electricity, help around the house, leave each other alone, whistle while you work etc...)

Hint #4: When your children tell you there is "nothing to do" suggest they read a book or go weed the garden. You won't see them again until dinner.

Hint #5: Validation is for amateurs. When one child comes to tell you how he has been wronged by the other, inform him that it "takes two to tango" and that if you hear about it again they will both spend the afternoon lying on their beds.

Hint #6: Remind your children frequently how overworked you are and how easy they have it. Kids love to hear that. Putting on your Martyr Mom mask is a surefire way to inspire your kids to go into hiding.

Hint #7: Regale your children with tales of your own childhood and all of the hardships you had to endure (real or imagined). This is effective not only because your children will find your stories dull and irrelevant, but also because, in spite of photographic evidence to the contrary, they don't really believe you were ever a child at all.

Hint #8: When attempting to elicit your child's cooperation, try barking orders and issuing commands. An atmosphere consistent with Boot Camp does wonders to inspire feelings of teamwork and harmony.

Hint #9: Walk around as though you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Banish laughter and remove all evidence of levity from your words and demeanor. Nothing says "welcome" like a grim, sour faced mother.

Hint #10: Have a glass of wine, forgive yourself for all of the times you opted for the previous nine techniques, climb into bed and start again tomorrow. Oh, and don't forget to kiss those kids good night!

How is summer going at your house?

Edited to add: Point of clarification: All kidding aside, I'm not doing this badly nor are my kids being nearly so difficult. Actually I was re-reading the old classic "How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen..." and I started getting the giggles thinking of all the ways you can inspire the opposite. So, never fear, while I do make every one of these mistakes from time to time, our summer is still very enjoyable.

Still unplugged, but I just had to say...

2008-07-13T11:15:00.000-07:00

Nobody can say we are old fuddy duddies yet! Last night we went to see Elvis Costello and The Police at The Gorge in George, WA. Okay, it's true, that probably pegs us as somewhat old as the demographic of the concert was largely those of us who remember dancing to Every Little Thing She Does is Magic in junior high or high school. But there were still some youngsters there who clearly have an appreciation for the old guys.

And, in spite of my disgust over the wafts of cigarette and other smoke blowing our way from time to time, it was a blast. Sting sounded exactly like he always has, as did the incomparable Elvis C. The weather was perfect, and the setting absolutely cannot be matched. In fact, I would say that if you are a music lover and ever stumble upon the opportunity to take in a concert at this bizarrely remote, but stunningly beautiful location, you should jump on it.

The best part of the whole event was that my sister found a way for us to travel to and from the concert in a manner befitting of our advanced age. Did we pile in a car armed with Doritos and soda to make the 2+ hour trek to The Gorge? No. Did we pitch our tent in an open field after the concert because we were too tired to get back on the freeway at midnight for the long drive home? Oh, no! Nope, my sister found us a chartered bus full of 30 and 40 something's like ourselves. We were provided snacks, water and wine on the way there, fed a tailgate dinner of grilled vegetables, chicken satays, and an amazing shrimp salad once at The Gorge, and treated to milk and cookies on the drive home. Once we partook of our sweet treat, we all settled back, allowing our trusty bus driver to navigate us safely home, and went to sleep. I think it might be the only way to enjoy a concert at The Gorge.

We may be old, but we are not stupid.

Unplugged

2008-07-11T09:08:00.000-07:00

To whom it may concern:

It is summer. I am happy. My children are happy. Life is good. It is still what it has always been, which is a swirling mix of joy and sorrow, ups and downs, but it is still strangely very, very good. I am finding myself needing to be engaged in the things of water, earth and sky, which leaves little room for the things of computers, internet and blogging. And, for me, I consider that a good thing.

I am not gone, just unplugged for awhile. I'll check in when it starts raining (which, considering we are on the Other Side of the Mountains, may not happen anytime soon).

I am off to capture, and hold while I can... front flips, boys on the verge of new horizons, and a little girl who is still so delightfully little.

*And to my friends who are awaiting the safe arrival of new little ones, or those mourning recent losses, or those still wading through the depths of grief- or those for whom all of the above apply- my heart and prayers are still with you. I will be checking in on each one of you, and I am here if you need me.

Back from Wally World

2008-06-29T21:50:00.000-07:00

Okay... not really. But somehow when we pack our car to the gills, have the Thule carrier on the roof, and three bikes precariously attached to the back, it just feels as though our journey should culminate with John Candy standing in front of us dressed as a Park Ranger with his hand held out in front of him saying, "Sorry folks, park's closed. The Moose outside shoulda told you." It only seems fitting.

In reality we went to Sunriver, Oregon, which is nothing at all like Wally World or any other modern day theme park. Instead, it is a rather sleepy, old fashioned sprawling resort nestled amongst the evergreens in Central Oregon. I went there with my family when I was a child and it hasn't changed a bit since then. The primary form of entertainment are the miles and miles of bike trails that can take you on as many adventures as you can count. So that is mostly what we did. The boys would take off for hours at a time with their cousins in search of drama and stories to bring back to the boring adults who do not find it fun to take their bikes off of the groomed trails, drag them up steep hills, and then fly down the hills all in search of the "perfect" jump. While we, the boring adults, kept Pumpkin in the bike trailer and enjoyed meandering rides spying creatures both big and small all along the way.

It was a lovely vacation but not the sort that leaves one with much to report. Well, that is unless you have a child like Little T. Our second son has an amazing knack for coming out of all sorts of hair-brained stunts unscathed, but will injure himself doing the most minor, mundane activity. Without a doubt this vacation will be remembered as the one in which Little T had to be taken to the Emergency Room to receive six stitches next to his right eye, all as the result of a Ping Pong injury. Even he sees the humor in it now (although not so much at the time).

It's good to be home.

Pig Will and Pig Won't*

2008-06-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

Our long awaited summer vacation has begun. We have even had two days of sunshine in a row here in our rainy corner of the world (although today is starting out decidedly gray). Last weekend was blissful. No homework. No projects. No glue and posterboard. No last minute editing on the computer on a paper that would only take "20 minutes" to finish and ends up taking 2 hours. We lounged. We worked on household projects. The boys played outside and got together with friends. Superdad took Pumpkin to the playground and I didn't have to even think about when to call the boys inside since there were no school duties to tend to. It was lovely.

Then Monday came. The first official day of summer vacation. In honor of that day I let the boys be. I let them play video games to their hearts content. I let them watch TV and said nothing about their utter sloth-like behavior. Well, to be fair, I should say that I said nothing about Big J's utter sloth-like behavior. Little T was not so sloth-like and even blessedly requested a trip to the bookstore to pick out some summer reading. I think it was at that point that I kissed his forehead and bestowed upon him the temporary honor of Favorite Child.

I should have seen it coming though. My boys are invariably each other's Yin and Yang. If one is being surly and uncooperative, the other is noticeably charming and helpful. If one is resisting household chores and behaving as though unloading the dishwasher is the equivalent of slave labor, the other is a veritable Mary Poppins putting away silverware with a spoonful of sugar and a song. On those evenings when we decide to treat ourselves to dinner out, Superdad and I can predict with almost 100% accuracy which son will protest the restaurant choice and which one will declare it his favorite- and it has nothing to do with past history or any other basis in reality. They are simply magnetic opposites, and whatever attracts one the other has no choice but to resist.

It's a funny dynamic considering how well my boys actually get along. For brothers existing in the opposing ages of 13 and 10, they really do very well. They seek each other out. They choose to be together more often than not. And they can reduce each other to ridiculous fits of giggles and silliness. And yet, they also thrive on magnifying their differences and revel in outdoing one another at every turn.

I wonder if some of the competitive aspects of their relationship have escalated because Little T is now completely capable of outdoing Big J in certain arenas, and they both know it. He, being the younger brother, spent many years being outdone by his older brother with very little he could do about it. Not so anymore. He is nearly as big as Big J, athletic and agile, strong as a mack truck, and possesses a quick and curious mind. I have noticed that where Big J used to be much more tolerant and even generous to his younger brother, he now looks for opportunities to remind his younger brother who is still older, still taller, still more savvy and socially adept, and ever so much wiser in the ways of life and culture. But his advantage is quickly slipping away and Little T isn't so quick to buy it anymore.

I have warned them that I am not going to spend a whole summer watching them settle themselves into opposing camps, tossing insults and injury at one another. I have insisted they will both need to be happily helpful around the house- even at the same time. And I have threatened to unplug every single form of technology in this house if they don't abide by certain limits and get themselves outside and active of their own accord at regular intervals. Oh yes. I have been pulling out all the stops. Hands on hips, finger wagging and all. They, in turn, have dutifully nodded and agreed while shoving each other down the stairs in a bloodthirsty race to be the first to gain control of the video game remote.

We leave town this Saturday. Thank goodness.

*Edited to add: For those not catching the title reference; Pig Will and Pig Won't are characters from a Richard Scarry story. Of course one Pig was inordinately helpful and agreeable, while the other was contrary and lazy. Thankfully (I guess), my boys regularly change roles and neither one of them is ever permanently Pig Will or Pig Won't.

Because he really is a Superdad

2008-06-15T21:41:00.000-07:00

I don't have it in me to write a post for Father's Day. Not because I don't cherish the father of my children, or the memories of my own father, but because I am tired, and it's late, and I just don't have it in me.

What I will offer instead is a small glimpse into what I think makes the Dad in this household particularly Super:

Superdad has this great way of making the kids think that he is inviting them into his own playtime.

He will sit down on the floor and start playing with Pumpkin's animals all by himself. When she notices and comes scampering over to join him, he will look up in surprise and say, "Oh! Would you like to play animals with me?" She practically falls all over herself with glee.

Today he walked into the family room and announced, "I was thinking of going to the playground. I wonder if anyone would like to go with me?" Pumpkin started stripping off her pajamas at lightening speed while frantically shrieking, "I will! I will! Mommy get my clothes! Daddy wants to take a friend to the playground and I want to go!!"

Superdad will come strolling through the kitchen casually tossing a baseball, heading for the back door. Invariably, Little T will ask curiously, "Whatcha doin' Dad?" Superdad will answer nonchalantly, "Oh, I thought I would go throw myself some pop flies. Unless, of course, you would like to come out play catch with me?" It doesn't take more than a nanosecond for Little T to grab his mitt and go barreling out the back door.

So, that's it. That's all I have to say for Father's Day. Just that I feel blessed that my kids have such a wonderfully playful Dad who enters into their worlds as though it is a privilege and a gift.

Thank you, Superdad.

Movin' on

2008-06-13T09:21:00.000-07:00

In about an hour from now the boys will have successfully completed their 4th and 7th grade years respectively. They will have spent five years under the care and tutelage of this particular school, and they will now be saying good bye. We are all saying good bye.

This past week I have felt torn as to whether or not I would attend the final Mass this morning. I wanted to go in order to give myself an appropriate ending to this journey, but I also didn't want to go knowing it would increase my feelings of sadness. Pumpkin answered the question for me this morning by waking up weepy and out of sorts and unable to go to preschool. So I am at home, which is probably for the best. Both of the boys are going home with friends after the Mass and will not notice or care about my absence. Without me there they will be able to give into their happy feelings over the last day of school, and the delight of getting to spend the rest of the day with their buddies. If I were there they might feel compelled to draw their long faces and instead focus on the end that today represents, rather than the beginning.

There are a lot of things we are all leaving behind, but I think I am the only one who feels we are leaving behind a piece of Molly and Joseph's story. I was pregnant with the twins when we entered this school community. Little T was in Kindergarten and Big J was the "new kid" in 3rd grade. That September and October felt like a lot to manage- being increasingly heavy with twins, navigating all of the new school's dynamics and procedures, and helping two little boys settle into an unfamiliar environment. The rest of that year became even more to manage after the twins died and grief rendered me practically useless. And yet, even though we were so new to the school and virtually unknown, it was that community of people that rallied around us and around our children. Those were the teachers that nurtured my boys and kept their daily lives stable and predictable. And that was the building that I first ventured back into when I started slowly coming out of my cave of solitude.

There are memories of my babies all over that school- all of my babies. I see Little T as a small, sweet Kindergartner. I see Big J as a nervous 3rd grader, bravely facing the unknown. I see the bench I sat on while I spoke to my nurse about the bleeding I was having and was told to go to the hospital. I see Little T's first grade classroom where he prayed everyday during their class prayer time that Pumpkin would arrive safely. I see the hallway I paced up and down, trying to soothe Pumpkin, during the boy's Spring Concert. I see five years of time that has somehow gone by in an instant. Big J was 8 when he walked through those doors for the first time. He will walk out of them today as a teenager. Little T was 5. Not much more than a baby really. Now he is 10. We had two children come and go in that span of time, and saw another one arrive. It is incredible to think that Pumpkin hadn't even entered our imaginations yet on that first day of school, five years ago. And now, here she is, alive and well and 3 years old. A lot can happen in five years.

The Mass should be in full swing by now, perhaps even nearing its end. I send my prayers to everyone filling that historic sanctuary. I am grateful for the guidance my children received there and I am forever thankful for the compassion our family was shown when we needed it most. God be with you... you will always be in our fondest memories.

A Late-Breaking Wordless Wednesday

2008-06-11T22:43:00.000-07:00

Champions!

Big hair AND a big head

2008-06-08T21:52:00.000-07:00

Being the younger brother, and now the middle child, Little T frequently suffers from feeling overlooked. As is often the case with middle children, his parents find this perplexing when, in their opinion, he might in fact be the child who receives the most parental attention. In any case, he is certainly not lacking. None of that matters though when you are 10 and you are positive that your older brother and baby sister are hogging Mom and Dad and nobody is noticing how forlorn and pathetic you are.

This weekend though, at long last, Little T had a true taste of being a celebrity. It was unexpected to him, and to all of us really, and was truly comical to watch it unfold. Little T woke up in the pre-dawn hours of Friday throwing up (yes, lovely). Thankfully, the trips to the toilet quickly diminished and he was left with just the misery of a fever and a day home from school. None of this would have been particularly disconcerting on any other Friday, but he knew this was going to mean he would miss the first game of his Little League playoffs. His team won their division and so they were going into the playoffs as the top seed. This was exciting, but also a lot of pressure for a band of 10 year old boys. Superdad, the coach, was equally concerned about T's absence from the game but to his credit, he just kept telling T he needed to "stay home, rest, and be ready for the next game."

Friday evening, as Superdad left for the game, Little T was high on Motrin and sure he was fit to play. I insisted he was not but that I was confident that with a good night's rest he would be ready to play the following morning in Game 2. The playoffs were double elimination so even if his team were to lose that night there would still be a Game 2.

Little T and I were both on pins and needles waiting for the call from Superdad as to the outcome of the game. T kept begging me to call and check on the score but I told him we couldn't distract his dad from his job of coaching. We both kept watching the clock as the minutes kept ticking further and further from the time we had expected to hear from him. Finally, the call came in. Superdad was chuckling and I could almost see him shaking his head as he relayed to me that they had won, but they had to come from behind making up a 6 run deficit in the final inning. They won by one run. He told me confidentially how much the kids had struggled and were not at all their best that night. He said he wasn't sure what to expect from the team the following morning.

Sure enough, Little T was up and raring to go in the morning. Upon arriving at the field he was heralded by his teammates with such fanfare that it caught him by surprise. There were shouts of, "Thank goodness you're here!" and "We missed you last night!" and even, "We really needed you." Unaccustomed to the spotlight, T was unsure as to how to respond but I could see the sparkle in his eyes. Even several of the parents took the time to tell him how much he was missed in the previous game. The consensus seemed to be that Little T has an energy that helps drive the team forward. Several parents commented to me how much they appreciate T's spark and that they really felt that had been missing from the game the night before.

Once again, I was reminded how Little T's energy, that can be so exasperating at times, is so often such a positive force. I watched him play in an entirely new light. I noticed his ever present smile and laughter in the dugout, his confident stride up to the home plate as the lead off hitter, and the way he never loses his bounce as he shuffles between his position at second base and backing up the pitcher. Never arrogant, but confident, and always, always, always having a good time.

They won the game, which clinched them a spot in the Championship. Little T had a great game. He pitched, he hit, he stole bases, and he scored four runs. All with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. When we got home he told me how many people had complimented him and that the kids all said he was the MVP. He went on and on so much that I started to worry all of the attention was really going to his head. I cautioned him, telling him that there is a difference between being proud of himself, and being prideful. He seemed to understand and assured me he wasn't. In fact, he told me he wasn't all that sure why he was getting so much attention. As he said, he doesn't hit home runs, and he's not the fastest pitcher, he just goes out there and does what he can do. I told him that my impression was that what everyone appreciated about him was his positive spirit, along with his skills and talent.

He let that sink in a minute, nodded, and said, "Yeah. But I think it's also because I'm really good."

Uh huh. Well, at least it didn't go to his head...

Reconsidering homeschooling

2008-06-04T10:33:00.000-07:00

Note to reader: This post might initially sound like a negative view of homeschooling. If you continue reading, I hope you will see that it is not. Even though I have never chosen homeschooling as the educational path for our children, over the years I have grown to see it in an increasingly broader and positive light. I respect all parents who make the choice to homeschool and see it is a tremendous commitment of time, energy, dedication and love.

In spite of the title of this post, I have actually never considered homeschooling my kids. Oh, I may have thrown it out there as a threat once or twice. But, the truth is, I think that's how we all viewed the possibility - as some dismal experiment that would result one day in the entire family piling on top of one another and fighting it out to the death. We never seemed all that well suited for that kind of extended together time, nor the mixing and mingling of roles and responsibilities. My kids are happiest when I am being MOM and nothing else.

When Big J was small and we were first beginning to explore where we might send him to Kindergarten, people would ask me, "Would you ever consider homeschooling?" The question always caught me off guard and left me stammering. I assumed it was because I was a former elementary teacher with a Masters in Teaching that they thought I was a good candidate, but it was still puzzling. We don't live in a particularly homeschool-inclined neighborhood. I can count on one hand the number of families I know in our neighborhood who have ever at any time homeschooled their children. At that time I had a very narrow, and false perception of the choices behind homeschooling. Basically it seemed to me that everyone who chose to homeschool was ultra- something. Ultra-conservative, ultra-liberal, ultra-Christian, ultra-New Age, ultra-environmental, ultra-protective, ultra... ultra... ultra... Not seeing myself as particularly ultra-anything, I didn't see how we fit the mold. That, and I was pretty sure that Big J and I would end up tearing each other limb from limb if I tried to be his teacher as well as his Mom. I still think that might have been true.

So, here we are over 8 years later with 13 years of school between our two boys under our belt. We have experienced two different school environments in that period of time and we are about to enter into school community #3 come fall. We have had great teachers, and not-so-great teachers, but we have never demanded perfection from our children's schools or teachers. I know too much about the job to imagine it is ever possible for a teacher to be perfect. We have loved both of the school communities we have been a part of, even while we have not always loved the school itself. That is the nature of institutions and life. Nothing can be 100% to our liking, 100% of the time. We don't expect perfection from this next school either.

The thing is though, there is a lot you don't get to choose when you enter into a school community. I don't get to choose the vacation schedule. I don't get to dictate how much homework my kids are assigned. I don't get to choose the days they have tests so as to not conflict with other outside or family activities. I don't get to choose the curriculum or the pace at which that curriculum is taught. I don't get to decide how many 3-D projects are enough in a year. I don't even get to decide what is served for lunch. And, for the most part, that lack of choice has been okay with me. But, there are days...

I have realized that a lot of what drives families to homeschool is the desire to choose. To choose what you believe to be best for your child, to choose what works best for you, and to choose what works well for your family. I see the flexibility homeschooling families have in planning vacations and I envy that. I see the ease with which activities are planned because studies can be worked in and around each child's individual schedule. I see the way a child's unique interests and learning style can be explored and enhanced by a thoughtful, individualized curriculum. And I can't help but wonder too if homeschooling mother's like me who abhor messy, three dimensional projects just don't do them? Wouldn't that be great? No more book report mobiles hanging from a wire hanger. No more diaromas or trioramas. No more clay landscapes perforated with sticks and twigs. No more paper mache, glue guns and midnight runs to Office Max. Heaven.

I have been tempted several times this year to throw up my hands and say, "Enough!" On more than one occasion I said to Superdad, "That's it. I'm just going to pull him out and homeschool him." He would nod supportively knowing there was no way it was really going to happen. Because, the reality is, for all of my fantasies for how it might be better, I still don't know that I am cut out to be my kid's teacher and Mom. Or, I should say more specifically, I don't believe it would work for me to be Big J's teacher and Mom. He is just not the right child for that kind of cross over of home and school. And because he was my oldest child, he blazed the trail that the rest have followed.

Lately though, I have been looking at Pumpkin and wondering if maybe she will be my experiment with homeschooling. If the New School works out, the plan would be for Pumpkin to start there in Kindergarten. The New School is a K-12 school so if the boys are there, there is no reason we wouldn't enroll her there as well. No reason other than it is kind of far away from our house and it would mean putting a little 5 year old on a school bus for almost 2 hours each day. Which is why I have begun toying with the idea that maybe I would keep her home for a few years. Maybe just one or two. Give her a chance to grow up a little bit before throwing her on a bus and sending her to a school that is 30 minutes away from our front door. She is only 3 but I already see in her the temperament and personality that might make it a good fit for her and I. At 3 I already knew it would never work with Big J, and Little T followed too close behind J for me to consider anything different for him. But for Pumpkin, my little Pumpkin, it just might work.

If nothing else, it has given me something new to think about, and write about, for which I am sure we are all grateful.

This is not the week to give up diet soda

2008-06-03T09:08:00.000-07:00

Riddle follow up: Big J is actually being remarkably pleasant about studying for his finals and completing his geometric sewing project. He worked/studied for 6 hours on both Saturday and Sunday, and has seemed to accept (thus far) that his weeknights are nothing but work this week. He headed off to school today reasonably well prepared for his World History and Spanish finals, and tonight we will be focused on math and science (while also putting the finishing touches on the marvelous sewing project). I am proud of his efforts and relieved that this has not turned into a terrible battle. There have been moments, but they have been few. However, he does keep interjecting with a resolved smile that he is "not going to New School next year". I'm not that worried though. I know that he knows that he really doesn't have a choice.

So this is good news, right? I guess. The problem is that I have an easier time feeling resolved when he is irritating me. When he is being agreeable and conscientious it makes me feel ever so much more guilty. So... I can't win, and I guess he can't either. Luckily, Little T is doing enough to irritate me for the both of them.

All of this is leading to the odd title of this blog post. The Big Reveal. Okay, ladies and gentlemen, you have wanted to know my greatest weakness, my vice of all vices, my Achilles heel? It's diet soda. Specifically, Diet Pepsi or Coke. I'll take either one, although in blind taste tests conducted by me and my friends in high school, I do have a slight preference for Diet Pepsi. Plus, I have more respect for Pepsi since they aren't always tweaking their formula and coming out with "New Pepsi" every few years.

Some of you may be snickering or rolling your eyes at this supposed vice. But, the truth is, soda in any form is nasty for your health. I know this and have known it for some time. I have tried to rationalize that it's my "only" vice and so therefore I am entitled to something. I don't smoke, eat trans fat, drink alcohol regularly, and I exercise at least 4 days a week. Don't I get something?? Well, my answer in the past has always been a resounding, yes! Not so anymore. I can't hide from the studies and evidence any longer. DIET SODA IS TERRIBLE FOR MY HEALTH!! I know it.

So, I'm going to quit. But not this week. Next week is not looking good either. But it sounds like a good goal for summer. Right?

A riddle

2008-05-31T22:02:00.001-07:00

What do you get when you take an already academically indifferent 13 year old boy, sprinkle on some disappointment and anger, throw in a little sadness and anxiety, and then ask him to study for five different final exams, complete an economics project, and spend hours creating geometric shapes with needle and thread?

C'mon, guess. What do you think you get?

Easier said than done

2008-05-30T13:52:00.000-07:00

Given the title of my blog one might assume that I have given a fair amount of thought to the reality of loss in this life. One would be right. I have not only experienced my own losses on a personal level, but I have explored the experience of loss in a more intellectual, slightly removed way. I have examined it from the standpoint of psychology, physiology and from the vantage point of faith and its impact thereof. I also tend to read blog writers who do not shy away from facing this difficult subject.

Periodically, the subject comes up as to how we can best support others who are in the midst of grief, loss, or trauma. My good blog friend Julia has beautifully expressed more than once the need for friends to simply abide with us in our sorrow, rage, despair, or tears. Often the strongest form of support, and the most difficult to give, is nothing more than one's silent presence. I agree but I also humbly admit that I do not always possess that strength.

What I haven't explored before though is the difficulty in knowing how to abide with someone when you are, in fact, the cause of their pain and the creator of their loss. And, even more difficult, what if that person is your own child? Not only your child, but your young child, still immature, still unable to look past next Friday, and completely unwilling to even consider how saying good bye to one thing opens to the door to new possibilities and potential. What does it look like to abide with that kind of pain, in the midst of that kind of relationship?

I wouldn't blame any reader at this point who might click away thinking, good lord... is she still prattling on about her kids changing schools? Kids change schools all the time... get over yourself already! I really wouldn't blame you. But, right or wrong, this is where my family is right now. And whether or not it sounds melodramatic or overstating things, my boys are engaged in a very real childlike form of grief. They are sad. They are angry. They are confused. They feel powerless. And they are mad at the two people they love and depend on most.

The dilemma for me is that I can't really comfort them in their grief because they see me (and Superdad) as the cause. Consoling words from me are like nails on the chalkboard to their ears. Even worse, when I am too comforting they perceive it as a glimmer of hope that the decision could be changed. I have had to declare the subject temporarily off limits for the sole reason that it only results in endless circular arguments. We go round and round with me explaining, consoling, and encouraging, and them answering every rationale with an infinite number of buts, I don't care's, and why's. Out of a desire for sanity, and self-preservation, I have had to retreat into semi-silent support saying nothing more than, I know that's how you feel... I understand... I'm sorry this is hard. That is it. I can say nothing more. I know it's not enough, but I hope that on some level they believe me.

It's not like this all the time (lest you are worried I might soon hop a bus for parts unknown). It will be better when school is finally over and they are not confronted every single day with everything they are leaving. We have a fantastic summer ahead of us and I am certain this will not be the constant theme of the next three months. We just all need to survive the next two weeks, the final good bye, and then I think we will be able to start moving forward. I really, really hope so.

Up and over and back again

2008-05-28T22:01:00.000-07:00

I'm still here.

I have gone a full week without posting. I almost never do that. I have an excuse in that we were out of town for a few days, but I feel there is something else afoot. Diminished need to write? Diminished desire to write? I don't know... we'll see...

We went over the mountains for the holiday weekend. We stayed with my sister and her family which we don't normally do, but grandma's house was full. It was loads of fun and had both my sister and I wondering why we haven't done this before. I don't know if either of our husbands thought it was as delightful as we did but they were good sports about it. They did roll their eyes when we suggested that we could get a big spread and all live together in some sort of commune.

My sister is the best sort of motivation for me. She forced me to get up every morning and work out but then she also made sure I had a glass of wine in my hand at 5:00 on the dot every evening. I rarely, almost never, drink alcohol- so a nightly glass of wine felt like an indulgence perfectly suited to the occasion. We were, after all, two sisters/best friends living under one roof with our five children, four of whom are rather noisy, boisterous boys. It was great.

As we approached the Summit on our drive back home, the relentless rain and the unsettling line of brake lights in front of us was the perfect complement to my mood. My heart felt heavy as we we got closer and closer to the sanctuary of home. Normally it is a comfort to turn the corner and see that beloved structure that we call ours. But, knowing we were going to break the final school news to the boys at bedtime brought a level of anxiety to our return.

They took it hard. I'm pretty sure they both went to sleep crying in their pillows. But they are already moving forward with less and less outrage and sorrow everyday. Big J did come home today and tell me that his best friend at school wanted to start some kind of a petition to get J to stay. J told me that he told his friend to "forget it" and that it "won't do any good." That boy knows just how to cut straight to my heart. But, for the most part, he is passively resigned.

I, myself, am awash with mixed emotions that I am trying to keep under wraps from the boys. I have my own sadness at leaving their current school community and my own trepidation about joining a new one. There are many things I will miss about the present and so much I don't know about the future. Right now, I'm just crossing my fingers and praying a lot.

Nothing to see here

2008-05-21T10:20:00.000-07:00

Awww... Big J...

Even when you were Little J you just wanted people to let you be. Always quietly non-conforming, you wanted to be able to wear a pirate coat to the grocery store and not have anyone even glance your way. You couldn't understand why it was necessary for grown ups to comment, smile, or even laugh at your creative, and carefully crafted outfits. Can't a kid wrap a pink sash around his waist for a belt and carry a cardboard sword in peace?? And yet, most adults found it equally inconceivable that your attire wasn't designed entirely for the sole purpose of garnering attention and thus, found it a bit rude when their polite compliments were met with scowls and growls.

I still see this in you. Still the quiet, non-conformist, not looking for attention or the spotlight. Still sporting carefully crafted outfits that you hope no one will notice. Still wishing you could be left alone to live out your life as you see fit- free from disruption, free from change, free from undue tension or conflict, and most of all, free from too much responsibility. The difference is, you are better at blending now- even disappearing when necessary. You fade into the background hoping that everyone else will continue to go about their business none the wiser while you go about yours. I can almost hear you thinking, if I stay really still, maybe no one will notice me and nothing will ever have to change...

Sorry, buddy. Things are about to change. It will be okay, I promise. We'll let you scowl and growl and hide your face for awhile, and then we'll help you face this ever-evolving world so you can find your place in it again. We know you will, you always do- and we're not willing to let you disappear.

Mirror, mirror

2008-05-19T07:57:00.000-07:00

At 13, we are slowly doling out Big J more independence, responsibility and privileges. The increments are small and dependent on his ability to handle them, as well as his willingness to accept the responsibility part. Naturally, because he is human and because he is a 13 year old boy, he sometimes chafes at the responsibility (aka work) part of the deal. But one of our parental mantras has become, you don't get something for nothing. You want money, then you'll have to earn it. You want $80 skateboarding shoes... better start saving. You want to be able to roam the neighborhood with your pals, then prove yourself able to respect the rights of others even while distracted by your band of buddies.

Thus far, Big J has been handling both the responsibilities and the privileges reasonably well. Not perfectly, but well enough. I, however, could be doing better.

I thought I was just being a typical Mom. I thought he knew these are the things that Moms say, that we are practically required to say them.

Be good. I mean it, be GOOD.

Stay out of trouble.

Remember what we expect of you.

We've got hidden cameras all of the neighborhood, dude- so watch yourself.

Most of these things were said casually, with a smile, on his way out the door. He'd respond with a wave of his hand, and yeah, yeah... I know, Mom.

Until... the other day, when he looked at me and said, "You know I've never been in trouble, right?"

I laughed, thinking this a flip question, and answered, "Well, I don't know about never..."

He shook his head and clarified, "I mean, I have never been in any real trouble. I've never done anything bad, Mom."

I stopped laughing, straightened up, and said, "Oh. Okay. Well, yeah, I know that."

Still serious he said, "'Cause when you say that stuff about 'be good' or 'stay out of trouble' it kind of seems like you think I'm some bad kid and that I'm going to do something wrong."

Gulp.

Big J reminded me what I have always known, but all too often forget. My kids and I are dueling mirrors. They consistently reflect back to me, what they see me reflecting back at them. When I am particularly exasperated by Little T's energy, he sees that and raises it up another notch. Oh, so you think I'm too wild? I'll show you wild... When I start to see Big J as lazy and unmotivated, he catches that vision in my eyes and digs his heels in further. You haven't even seen unmotivated yet, Mom... But when I manage to guard my own reflections, only mirroring back to them all that is good and wonderful in them, I have seen it work magic.

In his wisdom, Big J opened the door for us to really talk about what those words mean when he dashes out the door. I didn't promise to stop saying them, because they have a point. Now he understands the point. The point is that he is young, and human, and everyone makes mistakes. I don't expect him to do something "bad". In fact, if I didn't believe in his ability to make good choices I wouldn't let him out the door. But, as his mom, it is still my job to remind him of that ability. To send him off armed with the knowledge that he is strong enough to do the right thing, that we believe in him, and yes, that we are watching him and holding him accountable.

He says he understands now. I told him to remember that the next time I tell him to, "be good" or "stay out of trouble", to remember the words left unspoken. The words that could fill a book, the words that he doesn't want me shouting out to him as he leaves for adventures unknown with his friends. Words like, because I love you, because I have faith in you, because I want only the best for you, and because I want you to have a future. Most of all, because I want you to come home the same way you left- in one piece, full of heart and dreams, knowing that nobody believes in you more than I do.

Because this is my space

2008-05-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

My younger brother and his wife welcomed their second daughter into the world this week. A healthy baby girl weighing in at a strapping 7 lbs. 2 oz., full of lusty cries, and nursing well. A thriving, healthy baby. In my mind, it's a miracle no matter how you view the cosmos, creation, and the origins of life. A bloody miracle.

I am intensely, genuinely happy for them. The pregnancy was not without its complications. Placenta previa put my sister in law on bedrest and placed a planned c-section squarely in her path. But in the 11th hour, the placenta graciously moved itself and she had a smooth, relatively quick vaginal delivery. My sister has reported that our SIL is doing great as is the baby. The big sister, my darling 2 1/2 year old niece, is not sure what to make of the upheaval in what had once been a quiet, peaceful existence. I can't wait to get over the mountains not only to meet my new niece, but to whisk away her big sister for lots of happy playtime with Pumpkin. I'm pretty sure I am already her favorite aunt, and I'm just looking to cement the deal.

And yet....

There are lingering, nagging feelings of something when I look at the pictures on my computer screen of this new life. I see the glow on her mama's face, the twinkle in her daddy's eyes, and that oh-so-new-to-the-world cherubic little being- and my heart hurts, just a little.

Is it because there will be no more babies for me? Or, does it graze that ever present wound I carry of the not-so-perfect birth of my twins? Am I just wistful and nostalgic, or sad and envious? I'm not sure.

The last thing I would ever want to do is dampen even a moment of their joy. I am far enough past the loss of my babies that I don't expect that to enter anyone's mind during this happy time, and I don't even want it to. This is their moment, I want no piece of it other than to be the proud, doting aunt. But, because this is my space, I get to say it here. I get to say that there is something about it that tugs painfully at my heart. I get to say that the sight of new babies awakens old memories and dreams set aside. I get to say that I still think about things that should have been and never will be.

Welcome to the world baby girl. You are very, very loved- by so many people, including your Auntie Lo Lo.

P.S. Did I mention that her middle name is my given name? It is also the same as Molly's middle name. They were very sweet when they told me they were giving her that name as her middle name. I was very touched.

Holding, wishing, and willing

2008-05-13T09:07:00.001-07:00

These are my boys. It occurs to me when I look at this picture that I have no idea what anyone else sees when they look at them. As their mother, I see so much more than their bright smiles and hair in desperate need of a trim (or shearing). I see everything in them, everything they have been, and everything I hope they will be. I see their quirks, their fears, their strengths, their struggles. I see them with a mother's heart and so for me they are gorgeous, and strong, and vulnerable, and both little and big all at the same time.

My heart is a bit consumed with these little/big boys these days. My mind keeps traveling ahead to September, wandering into an unknown future, even when I don't want it to. Will they make friends quickly? Will they like their teachers? Will their teachers help them adapt, will they be sensitive to the challenges of being the "new kid"? Will the schoolwork overwhelm them, or will it prove to be more manageable than what they have been doing? Will they be sad? Will they be lonely? How long will it take for it to get better? A week? A month? Several months? How long will they be mad at me? How will I contain my guilt and my angst in order to put forward a positive, resolved front?

Go ahead, tell me to stop. It's probably what I most need to hear. I need to hear that children are adaptable and resilient and less resistant to change than it seems. I need to remember all of the very sound reasons we are making this change and that they will be better off in the long run. I need to quit taking on my children's pain and claiming it as my own. I need to have faith, to pray, to breathe, and to believe... believe that this will all be fine. They will be fine.

I'll take more than a day, thanks.

2008-05-09T10:20:00.000-07:00

I was getting my haircut the other night (one of my most favorite indulgences), and my stylist, who is also my friend, asked what I was doing for Mother's Day...

Background Information: My stylist/friend, let's call her Beth, is 40 years old. She has never been married and comes from a big Catholic family with scads of nieces and nephews. She is a fantastic aunt, and would be a fabulous mother. I have known her for 12 years now and we are truly friends so I know how much she has always longed for a child of her own.

Now, Beth's father died from a brain tumor when she was just a teenager. Losing her father at such a vulnerable age nearly destroyed her, and it is an absence she still feels keenly. One of her sisters battled breast cancer over a decade ago, and two years ago it returned. She fought it again and is thus far still winning. However, because she has a sister with recurrent breast cancer, Beth decided to be tested for the "breast cancer gene", and discovered that she is a carrier of that gene. One of the reasons she felt she needed this knowledge was for the sake of her sister's children, her nieces and nephew. Beth told me, "I have to be ready to do whatever I can to stay alive in case my sister dies. Those kids will need me." With that altruistic mindset she went ahead and had an elective double mastectomy. She had tremendous support from family and friends during that difficult time, with the exception of her longtime boyfriend who broke up with her two weeks after her surgery.

Fast forward to now, Beth is doing well. She has healed from both the surgery and her reconstructive surgeries. She is in a new, very healthy relationship with a fantastic guy. She is happier than I have ever seen her, and yet... I know that the subject of children is still very sensitive for her. Even with this new man in her life, she knows that children are becoming a more and more remote possibility. I cannot emphasize enough what a remarkable, lovely woman she is and how much I wish her every dream would come true.

So, there we were... with that polite question hanging in the air. What are you doing for Mother's Day?

I shrugged and told her nonchalantly, Oh, probably not much. You know, it just isn't that big of a deal to me.

She laughed and said, Well that's refreshing to hear! You can't imagine all the women I've heard from this week who have rattled off a long list of things they are expecting or hoping for on Mother's Day.

I shook my head. No.... We've never made a big deal of Mother's Day or Father's Day in our house, and after the twins died, it became even less of a big deal to me.

She asked, genuinely interested, Really? Why is that?

Trying to find the words, I told her, I don't know... I guess it's more the way the day is presented that I can't get behind. As though Mother's Day should be all gifts and pampering to make up for all the times we go unappreciated. I guess I just don't feel that way. I mean, the way I look at it, I won the lottery three times. I don't deserve these three living, healthy, happy kids... but here they are. If anything, Mother's Day is just another reminder for me to be grateful.

She nodded thoughtfully and said, I like that. But of course, you understand more than most just how lucky you are. And I know that there is a part of Mother's Day that must be sad for you as well.

I smiled appreciatively. Beth has always been very attuned to the loss of Molly and Joseph, and never forgets about that reality. So, I smiled, but I also said gently, Yes, and I know it must be for you too.

And she smiled back, the smile of a survivor. The smile of someone who has faced tragedy and loss time after time, and still keeps clawing her way back to life. That knowing smile that says it all. The smile that says I see in you what I see in me. I see that you have been wounded, and beaten down, and stripped to the core of your being, only to rebuild yourself and your life layer by layer, clinging to hope and faith and the sheer will to live again.

I thought about our conversation as I drove home and I tried to identify for myself where my heart and my head are in regards to the idea of Mother's Day. I'm not opposed to the day, it's just not something I get that worked up about one way or another. I'm a mother every day. Morning, noon and night, I am a mother. In good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, at twelve noon and twelve midnight, whether I feel like it or not, I am a mother. It is a day in and day out experience, and it is that constancy, that dailiness, that repetitive nature of the job that I cherish most of all. Because I'm not just a mother one day out of the year, but all of the other 364 days as well. That is something I don't take lightly. I know how it feels to wonder if you will ever be a mother. I know how it feels to wonder why conceiving a baby comes naturally to so many, and not to you. I know how it feels to bring a healthy baby into this world, and I know how it feels to birth a baby on the brink of death. I know how it feels to slog through motherhood day after day, and I know how it feels to be a mother for only one day.

I'll take the day after day, exhausting, occasionally mind numbing, tedious, joyous, repetitive, ordinary, wild adventure of motherhood. I celebrate this gift of motherhood every single day, even when my mind forgets, and my will is weak, my heart never stops singing of this gift. Because I know what it is like to not have and to want, to have and rejoice, to have and to lose, and to long for more. I don't resent or reject Mother's Day... I just don't need it.

Never enough time

2008-05-05T11:47:00.001-07:00

My grandfather was in his 80's when he died. He and my Nana had been married for over 60 years, had three children, 9 grandchildren and, at that time, 8 great-grandchildren. He had lived a remarkable life, the extent to which I didn't appreciate until well into adulthood. He was in charge of the displaced persons camps in Europe after WWII, he was the chief warden at San Quentin for a time, and eventually became a professor of Criminology at UC Berkley. In his retirement he did visiting professorships in lands as far flung as Alaska and the Philippines. He was a notorious jokester, and a master inventor. He had a good life, a long life. And still, after his death, my Nana sunk into a depression that 8 years later she has still not completely pulled out of. She was never the same again. Life without him was too foreign, too empty. By most measures they had had what we all hope for. And yet, for her, it was not enough.

*********************************************************

My father was 62 when he died. A long life compared to some, a short life compared to others. A full life to be sure. My father achieved success in both the business of money and the business of life. He and my mother were married for 40 years. They had four children and had seven living grandchildren when he died. He got to see all of his children get married, and held most of his grandchildren. Most, but not all of them. He didn't live long enough to see his youngest son's first child born, just 5 months after he died. He will never hold their second daughter, due anytime now. For my brother, the frames that would have held photos of his father cradling his children will remain forever empty. The plans my parents had for their lives post-retirement will never come to pass. His absence is palpable and the hole left is still enormous. We can be grateful for everything he gave, and everything we got, but it wasn't enough.

*******************************************************

Recently, my uncle died. I was not close to him so the loss wasn't personally painful for me, but it was for others whom I love. The last time I was on the Other Side of the Mountains, I visited my Nana. My uncle, her oldest child and only son, had just died a few weeks before. I was admiring her array of family photos on the windowsill and paused to look at a black and white, 8 x 10 photo of my uncle as a very little boy. He was truly a beautiful child with jet black hair, twinkling eyes and olive skin. My Nana noticed me looking at the photo and she said quietly, "That little boy died." I nodded and answered gently, "I know, Nana. I'm so sorry." Because of course while that little boy didn't really die, but instead the grown man that he became, I knew to her that it didn't feel that way at all. It didn't feel like her son of nearly 70 years died, but in fact that little sunny faced boy she still carried with her deep in the recesses of her heart and memory. No matter how old he was, he still wasn't supposed to die first. It still wasn't enough time.

**********************************************************

There have been a few occasions when some brave soul has ventured to ask me how long Joseph and Molly lived after they were born. I never quite know what to say. I know of other mothers of very premature babies who seem to know exactly how long their baby lived, to the minute. They will say, she lived one hour and 17 minutes, and I am left wondering how they know. Were their babies so much more alive than mine, or their deaths so much more obvious? My sweet boy and girl came into this world quietly, barely more than a whisper. The only audible cries were my own. I could feel their warmth, their aliveness, but they were very, very still. A slight movement here and there, but even that is hard to know if it was imagined or real. Molly made one tiny sound, and I have wondered if it was her farewell- but I don't really know. They came quietly and left the same way, so I just don't know.

Maybe I didn't want to know. I can remember feeling that as long they were still with me then they were still with me. And so I held them, all day. And for one day it felt like they were mine, and they were here, even though I know that for most of that day, they weren't. Sometimes, when I allow myself to fantasize, I wish that we had pursued heroic measures. Not because I believe they would have ultimately survived, but for the purely selfish reason of keeping them with me just a little longer. A week maybe, a few days, even hours.... just a little longer.

I think the next time someone asks how long they lived I will just tell them the one thing I know to be true. Not long enough... not nearly long enough.

Christmas everyday

2008-05-04T15:34:00.000-07:00

Three years ago today, my Dad left this earth. And because I cannot let this day pass without honoring him in some small way, I will share here the words I spoke at his memorial. My siblings and I all spoke and had decided in advance that we would each choose one part of my Dad's persona and character to focus on. I chose to focus on my father's alter ego.

This is what I said:

Christmas is a magical time for children- it certainly was in our home. Every child goes to bed on Christmas Eve with visions of Santa and what he might bring, but in our home Santa actually came to visit. Every year. In person. Not in the dead of night as he does on Christmas Eve, but in the light of day as the very special guest of our annual Christmas party. It was a tradition that began before I was even born, and so it was a part of my life as long as I can remember.

What might surprise all of you was how many years it was before I started to recognize a familiar twinkle in those blue eyes, and that Santa’s big voice sounded an awful lot like someone else I knew so very well. I suppose that is all part of the magic of believing that it took me so long to realize who was behind that snowy white beard. And what a shock and surprise it was! Though not the disappointment some of you might imagine. Suddenly it all made perfect sense. Santa was a quietly generous man who sought no fanfare for himself. Santa had a gentle humor that appealed to children of all ages. Santa was known for his twinkling eyes and his legendary laugh. And Santa loved to give presents. Why hadn’t I seen it before?

From that day on I went through life armed with new knowledge that made my life richer and more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. I carried a special secret in my heart that brought me joy throughout my life, and still does today. Santa brings magic to every child’s life, but it is a particularly charmed life indeed when you grow up as the daughter of Santa Claus.

A very old photo- yellowed and faded.
But if you look closely, you will see a three year old Lori
smooching her very own Santa.

I miss you, Dad. Every single day.

The letter I won't send

2008-05-02T13:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Academic Vice Principal,

Forgive me, but I am puzzled by my 7th grader's parent-teacher conference yesterday. I guess I was under the mistaken impression that conferences are intended to not only help each student identify areas in which they need to grow or change, but to also take a moment to offer praise and encouragement in those areas where the student has already grown. I guess I thought we set aside this time because we all view it as an important opportunity for home and school to come together and motivate, inspire, encourage and celebrate these young people that we share. I guess I thought the reason the students are present at the conference is so that they will benefit from hearing about and discussing their weaknesses as well as their strengths.

I guess I was wrong.

There was nothing said at Big J's conference that I disagree with. The tone was friendly and neither his math or science teacher were mean or adversarial. And I recognize that there was probably a lack of balance since his Language Arts and Geography teacher was not able to attend (two of his stronger subjects). All of the discussion as to how Big J could focus better, improve his note taking skills and take more ownership of his work was perfectly appropriate and necessary. I am aware, and he is aware, that these are areas in which he needs to continue to grow. I did wonder why some of the suggestions his science teacher had for improving his focus have not come up before these last 5 weeks of school, but I was willing to let that go. He has, after all, made great strides in Science and I was waiting for that to come up next.

I guess I will be waiting a long time....

The conference ended there with both of them looking at me asking if I had any questions. I was dumbfounded. What I wanted to say was, "Yes. I am wondering if either of you have any words of praise or encouragement to offer my son? I am wondering if you really believe that you are motivating him by pointing out all of the ways he as at fault? I am wondering if you have ever stopped to ask yourselves if you are doing enough by him, and if perhaps there are changes you could make to help him learn and succeed? I am wondering if you stopped to flip open your grade books and remind yourselves that J currently has an A in Science and a B+ in math- his two weakest subjects? I am wondering if you were ever going to get around to congratulating him on the terrific job he did putting together the video for his science group project? I am wondering if you realize how much your attitude toward him, and the box you have placed him in, has everything to do with how much effort he puts forth in your classes? I am wondering if it is at all possible for him to walk away from this conference thinking there is any reason to try any harder when clearly he is never going to be enough? I am wondering if you have even ONE NICE WORD TO SAY TO MY CHILD?!?!"

But I didn't. And I don't really know why. Partly to spare Big J tremendous humiliation, partly because I am coward, and partly because we were already late for Little T's conference. Whatever the reason I simply said, "Nope. Thank you for your time." And off we went.

When we got into the car, I asked J how he felt about his conference. He shrugged and answered nonchalantly, "Fine."

I glanced at him as I pulled away from the curb and asked, "Really? You felt okay about it?"

He looked at me quizzically then and said, "Well... yeah, it was fine. I mean I hate conferences but it was okay. Why? What did you think?"

Choosing my words carefully, I answered, "Oh... I don't know. I thought they had some good suggestions as to how you could focus better in class, and I liked your ideas about taking more careful notes." And I paused, trying to find the words. "I was just a little disappointed that they didn't mention any of the things you have done really well this trimester. I mean, you have worked really hard and your grades reflect that. I kind of thought they should have let you know that they see the ways you are putting forth more effort."

Big J shook his head and answered, "Oh... no, Mom. That's not what conferences are for. They are supposed to be about all the negative stuff."

I guess conferences have changed since I was a teacher.

Sincerely,

Big J's Mom

Fits and starts

2008-04-30T21:46:00.000-07:00

I wonder sometimes how much worse it might get. Or if perhaps we will be among those lucky parents who can smile breezily and say, we love having a teenager... he's really so easy. Now, in this moment, I could say that. Kind of. Maybe not the so easy part, but the part about loving having a teenager. But he's only 13- there are a lot of teen years left.

Earlier this evening we had a small disagreement. It wasn't heated. I kept my cool, managed to respond rather than react, and he kept his frustration to a level that hovered only slightly above sulking. He knew I wasn't pleased with him, and I knew he wasn't so thrilled with me either. However, I actually felt pretty certain that we both knew my arguments were sound and valid. I guess they must have been because he re-appeared within about 15 minutes of our conversation and apologized. I told him I accepted his apology. Apparently he wasn't so sure because he apologized again before he went to bed. This time, I had to laugh and insisted that he let me give him a hug. He hates to feel that I am upset with him. At this age he still makes that crystal clear. I need to remember that as he gets older and develops the ability to disguise and deny his own vulnerabilities.

As parents I think we sometimes underestimate how much hold we have on our children's hearts. If our relationships have been rooted in love, we need to maintain our firm belief that we matter to them. Our opinions matter. What we value matters. We have to hold onto that belief in the face of a thousand rolled eyes, hundreds of whatevers, and dozens and dozens of grunts and shrugged shoulders. Because if we forget that, we will give into panic, and desperation, and fear- and then, so will they.

He's not so scary, this teenager of mine. And tonight, as he hung his head and offered his genuinely contrite apology, I saw him exactly as he is, who he was, and who he is becoming. He was a little boy, an adolescent, and a young man all at once. He knows how to say he is sorry. That's not such a bad place to start.

The crystal ball

2008-04-28T09:25:00.000-07:00

There is a new tool available from the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development that attempts to aid both doctors and parents when faced with the impending arrival of a severely premature infant. Objectively speaking, I am all for anything that gives parents information devoid of the bias of those around them. What I mean by that is, even the most well intentioned doctor has ways of conveying his or her bias for or against aggressive measures, probably without even realizing it. Parents are very vulnerable in these situations and can be swayed one way or the other without really understanding that another doctor might view the situation completely differently.

On a far less objective level, I really don't know what to do with this information. Of course I couldn't stop myself from plugging Molly and Joseph's stats into the tool. The results really didn't surprise me. I have looked at all of the survival rates and statistics so many times since their deaths that I probably have them memorized.

Molly's potential was slightly greater than Joseph's, simply by virtue of her gender. For unknown reasons, girl preemies tend to fare better than boys. According to the NICH tool, Molly had a 43% chance of survival with mechanical ventilation. That number sounds optimistic but it has to be put in perspective. If you turn it on its head, and add in her chances for sustaining moderate to severe neurodevelopmental impairment, she had an 84% chance of either dying or surviving with moderate to severe neurodevelopmental issues.

Joseph's outlook was slightly more bleak. With mechanical ventilation he would have been given a 33% of survival, but only an 8% chance of surviving without moderate to severe neurodevelopmental impairment. In other words, he had a 92% chance of dying or surviving with significant neurological and physical issues.

For what it's worth, we were told our twins had about a 10% chance of survival, and that getting them to 24 weeks appeared nearly impossible (at 24 weeks our doctor said their chances of survival would increase to 50%). As I can recall (and I do not trust my memory entirely), I do remember my OB also telling us that they would almost certainly have cerebral palsy and would likely be both deaf and blind. However, I don't really remember that information registering all that deeply with me. I was focused on the 10% chance of survival, and the clearly pervading attitude all around me which was that we should let them go.

Would we have made different decisions had this tool been available to us? I don't know. It is easier to think that we wouldn't have, because then I don't have to travel back down into the Land of What If again. I do think we would have at least tried harder to get them to 24 weeks, if we had known the real numbers for survival at that gestational age. The truth is, as much as I have tried to ignore it at times, my own doctor's information was outdated at best. We were not able to accurately evaluate our options, because we didn't have the facts. This tool would have at least offered us some objective, up to date, information with which to base our decision. It would have helped enormously to have a tool that removed the emotion for a moment, and gave us some basis for thinking intellectually.

I cannot say how much weight we would have given to the issues of neurodevelopmental impairment. In our situation we were focused only on their survival and their suffering. With only a 10% chance of survival (the number we were given), it truly felt cruel to me to subject our babies to anything other than the warmth of our arms, and whispered "I love you's" as they quietly came and left this earth. Their bodies were so fragile, so tiny, that it was impossible for me to imagine they could withstand any more than that. One of my only consolations is my firm belief that our little ones knew only love during their short stay, and that they have carried our love with them to a place of eternal love and perfect peace.

But still.... I do wonder. I will always wonder.

P.S. For those of you who are worried this information will take me to a dark place, please know that I am okay. This information is not new to me, just the idea of a tool for parents. I am in support of that tool provided it is used gently with parents facing such unimaginable decisions. I really do know that even this is not a crystal ball. There is no way to know what their fate may have been. I may question some of my decisions, but I never doubt what I gave them during their time on earth. I gave them everything I had. I know that, and I have no regrets there. I really am fine.

A perfect 10

2008-04-26T19:06:00.001-07:00

Little T is 10 today.

I now have two kids in the double digits, one of whom is a teenager. This is starting to get out of hand, people! I'm pretty sure that I'm not old enough to have these children (and yet, I am absolutely old enough to have these children). But, while I have had moments of nostalgia, this 10th birthday has actually been nothing less than lovely. I feel proud of my boy and look forward to all that is to come. Today, I am not looking backward with a lump in my throat about the baby he once was (adorable as he was). No, today I am sitting squarely in the present reveling in the 10 year old boy that he is. And what a boy he is...

Here are some of the less traditional gifts that came to Little T today.

- He pitched two great innings in his baseball game.

- He scored three runs and got on base every time he was at bat.

- His very best friend is spending the whole weekend with us!

- The Caribbean Conservation newsletter came today and T's "adopted turtle" was spotted coming ashore to nest on the beaches of Tortuguero, Costa Rica. His Turtle's name along with T's was listed in the newsletter. This is the first time we have received word that Snappy is indeed alive and well. Little T was thrilled! It also means that hopefully Snappy will have some babies!

- Little T got to take two of his friends to his favorite neighborhood Mexican restaurant. This is the 4th year in a row he has gone there on his birthday. They have the delightful tradition of placing a sombrero on the birthday boy's head, singing happy birthday, while decorating his face with whipped cream. He loves it!

Of course Pumpkin had to get in on the action too!

Happy Birthday Little T! If I could have my pick of all the 10 year old boys in the world, I would choose you, every time... without a doubt!

Love you!
Mom

The fork in the road

2008-04-25T14:02:00.000-07:00

dis·cern·ment n.
1 . The act or process of exhibiting keen insight and good judgment.
2. The trait of judging wisely and objectively.

I consider myself a reasonably decisive person. I can choose a paint color in about 10 minutes flat and not live to regret it. When I receive an invitation I can decide yes or no, put it on my calendar or not, and move on. I rarely agonize over clothing choices (mainly due to my rather limited wardrobe), evidenced by the fact that I can work my way through a clothing store in mere minutes and either make my purchases or walk out without. Most of the time, the should-I-or-shouldn't-I game is not a part of my daily repertoire.

Discernment is something else in my mind. To me, discernment is about being able to glean truths that may not be self evident. It is looking for the hidden motive, the underlying message, and the ability to look at two equally attractive possibilities and determine which is the right one. Decisiveness is an ability to react, choose, and implement. Discernment employs wisdom, insight and a conscious response. I struggle a bit more with discernment.

Recently, I heard someone say that if you are struggling with a decision, or against a certain path, then maybe that is your answer that it isn't the right one. That didn't sit well with me. To me, that implies that the "right path" is usually the easy path. What would happen if we all sought only those choices that allow us to avoid being challenged? What if we always looked for the path of least resistance? I shudder to think of all of the good works that would have never been accomplished in this world if comfort were held up as the highest virtue to aspire to.

We've made our decision. The boys will be going to the New School in the fall. They don't know that we've decided yet, but we will break that news soon. I have moments of feeling excited about the new opportunities that lie ahead for them, and then there are moments I feel positively sick. I have had flickers of peace about this decision, and an equal amount of torment. We tried to employ whatever amount of discernment we could to this decision, but sometimes I still wonder how we got to this place. Unfortunately, at this point it feels as though the only assurance we will ever get as to whether or not we picked the right path will come in hindsight. I can only hope that a year from now I will be able to reflect back on this post and say, Yep, we took the harder path, and it was worth every bump and bruise along the way.

Let it be so.

How do you make tough decisions? Do you decide quickly and let it go? Or, do you go back and forth, back and forth, endlessly questioning which is the right direction? If you are a person of faith, what role does prayer play in your discernment, if any?

Reader advisory

2008-04-23T15:01:00.000-07:00

This falls in the category of, "I Couldn't Make This Up if I Tried" as well as, "Proceed with Caution."

While driving Pumpkin home from preschool today:

Pumpkin: Uh oh, Mommy. I have a booger.

Me: Okay, let me find a tissue...

P: No, that's okay. I like holding my booger.

Me: Oh, Pumpkin... that's kind of yucky... as soon as I can stop I'll find a tissue.

P: No, Mommy, it's not yucky! Look at it. This booger is soooo cute!

Me: (starting to laugh now) It's cute?!?

P: Yes, it's sooo cute. I like holding it. It's like a little baby booger... (cooing commences)

Me: (Full blown laughter now) Pumpkin! Boogers are not babies! That's really kind of gross, honey. Boogers have germs and you need to use a tissue not your finger.

P: Oh, Mommy... it's not like I'm going to eat it!

Thank heaven for small favors...

The antidote

2008-04-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

This was the setting for my weekend retreat. Amazingly, we really did have some light snow over the course of our two days which only added to the atmosphere. Although it still felt crazy for April, somehow being nestled in the mountains gave the drifting snowflakes a bit more credibility. Still, there were moments during the day when the sun would break through with such force that we would find ourselves removing our layers and basking in its warmth.

And if the beautiful setting weren't remedy enough for my melancholy, the company certainly was. I went into this retreat with entirely different hopes and intentions than I have in years past. Two years ago, my Dad's death, as well as my twins, was still recent enough that there were issues of the heart and healing that I needed to delve into. And I did. Last year, I was the facilitator, which I completely enjoyed, but still gave the weekend a different tone. This year, I went into this weekend not wanting to explore my melancholy, but to shed it. I wanted to rediscover levity, lightness and laughter. And that is exactly what I found.

There were more serious moments, of course. The focus of the retreat was to explore different types, and ways of looking at prayer, and it was very enlightening. But even my time spent in prayer took on a different flavor. Rather than seeking healing, peace, comfort... as I have in the past- I shifted my thinking and my intention to inviting God to help me bring joy and laughter and abundance back into my life. I truly believe in a laughing God and that He is always trying to gently draw us toward the Light, and not into darkness. This weekend I caught more than just a few glimpses of that radiant Light. Sometimes it was in the midst of prayer, but more often than not it was found in the fits of giggles that kept engulfing my cousin, our friend and I.

At one point, during a time of quiet reflection, my cousin and I got a terrible case of the "church giggles." It was my fault. I intentionally did something that I knew would make her chuckle. What I didn't expect was for her to erupt into a full blown case of the silent-shaking-tears-streaming-down-your-face-trying-desperately-to-contain-yourself kind of laughter. Well, once she did that of course I had to join her and there we were- covering our faces hoping the rest of the women weren't noticing our completely adolescent display. We pulled ourselves together and really didn't disrupt things too terribly. But, as I settled back into my time of reflection, I could feel the shift that moment of silliness inspired. My heart felt full, and light, and ready to seek out the next opportunity for laughter, rather than anticipating the next round of tears.

Thanks be to God.

Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God.

- Karl Barth

Retreat

2008-04-18T14:02:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow morning I will be leaving for an overnight retreat. This will be the third year in a row I have gone on this retreat. It is organized by the Women's Spirituality Group I attend weekly (or, at least attempt to attend weekly). Last year, I was the leader of the retreat- an experience I found to be very stimulating and oddly fun. However, I am absolutely giddy about the fact that this year I get to be nothing more than an attendee. Right now I don't really even care about the focus of the retreat- I just need the retreat part.

The past few days I have felt a distinct cloud of melancholy settling over me. I am not prone to tears and yet I found myself welling up in the car today without even knowing why. I think I just feel myself and my family heading into a time of transition, which being the homebody that I am is not my favorite thing. I don't thrive on change, or adventure, or spontaneity. Oh sure, every once in awhile maybe. So long as it is all good and fun. But the transitions I feel headed our way are going to be of the more uncomfortable, unpredictable, less exhilarating sort.

Five years ago we faced a similar transition. Five years ago this fall we entered into a new community and struggled to navigate new territory, rules and customs (as every community has). Five years ago this fall we lost two babies while still in the midst of settling ourselves into a new place and routine. Five years ago this fall, everything was turned upside down.

Maybe that's why this upcoming transition feels so ominous to me, so daunting? The last time we made this sort of change the unthinkable happened. The loss of our twins had nothing to do with the transition itself, but the timing of the two is forever linked in my memory. Or, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was finally starting to feel settled, and slightly connected, and we are uprooting ourselves again. Or, maybe I am afraid of what it will mean to enter into a community where no one knows anything about Molly and Joseph? Or, maybe I'm just a big baby.... It's probably mostly that.

What my heart is up to today

2008-04-17T09:14:00.000-07:00

My friend Joy is smart. In a previous post I declared the following quote to be a bit melodramatic.

Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

~Elizabeth Stone

In her comment, Joy challenged my assessment and talked about her own agony anytime her children are struggling or perform publicly. She spoke about her own experience, but I think she was also graciously calling me out. She has read my blog long enough to know that even if the wording of this particular quote doesn't resonate with me, the sentiment sure does. There is no one guiltier than I am of carrying a little too much of their children's burdens, challenges and even happiness. Not in a pathological way, I assure you. But, to quote someone whom I would rather not, I feel their pain.

Today my heart is in the hands of an anxious 13 year old boy. This afternoon he will be interviewing with the junior high principal at a school he doesn't want to attend. Mind you, he doesn't know anything about this school, and we believe he will really like it, but he doesn't have any interest in leaving his current school. He keeps telling us he is willing to consider the New School for high school, but insists he will not leave his current school for his 8th grade year. Unfortunately, we are leaning quite heavily toward exactly that. We have a lengthy list as to all the reasons we feel it would be in his best long-term interests to move to the New School in 8th grade, but I know he has his own list of reasons for wanting to stay where he is. And while he wouldn't admit it, his list looks something like:

1. Friends

2. Familiarity

3. Friends

4. Less of the Unknown

5. Friends

6. I just want to

7. Friends

Those aren't bad reasons for wanting to stay where he is. They are, in fact, perfectly understandable given his age and personality. And while we think we have better, loftier, more impressive reasons for imposing this move on him, we know he will not be moved or impressed or at all happy that we have given this such careful consideration.

And the truth is, I feel sad, and guilty, and quite totally sick to my stomach about it all. Because I feel too badly for him, and I am all too willing to help him shoulder the burden of his emotions, even when they are directed toward me.

Did you ever think?

2008-04-16T21:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Sis,

Did you ever think we'd be posing for pictures with our arms full of children of our own? Like, our very own children? Like, did you ever think we'd be mothers?

Did you ever think that Mom would end up being right all of those times when she said, Someday your sister will be your best friend?

Did you ever think that we would really be able to talk on the phone for hours about what we ate that day, how much we exercised, which household chores we were avoiding, and how much sleep we got last night?

Did you ever think that Dad would really die? Before he was gone, could you imagine him being gone? Can you now?

Did you ever think that I might not find my way back? Did you know how much it meant to me to know you were always there waiting?

Did you ever think that you would be raising two boys, and doing it so well?

Did you ever think that I might never stop making fun of you for having the middle name of Ardis?

Did you ever think that all of those things we thought were so funny as kids would still be funny now that we are "adults"?

Did you ever think that you would one day be 34 and I would be 38 and we'd still be acting like we are 14 and 18?

There isn't much that is real now that I could have imagined back then, but I do know I have always been grateful for you. Even if I didn't always act like it...

Happy Birthday Sis!

Love,

Butterflies

2008-04-16T08:21:00.000-07:00

Today Big J is giving a presentation at school as the culmination of a long-term group project. He and three other boys were assigned "Italy" and over the past three weeks they have been researching everything imaginable about that lovely little country on the Mediterranean Sea. He has a handout, a very professional looking powerpoint, and a fun sample of Italian cuisine. He practiced his presentation for me last night and did an admirable job for a 7th grade boy. He didn't seem nervous in the slightest this morning. So, why do I have butterflies?

***********************************************************

This morning I will be taking Little T out of school for a couple hours. He is going to tour his potential new school and meet the principal. I have not used the word "interview" with him, but that is technically what it is. However, I also know that they don't expect anymore of him than one should expect from an almost-10-year-old boy. The principal will be friendly and kind and Little T is looking forward to the tour. So, why am I the one with my stomach in knots?

**********************************************************

Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. ~ Elizabeth Stone

I have always thought that quote to be a bit melodramatic. Today, it feels uncomfortably true.

In a handbasket

2008-04-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

We have quite an extensive and varied costume trunk in our house. This morning, before leaving for school, Little T put together this little ensemble for his little sister. Then they ran through the house yelling "Demon Baby! Demon Baby!"

As the boys were leaving for school our little Devil stood on the porch blowing kisses and yelling, "Bye Daddy! Bye Big J! Bye Little T!" She would have been the picture of sweetness if it weren't for the hideous mask and the devilish red gown blowing in the wind.

After they drove away, Pumpkin/Demon Baby closed the front door and started tripping her way down the hallway. I overheard her mumble to herself, "This house is crazy...."

Oh, Pumpkin... don't I know it.

Happy Monday!!

Six degrees

2008-04-10T12:06:00.000-07:00

A dear friend of mine was just asked last night to photograph the Dalai Lama today. Is that cool or what?!? I can't wait to hear from her about this amazing experience!

Do you think that some of his peaceful aura will be passed on to her and then rub off on me? I sure hope so.

If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.

~Dalai Lama

I'm not a Buddhist but I have great appreciation for the Dalai Lama's humble messages of peace, compassion and understanding. I'm pretty sure Jesus does too.

Foothold

2008-04-07T07:49:00.000-07:00

The landscape of grief is a hard one to define. There is definitely a big pit you have to climb out of in the beginning. And it is no easy climb, people. There's a lot of clawing and scrambling, and the inevitable backslides that send you tumbling back down when you thought you had come so far. Eventually you see glimpses of light (in the beginning, light is only a rumor- an offering of hope from those who have climbed out of this pit before you), and you press on, clinging to the promise that the pit really isn't your permanent home. Still, even as you make your way closer and closer to the light, you still can't see what lies beyond the pit. You have no idea what will come next.

What comes after the pit? That's when the topography becomes more varied and individual. No two journeys are the same. For some, usually because of compounding difficult life circumstances, it takes a very long time to venture very far from the pit. Every step forward yields two step backwards, and the danger of falling back in is very real. And for any of us, any new experience of loss can send us all the way back to the bottom of the pit; with dirty, tear streaked faces looking up from the darkness wondering how we will ever find the strength to climb back up again. Hopefully, we do.

I, myself, climbed out of the pit twice. Once, after the death of my babies. And then again, after the death of my father. Different climbs, with different challenges along the way. But both climbs took effort and required the grace of time. One of the hardest aspects of climbing out of the pit is learning that sometimes it has nothing to do with how hard you try- it just takes time.

I can't identify a single moment in time when I finally swung my leg over the edge of the pit and stood back up on solid ground. Re-entry is usually more gradual and subtle than that. But, at some point, I did. I started a new journey; a journey that still involves peaks and valleys but has thus far not circled me back to the pit.

Recently, I have felt myself to be on a fairly steady ascent. I have been rediscovering old pieces myself that I once feared were gone forever. I have been rekindling old friendships and have been grateful to find my friends willing and eager to welcome me back. I have been exercising consistently with renewed vigor and have been trying to figure out how to bring my favorite sport, tennis, back into my life. I feel present to my living children, and my husband, and am working to extend that presence to my friends and extended family. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't think of Molly and Joseph, but for the most part (in spite of the thoughts of my previous post), I am content with my own private memories.

Now, before you either stand up and cheer for me, or roll your eyes and say, well that's nice for you... there is a BUT to all of this. The past week or so I have come across some blogs of mothers (and even a father) who are still standing in the depths of the pit. Every new story of loss breaks my heart and it is inevitable that as I read their words of anguish and bewilderment I am transported back to my own days, weeks and months spent in darkness. I am drawn to these stories for many reasons, but one of the biggest reasons is my desire to try and extend even a flicker of light to those still wandering helplessly in the dark. I want to offer them the hope that others offered me, while at the same time fully validating their current experience and the depth of their sorrow. However, and here is the but.... Sometimes I wonder if by standing on the edge of the pit, in order to hold out a candle to someone else, I am in danger of slipping back in myself. When I visit these blogs there is a visceral experience of connection to their stories, and I find myself needing to carefully wedge my foot into something secure- on solid ground- outside of the pit- as I peer back down into that darkness.

I hate to think of leaving anyone down there alone. And, I am actually pretty confident in my ability to walk along the edge of the pit without falling in. But, the question is, is it good for me? Is it good for my family? Is it hindering my own journey, and my own climb?

I'm not sure.... I do know that a great deal of my own healing came as the result of reaching out to other families who were experiencing similar losses. And, at the heart of it, compassion shouldn't have anything to do with me. It is not for my own benefit that I feel compelled to hold out a small, flickering light in the darkness. I have received and so I give. At the end of the day, I don't know that I can pretend they aren't there. Their stories, their babies, matter to me.

What value has compassion if it does not take its object in its arms.

-Antoine De Saint-Exupery

God doesn't comfort us to make us comfortable but to make us comforters.

- J.H. Lovett

As soon as healing takes place, go out and heal somebody else.

- Maya Angelou

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

2008-04-02T09:57:00.000-07:00

I almost never dream about Molly and Joseph. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I can recall dreaming about them in the four and half years since they died. That's perfectly fine with me. I take no comfort in the surreal, disconnected quality of dreams. Even the most benign dreams often leave me unsettled. The few dreams I have had of them have not felt like "visits from beyond", they have simply been odd and bearing little resemblance to reality.

The other night though, I had a short simple dream about them that I remembered clearly when I woke up. I dreamed that I suddenly came across some pictures of them that I hadn't known existed. They were photos of them when they were still alive, which we don't have. There were photos of each of them, individually and together, in my arms- which we don't have. In my dream I pawed through the photos almost frantically asking myself, where did these come from? Why didn't I know we had these? And yet, the overwhelming feeling of the dream was one of relief, and even joy. A new vision of them. One more tangible reminder that they were here.

It isn't hard to interpret the meaning behind this dream. I'm pretty sure I don't need to seek out a therapist for this one. It did surprise me though because I really thought I had let go of my regrets over having so few photos of our babies. I haven't consciously thought of all of the things I wish we had done differently in a very long time. But, obviously, those wishes still exist somewhere inside me.

They just keep moving further and further away from us. Even Little T, my memory keeper, hardly mentions them anymore other than in a perfunctory way during his prayers. Last night Pumpkin was playing a silly word game with Superdad in which she would ask someone's name and he would make up something utterly absurd, causing her to giggle and then sternly correct him. She asked, "What are my brother's names?" Superdad answered, "Hmmm... I think they are Ooga Booga, and Booga Wooga." Much giggling ensued and then she responded, "No Daddy! Their names are Big J and Little T!" No Joseph. And let me be clear, in the context of that game, I really am fine with that. Pumpkin has almost no knowledge of Molly and Joseph. I have confidence that will come with time, but I don't feel the need to indoctrinate her with the idea that she has a sister and brother in Heaven. It really is okay with me if that is a part of their family story that my kids choose to keep to themselves. Little T often likes to tell the whole truth when asked about his family and siblings, Big J doesn't. I'm fine with both. I just feel them progressively slipping out of our family consciousness, and I wonder if it won't be long before they only remain in mine.

I think maybe my dream had less to do with unfulfilled wishes, but rather a new wish that something would come along to bring their memory back into focus for a moment. Something that would take us all back, just for a minute or two, and remember, that's right... there were two more of us. We remember. We loved them, we were excited about them, we planned for them, and we were sad when they didn't get to stay. We remember. I don't know what it would take to make that happen. We aren't good at contrived displays of sentimentality in my family. What would come off as perfectly natural for one family, would feel forced and artificial for ours. I guess we would need something like, oh... I don't know... new photos to suddenly appear. Yeah, bummer.

He really is always right... just ask him

2008-03-30T14:45:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, we headed over the mountains to spend what remained of Easter and the boy's subsequent Spring Break with our extended family. While driving over the mountains we were pelted by big, fat snowflakes and spent a good 10 miles or so tailgating a snowplow. Ever observant, Little T kept pestering us with questions as to why hadn't we packed their snow clothes? He reminded us over and over that it wasn't going to be any fun to play in the snow if they didn't have their proper snow gear. Over and over we kept telling him that it was only snowing in the mountains and that once we were through the mountains and well over on the other edge of the state there was certainly not going to be any snow. "It's Spring, Little T," we kept telling him, "It just doesn't snow this late in the year other than in the mountains, buddy."

It snowed every single day we were there. One day the snowfall actually added up to a few inches. It was freezing and snowing and my sister reported to me this morning that it is still snowing over there today.

To his credit, he didn't rub it in our faces too badly. He would just stand at the window, watching snowflakes the size of golfballs floating down, and then fold his arms and give us that all-knowing smirk. He didn't even have to say I told you so, although I am sure he was thinking to himself when will these people learn that I am always, always, always right?

Yes, when will we learn?

Twas the night before Easter

2008-03-22T21:58:00.000-07:00

Don't worry. I'm not going to take that any further than the title. I'm just not sure the myth of the Easter Bunny warrants extended prose.... much as I do love jelly beans and all...

Easter should be the bigger of the Big 2 on the Christian calendar but I am quite sure my kids put Christmas way, way at the top. It is the modern day conundrum for Christian parents; how do we keep any of the spiritual in two very religious holidays when they are celebrated by both non-Christian and Christian families alike? How is Jesus supposed to compete with a jolly, magical, gift bearing old man and a cute little bunny who brings chocolate and jelly beans for breakfast?

Tomorrow morning, we will try to allow our children a little of the fun of our culture's version of Easter, while still being mindful and attentive to our faith's celebration of Easter. We will try... and as always my prayer will be that somehow we manage to plant enough seeds that one day they will sprout and grow and bloom all on their own, and in their own time.

Happy Easter to everyone- no matter what this day means to you.

In the words of someone much wiser and more articulate than I:

If the world is sane, then Jesus is mad as a hatter and the Last Supper is the Mad Tea Party. The world says, Mind your own business, and Jesus says, There is no such thing as your own business. The world says, Follow the wisest course and be a success, and Jesus says, Follow me and be crucified. The world says, Drive carefully- the life you save may be your own- and Jesus says, Whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. The world says, Law and order, and Jesus says, Love. The world says, Get, and Jesus says, Give. In terms of the world's sanity, Jesus is as crazy as a coot, and anybody who thinks he can follow him without being a little crazy too is laboring less under the cross than under a delusion. "We are fools for Christ's sake," Paul says, faith says- the faith that ultimately the foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of men, the lunacy of Jesus saner than the grim sanity of the world.

-Frederick Buechner

Do not try this at home

2008-03-21T13:29:00.000-07:00

I just happened to flip over to the Fo.od Net.work and caught the end of Pa.ula's Ho.me Cook.in'. As much as I find her charming and amusing, I rarely watch her show because her cooking is so laden with fat and sugar. It does nothing for me except make me crave everything I shouldn't eat.

But today.... oh, Paula... I don't even know what to do with this one. Mind you, I only caught the end so I don't know what lead up to this culinary fright. She had baked macaroni and cheese and had cut it into approximately 3 X 3 inch squares. At the point I tuned in she was wrapping pieces of bacon around the cubes of macaroni and cheese. She then dipped the bacon wrapped mac n cheese squares in a lightly beaten egg and rolled them in bread crumbs. The final jaw dropping act was to plop the squares in a pot of scorching hot peanut oil.

Fried-bacon-wrapped-macaroni-and-cheese squares. You have got to be kidding me. I'm scared I clogged an artery just by watching.

T is for Turtle

2008-03-18T13:05:00.000-07:00

It is a well documented fact that Little T is our most energetic child, full of chatter and ideas, and occasionally lacking in listening skills and appropriate responses. He is the sort of child you have to remind evening after evening that crawling underneath the dining table during dinner is not acceptable. And he is the sort of child who can give you, evening after evening, a perfectly plausible explanation as to why this time is the exception and he really has a very important reason as to why he is crawling around underneath the table. Little T can find a loophole in absolutely any airtight rule or argument. He could, without a doubt, give you a list of 10 reasons off the top of his head why you might not want to exit a burning building.

But, like most of us, Little T is a puzzle of paradoxes and ironies. Our boy that bounces off the walls at home is also our most studious child with tremendous self-motivation. At school he is focused and compliant- a pleasure to have in class- is what we hear. He is blessed with a natural curiosity that often prompts him to explore topics and ideas completely on his own. When his energy is channeled into athletics he emerges as a team player and an exceptionally good sport. And, perhaps most importantly, underneath his playful exterior is a heart of compassion for all creatures great and small.

Almost three years ago, just after Little T's 7th birthday, a late birthday present arrived in the mail. It was a gift from my parents, Little T's Oma and Papa. Knowing his love for all kinds of creatures, my parents had "adopted" a sea turtle in T's name. He got to choose a name for his turtle (Snappy) which was then put on an official certificate linking Little T and Snappy for life. He now receives quarterly newsletters from the Sea Turtle Survival League giving him updates on conservation efforts. From the very beginning Little T has taken his role in Snappy's life very seriously. That gift has always held an extra layer of meaning for T since his Papa died just prior to his receiving that special envelope in the mail. I will never forget him looking over the certificate and saying to me, "I guess Papa really wanted to give me one more present before he went to Heaven."

Recently, we received a letter from the Sea Turtle Survival League asking Little T to renew his membership and financial support. Knowing how much he looks forward to the newsletters I thought about just dashing off a check and putting it in the mail. Instead, I decided to show the letter to T and ask him what he thought he would like to do. He read the letter carefully and then looked over the donation card included in the mailing. He asked, "If I don't renew the membership does Snappy still belong to me?"

I assured Little T that he and Snappy would always have a special connection and that the gift his grandparents gave him still stands.

He nodded and looked at the donation card. The lowest level shown was $35. He asked for a pen and then carefully checked the box next to the $50 level- the Green Turtle Level.

I asked him if he was sure he wanted to part with that much money (T is a compulsive saver and actually has quite a hefty bank account).

He answered confidently, "Yep. I want to make sure that Snappy and all the other turtles are safe."

Then he noticed on the back of the donation card was a place for comments. He asked me if it was okay if he wrote something. I said, of course.

He wrote in his best 9 year old writing- I like you guys because you help turtles.

I can't tell you how much I hope the person who opens his donation notices those words and recognizes they are clearly the thoughts of a young boy. And I hope it makes them smile.

Wild Kingdom

2008-03-16T09:52:00.001-07:00

It has become an annual tradition that Big J's biggest and best birthday present is to rent out his favorite indoor skatepark. It is truly a little slice of heaven for him to have this place all for himself and his buddies.

I'm no sports photographer, and the lighting in this place makes taking photos tricky, but here is a glimpse of Big J in his element.

Yes, he actually lands these kinds of jumps. I can't figure it out.

Notice Pumpkin in the background of this picture. She enjoyed sliding down the ramps!

Check out Little T on the half pipe! This kid amazes me. He's not even that "into" skateboarding and look what he can do!

This is one of those photos that I actually like the fact that it is slightly out of focus. I also left the glow in J's eyes. I think it all adds to the intensity of the action. In his natural habitat, Big J can be very, very focused...

The things that occur to you when you are dead tired

2008-03-15T20:34:00.000-07:00

Big J finally got to have his birthday celebration with his friends last night. We had five thirteen year old boys sleep over. Superdad took all five of them, plus Pumpkin, to dinner and then to rent movies. When he got home, I asked him how it went. He looked at me incredulously and said, "It was so easy. I guess you forget that they do grow up. It was like having dinner with... I don't know... adults." And they continued to be that good. They were funny and polite and all seemed to have a great time. I didn't have to go downstairs once to tell them to settle down, be quiet and get to sleep. Weird, huh?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seeing J with his friends has brought on a new onslaught of guilt about the possibility of pulling him away from all of that next year. Because of proximity, the truth is that he probably won't continue to see these friends if they aren't in school together. Kids have a way of developing attachments to whomever is right in front of them (figuratively speaking, of course), and J will no longer be part of their daily path. My only consolation is remembering that they were all going to be going their separate ways at the end of next year anyhow. J will just be punching out a year early. Still.... I feel sad for him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have gotten a lot of great opinions and perspectives about schools, educational theory, teaching methods, curriculum models etc... In the end, I have no choice but to go with my gut. But, the decision is made all the harder by knowing that the right school for my son probably doesn't exist. At least, not in our city. He is a classic divergent thinker trying to make his way in a convergent world. That will be true at most any school we send him to. So, the goal has become to find an environment that will at least offer some support for his learning style and way of seeing the world. Somewhere where he will be recognized for his growth as a human being as much as his growth as a student. We just want him to come out the other end of this with his spirit intact, because we have every confidence that once he is set free that boy is gonna fly!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Little T has fallen asleep in our bed after claiming he wasn't the least bit tired. That boy is pure delight I have to say. He makes me bonkers sometimes with his energy and chatter, but there is no denying that underneath that free-spirited exterior beats a heart of gold.

Yep, love him to pieces... but somebody better get him out of my bed because I am ready to collapse.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

13 year old birthday party- Check.

3 year old birthday party- Check.

One ten year old birthday party to go in April, and then we are done for the year. Phew!!

Nickelodeon University

2008-03-13T09:34:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week I was sick with the flu. I tried not to let my writing reflect my misery but I am sure some of my school rantings were being fueled by my aching body and sore throat. The flu has now settled down into a tolerable cold, but I still feel way below 100%. Maybe somewhere around 72%.

So, here I am on Day 4 of being sick and it is POURING rain outside. Pumpkin does not have preschool today and the playdate she was supposed to have has been cancelled due to her little friend also falling ill. Sooo.... what's a Mommy to do? I'm hoping if I tell you that the plan is for both of us to stay in our jammies and watch TV all day you won't boycott my blog. 'Cause, well... that's the plan.

However, just to prove I can employ this plan and still engage my mind I will tell you what has been rolling around in my brain while watching Nick Jr. this morning. Well, first I am wondering how Diego became such an eternal optimist coupled with a perpetually happy disposition? Is he possibly manic? Do think there are moments off screen when Diego is actually quite depressed and angry? Hmmm.... something to ponder.

No, more interestingly... I just saw a commercial for a Dora the Explorer video game. I missed the details of the game but caught enough to conclude it is definitely being marketed to girls. My guess is that their target market is girls between about 5 and 10. My rationale for this is that the girls shown in the commercial look to be about 12, much too old to actually enjoy a Dora the Explorer computer game. But advertisers are not stupid and are well aware that if you want to convince a younger audience that a particular game is cool you show them older, fascinatingly mature kids playing the game and clearly having a fabulous time.

A couple of things struck me about this commercial. First, I immediately thought about one of Niobe's recent posts which posed some interesting questions about gender and how we raise our children. There were many thoughtful comments in response to her question but one of the more compelling ideas that was raised was the idea that the reason we laud "boyish tendencies" in girls but decry "girly tendencies" in boys is because traditional roles for boys are still held in higher esteem than traditional roles for girls. We want to see our girls break out of the stereotypes of their gender because as a society we still view the world of boys to hold greater promise and value. Interesting idea.

I am sure from a sociological standpoint there is definitely some truth to that. I am often surprised to hear how negatively some mothers feel about their daughters being drawn to more typical "girly" play. There is a lot of eye rolling and annoyance today over anything pink, fluffy and sparkly. Albeit sometimes the complaint is about over-commercialized characters and storylines, but in some circles there does seem to be a more all encompassing prejudice against anything too feminine, dainty or pretty.

So, in watching this commercial showing two pre-adolescent girls happily engaged with their video game remote controls, giggling and laughing over Dora's adventures on the screen- I couldn't help but wonder if we have gone so far in wanting our girls to be more like boys that we will even elevate typical boy activities that we would otherwise criticize and complain about? It is no secret that boys are more drawn to video games and have a much higher tendency toward screen obsession. This is something parents worry about and have to monitor carefully in our sons. But, if we see a girl interested in a video game, do we have the same concern? Or, is there a part of us that takes delight in her breaking past the stereotype and being brave enough to enter into a domain normally dominated by boys? And, if so, does this extend to other behaviors and activities as well?

I think I have exhausted whatever point there might have been to this. I'm sorry... you can only get so much intellectual stimulation from Nickelodeon. I'll keep you posted if I have any other earth shattering revelations...

Update: Ahhh... what a sad day it is when the three year old has to take charge of the household. After 1 1/2 programs on Nick Jr., Pumpkin demanded from her corner of the room (where she was happily playing and not even watching TV), "Mommy! Turn off that TV!"

And I, while lying immobile on the couch whined, "Really? You don't want to watch The Backyardigans? Are you sure?"

Shaking her head in disgust, she went and picked up the remote herself and handed it to me saying, "Here. Use the 'mote Mommy. Just turn it off."

Okay..... spoilsport.

Moving on to more important matters

2008-03-12T13:47:00.001-07:00

I have decided that all of my yammering about school issues is getting dreadfully boring. Enough already! There are so many more interesting things to talk about. And conversations don't get any better than the ones you have with a three year old.

Pumpkin: Can I have more pillows please?

Me: Pillows? Are you tired?

Pumpkin: No, I want more of those pillows. Please, please, please!

Me (thoroughly confused): I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm not sure what you mean? What pillows?

Pumpkin: Those pillows! Like T have!!

Me: Little T had some pillows? When?

Pumpkin: This morning! Daddy buyed them for him!

Me: Daddy bought Little T pillows?!?

Pumpkin: Yes! Daddy buyed them at the store. T said please, please, please... and Daddy say, "okay."

Me: When you were at the grocery store? Daddy bought Little T pillows?

Pumpkin: Yes! They are so yummy! They make my tummy feel better.

Me: The pillows taste yummy?

Pumpkin (emphatically): Yes! They are berry berry yummy!

Me (finally getting smart): Pumpkin, can you show me the pillows?

She runs to the cupboard in the kitchen and pulls out the box of Lucky Charms that Superdad was coerced into buying. She points at the colored marshmallows on the outside of the box.

Pumpkin: See! These pillows! They are so yummy!

Me: Ohhh.... you mean marshmallows!

Pumpkin (while patting my shoulder): Yep, that's right Mommy. You got it! Good job!

At least there are some things I finally figure out...

As to the question of "Why?"

2008-03-11T10:27:00.000-07:00

A couple of my dear readers have inquired as to why we are looking to change schools at this juncture. A fair question to be sure. And yet the answers can lead us into murky waters which must be carefully navigated. Even when trying to address this question with my boys, we have had to try and present our reasons without unnecessarily trashing their current school, or sounding overly critical of other schools. The high school Big J most wants to attend is populated by many of our friend's children and one of his cousins. The last thing we want to do is to give the impression that we think it is a "bad school" because it isn't and we don't. It just isn't the school we feel is the best fit for our children and our family. But even a statement like that is tinged with judgment, or at least can be heard that way.

Julia astutely inquired if it is related to my well publicized quibbles with the amount of homework Big J is routinely assigned. I would be lying if I said it didn't have anything to do with that. However, it is really more about broader issues of curriculum and teaching philosophies.

Our boys currently attend a K-8 parochial school. Big J has been there since 3rd grade and Little T has been there since Kindergarten. The reasons we placed our sons in this school in the first place would be found in the telling of a rather long and boring story, so I won't go into it. Suffice it to say that the decision was made quickly and during a time of stress and confusion. However, that said, we really have felt very good about the school up until the last year or so.

Now that our oldest child has reached the junior high we have been struck by the marked change in curriculum and underlying philosophy behind the curriculum. It is as though every approach the school advocates and believes in from Kindergarten through 6th grade gets thrown out the window in the junior high. Quantity is prized above quality, and greater value is placed on output than effort. There seems to be little concern as to whether students are making meaning out of what they are learning so long as they can regurgitate the information for a test. Even the more innovative teaching approaches that are occasionally employed feel contrived, and pointless, and still ultimately culminate in a very traditional form of testing. And yes, I do feel the quantity of homework assigned on a daily basis is an unnecessary and potentially even harmful burden for a child like mine. Whatever motivation he ever had for learning is fading rapidly under the relentless weight of hours and hours of schoolwork for which he can see no point (and honestly, neither can I sometimes).

I hesitate to give an example because I suspect some people will think it sounds perfectly reasonable and question my judgment. And I know there are students in J's class who handle the workload quite well. However, knowing those kids as I do, and being a former teacher, it is my belief that the majority who do well are the sorts of kids who thrive on academic competition. They are willing to put in the time because they derive tremendous satisfaction from getting "A's" and outperforming their peers. There is nothing wrong with that. To some extent, I was one of those kids. But we are not all wired the same way and my son is a very different type of learner. As soon as he senses that the competition in the classroom is high and that the only measure of success is grades, he takes a big step back and intentionally settles himself comfortably in the middle of the pack. He just doesn't respond to those kinds of external (and somewhat artificial) forms of motivation. He also doesn't respond well to overload. I can see it in his eyes and unfortunately see it all too often. The point at which his schoolwork has reached and is stretching beyond critical mass. At that point he loses all interest in doing an assignment well, or trying to learn from what is in front of him, and instead focuses all of his energy on just getting done. Homework and studying become nothing but checklists to endure and complete.

Case in point: For a week and a half (emphasis on week and a half), J and his comrades have been studying revolutions in Social Studies. The teacher broke them up into groups with each group exploring in detail a specific revolution (ie., French, Russian, Industrial etc...). These group projects (which she is very fond of) are one of those things that are good in theory but don't always play out well in practice. Each member of the group was assigned to focus on a specific area of "their revolution." Therefore by design, each student ends up being an "expert" on one area of a specific revolution but ends up with very little working knowledge of any ofthe other areas. The groups then each put together presentation which was given to the rest of the class.

Throughout this time the kids also had assignments where they had to read about and take notes on all of the other revolutions. There were six revolutions in all. And what is the end result of all of this? What is expected after a mere 8-10 days of introduction to six different virtually unrelated Revolutions? What else? A test. And not just a test to determine if they gleaned some of the broad strokes of history and what prompts revolution and revolt. Nope. According to the study guide that Big J has been working through since Saturday, they are responsible for knowing around 20 key terms for each revolution including specific dates, places and names. They need to be able to recall all of the details of each revolution along with a solid understanding of the broader, more long term implications of each revolution. So, by Thursday, after learning about most of these revolutions for the first time in his life, Big J needs to have crammed into his brain approximately 120 key terms, dates for all six revolutions, and must be prepared to write a coherent essay on any one of the revolutions. After 10 days of instruction J is expected to recall and understand the details, causes and effects of the Industrial, French, Russian, Indian, Cuban and Computer and Technology Revolutions. Oh, and he is also supposed to know the key players of the Age of Enlightenment.

Am I crazy? Not only does that sound like too much information in too short of a time, but I can't for the life of me understand what the teaching philosophy could be behind such an onslaught of purely academic knowledge. What are the kids getting out of this? And before you give your verdict (on whether or not you think I am crazy), let me add that all of this has not happened in a vacuum. Big J has still had nightly math assignments, had a science test on Tuesday, started a new book in Literature, and has a two page paper due in math tomorrow.

We could leave Big J where he is. He only has one year left and that is what he wants. But at what price? He already hates school and sees no value in learning. Some of that is personality, but I believe a lot of it is coming from his educational environment. And so we have been looking around for a school that might have a different approach. And we are hopeful that we have found one. I won't start listing all of the things we appreciate about this school, but the one thing that jumped out at me right away was their innovative method of structuring their curriculum. Next year in 8th grade, J will have two semesters and his core classes will be taught as "blocks." One semester he will have an English and Social Studies block (along with two other "lighter" more elective-like classes), and the other semester he will have a Math and Science block (again, with two other classes). He will never have all four of his core classes at the same time. The block classes meet for two hours each day (ie. 2 hours for English, then 2 hours for Social Studies) which allows the teachers to engage the students for longer periods of time and to go more in depth with the current topics. It also means that more instruction happens at school and so less needs to come home. This is actually by philosophy and not only an effect of design. I think all of this would work so well for Big J and the way he thinks and learns. Not having to jump around between 6 subjects all of the time will really help him focus, and hopefully, LEARN.

And the best part is that this school is a K-12 school so he will be able to transition smoothly into the high school. The high school operates under a similar block system and so it should still be an environment that plays to J's strengths. At least... we hope so. It has to be better than what we are experiencing now... I am really, really praying it will be better.

Chickens and headphones

2008-03-09T21:49:00.001-07:00

No rage. No visible tears. No screaming proclamations. But, that is probably in large part due to the fact that Superdad and I decided on a somewhat vague version of reality. For now. Because the truth is that we don't know for sure that they will both be accepted and so we convinced ourselves that the whole truth wasn't necessary yet. We minced words and used phrases like, Dad and I are looking into..., and we just want to explore all of our options..., and let's wait and see if you get accepted and then we'll go from there. Yep, chickens.

Even so, Big J looked a little misty and halfway through the conversation donned his headphones, using his ipod as a barrier between himself and our attempts at consolation. We let it be. Compared to what we were anticipating it was a blessedly mild reaction and probably justified. It was thirteen year old self-preservation, using the only tool he had available to him. And so, we let it be, for now.

Little T had his misgivings but his natural curiosity got the better of him. He asked tons of questions and wanted to see the application form. He got busy right away on his portion of the application even though he still wasn't sure he liked the idea. That boy can't resist a worksheet of any kind. Superdad and I couldn't help but chuckle quietly to ourselves over our second-born. Give him a challenge and he'll rise up to meet it, if only to prove to everyone that there is nothing he can't do.

As I tucked them in, Little T was still going round and round with all of the "what ifs" and "how abouts", and Big J was still plugged into his ipod. Just before the lights were turned out he finally offered the declaration I had been waiting for. There was no yelling, or slamming of doors. He just quietly stated with glistening eyes, I'm not going next year. I don't care what you say. I'm not going.

With my heart breaking and glistening eyes of my own, I turned off the light and whispered, I love you both. Don't worry about this anymore tonight. Everything will fall into place.

And so it begins...

You are so glad you don't live in my house

2008-03-07T12:07:00.000-08:00

I'm bracing myself. This weekend we will begin a conversation with our boys that will reveal our intention to move them both to a new school. I say we will begin the conversation because I am prepared for one or both of them to explode in a torrent of anger and tears and leave the room before we get to say more than about 15 words. They both won't be happy, but my prediction is that Big J will have the most dramatic reaction. This is understandable for two reasons. The first is his age. He is 13 and at 13 it is very difficult to separate your emotions from rational thought. Even though I could give him a list of at least 10 rational reasons why this move will benefit him, his emotions will get in the way. The second reason is he is just a very different person than Little T (not surprisingly since they are, in fact, different people). J resists transition, the unknown, and he hates to feel off balance. Little T is adaptable, unflappable, and rolls with life's punches exceedingly well. He will have his struggles but for the most part he will shrug his shoulders, accept the change, and then dig in and find his way.

This decision has not come easily but both Superdad and I feel tremendous peace that it is the right one. We feel peace about the decision, and its longterm implications, but we do not feel at peace with the turmoil and anxiety it will bring to our son's lives. I am having to gird myself not only to withstand the force of their protests, but also to prevent myself from trying to find ways to compensate and make up for their pain. I can already hear my inner voice saying things like, "Oh... maybe we should take them somewhere fun this weekend." Or, worse, "Maybe we should buy them something special." But, I really do know that while there is every reason for us to be sympathetic and responsive to their hurt feelings, it would be wrong for us to attempt to soothe those wounds with superficial "stuff." For one thing it is bad training for life. And for another, it implies that we agree this is a tragedy, and that we have something to feel guilty for. It's not a tragedy, it's an opportunity. And we don't feel guilty, we feel excited.

It's funny because all kinds of these sorts of decisions were made for me when I was a child. I was lucky to have had two conscientious parents who did their best to chart a course for our childhood that would allow us to be both happy and productive. I didn't always like the decisions that were made for me at the time, but most of the time I came around quite quickly to my parent's view of things. The truth is, they were almost always right. And even when they were wrong, they usually knew it themselves and did what needed to be done to get things back on track. What I can't remember are any of my initial responses to some of the bigger changes that were thrown at me in childhood. I changed schools in the 5th grade, and then went to a different junior high than I had planned, and then to a high school that wasn't on my agenda. These schools were chosen by my parents and each time it didn't take long for me to accept and even agree with the wisdom of their ways. But did I protest at first? Did I throw any tantrums or lock myself in my room? I can't really remember. I kind of doubt it. I'm sure I shed some private tears, emotional child that I was. But, the truth is, I'm not sure I felt any good would come out of my protests. I had loving, kind parents, but they were the parents and I was the child, and I didn't question their authority very often.

I don't believe there is any confusion in my own household as to who the parents are and who are the children. Neither Superdad or I are afraid to discipline when necessary, and we hold our ground even when challenged. Still, our children feel quite free to protest loud and long any decision of ours they deem unjust, or unfair, or just a great big bummer. If they can voice their protests respectfully, then we will listen, once. However, if we opt to stick with the original decision they are told the "debate" is over. Sometimes their protest/whining continues and we have to let them know it is over but if they absolutely feel that they must keep arguing they are welcome to go to their room and write a long list of all the reasons we are wrong and they are right- and then keep it to themselves. Basically, it's a "take it somewhere else" kind of message. My point is that I don't see Superdad and I as pushovers or unafraid to draw the line. And yet, my kids feel very free to express themselves. Is that a good thing?

I suppose it is. I want them to feel they have a voice in this house, within reason. But, just for today, I am kind of wishing for a dynamic more like the one I enjoyed with my parents. I am wishing for a way to tell our boys the news of their new school and only hear mild grumbling and disappointment but otherwise we all move forward. Ahh... dreamland... But it won't be that way. Big J will yell and make grand proclamations about how "You can't make me!" and "I hate that school!" and "I don't care what your reasons are!!" And Little T will look quizzically at J's tirade and instead employ his relentless, circular debating tactics as to the how and why and when, and then back to the how and why and when....

If the past is any indication it will all settle down in the not so distant future. But, we'll still hear about it from now until the first day of school in September, and probably for several weeks (hopefully not months) beyond that. It will be that gold ticket they will pull out every time we have done something else to tarnish their very existence. Now this... after you already pulled me away from all of my friends and stuck me in that miserable place... Oh yes, we will continue to hear about this. And, again I ask, is this a good thing? Is this because we have been such open, affirming parents who allow their children a full range of expression? Or, have we faltered somewhere along the line in drawing a firmer boundary between the respective roles of parent and child? I really don't know, and I'm not sure I want to. We are who we are, and they are who they are.

And this weekend... you are so glad you don't live here.

Mostly Wordless Wednesday

2008-03-05T13:52:00.001-08:00

His life is about to change and he doesn't know it yet, and won't like it. Sorry, J. It's only because we love you so much.

March Forth

2008-03-04T07:41:00.000-08:00

I have decided to take today up on its call to action.

Today I will march forth and ...

...have a sense of humor toward all that is merely inconvenient, tedious and inconsequential.

... commit to convey a specific blessing to each of my children either through my words or actions. Or, better yet, BOTH!

... cease and desist any internal criticisms of my physical appearance.

... spend time playing with my daughter without simultaneously loading dishes, folding laundry, glancing at email, reorganizing toy bins, writing a grocery list, planning dinner, dusting under furniture or cleaning out a closet. I will just play with her- whatever she wants.

... send a card to my Nana with a new batch of pictures.

... make plans to get together with a friend whom I haven't seen in far too long.

... remember to tell my husband I love him.

... work to maintain a larger vision for my children's lives.

... hold tight to the conviction that I am not the only one (or the best one) working to nurture and protect my children's spiritual lives.

... release fear and anxiety, and instead march forth with hope and faith.

... believe that I have the power to bring light to the world and to everyone I meet.

... look for opportunities to be an instrument of grace and healing.

... laugh whenever I can.

Today I will march forth with love. Determined, intentional, no holds barred, can't pry me loose kind of love.

Amen (let it be).

Just the two of us

2008-03-01T22:30:00.000-08:00

Today, Big J and I celebrated our birthdays with lunch and a shopping expedition to Big J's favorite skateboard shop. This outing combined beautifully his two favorite things: skateboarding and food.

He chose one of our favorite local haunts for lunch and we both marveled at how different it felt to be sitting at a tiny table for two. At first he almost seemed uncomfortable, sitting across from his mother with no other parental or sibling buffer. Or maybe it wasn't so much discomfort as it was just such unfamiliar territory. There weren't four different conversations going on with Pumpkin demanding everyone's full and undivided attention. There was just us. Mother and son.

Thankfully, my son has a good sense of humor and we managed to laugh together about the fact that the hostess placed the children's menu in front of him. Complete with crayons. However, I knew there was a tinge of humiliation in his laughter. Big J looks young for his age. He is also shorter than most of his peers. That said though, he hardly looks the age of a child who wants to eat nothing but macaroni and cheese and would enjoy coloring in dolphins and starfish. I gave him a smile and a nod of approval when I noticed he opted to quickly decorate his children's menu with some elaborate (but appropriate) graffiti writing. Ha! That will show her. This is no child. This is a teenager.

I had vowed to myself ahead of time that I would set no agenda for the conversation. I also vowed that under no circumstance would I bring up the subject of school or homework. I wanted Big J to talk about whatever he wanted, and I would listen. And he did. He talked about sports cars and all the different ones he plans to own someday. I nodded appreciatively and told him I thought they all sounded really cool. He mused that he thought he was ready to try entering some skateboard competitions and I assured him he would have our full support. He talked about his dream of becoming a professional skateboarder but then said that he has a backup plan (to own a skateboard company). I told him I believed in him. He tried my sweet potato fries and I tried his garlic fries, and we both agreed they were equally tasty but very different. As I paid the check he thanked me for lunch.

As I told my husband later, nothing earth shattering was said. We didn't get into the deeper questions or issues of life. But, we had fun and a good conversation. And, if nothing else, my son got a chance to talk about the things that are important to him. And I listened.

This and That

2008-02-27T08:14:00.000-08:00

It's a story as old as Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, Jonathan and Absalom... The thing is, when you are the younger brother and your older brother is having his birthday- it just stinks. No matter how much you might otherwise worship him, seeing him showered with attention and adoration is just one more reminder of all of the ways you are constantly second in line. All of the ways you are so ignored, so misunderstood, so maligned, so lacking in all things good and fair. And don't you think for one minute that being reminded that your own birthday is two months away and that you too will then be King for the Day helps one little bit. Not for a second. And so therefore you have no choice but to talk incessantly lest anyone forget you are here. You have no choice but to needlessly pester your brother so his will birthday will be less than perfect. You have no choice but to make jokes about his gifts, his clothing, and laugh mercilessly over the fact that he has piles of schoolwork to do on his birthday. I mean, really... you have no choice.

______________________________________________________

Speaking of birthdays... apparently turning 3 has hit Pumpkin hard. It can't be easy knowing you are over half way through the first half of the first decade of your life. The clock is ticking after all. Fearing that we have already started sending away for college applications she keeps reminding us that she is still a baby. Yesterday, when I gave her fair warning that she would be returning to preschool the following morning, she answered quite matter of factly, "No, I'm not allowed to go to school. School isn't for babies." (Yes, she used the word "allowed", probably an indication that she is, indeed, not quite a baby).

However, this morning when she wanted to be allowed to do something normally reserved for the boys she declared, "I can too! I'm a big girl!"

When I raised my eyebrows and inquired, "Oh, you're a big girl?" She quickly answered, "No, no, no... I'm a big baby. I was just kidding!"

_____________________________________________________

Just as an aside:

I am currently reading The Homework Myth by Alfie Kohn which is only fueling my fire. The good thing is that I think it is finally giving me the impetus I need to make some much needed changes. Superdad and I are not sure yet what those will be, but they could be radical, and temporarily painful. We'll see...

Candles, candles everywhere

2008-02-25T21:37:00.001-08:00

By the end of this week, three of our family members will be a year older- including me! Pumpkin turned 3 while we were on vacation, Big J is a day away from turning 13, and I, myself, will be turning something-somewhat-close-to-40-but-not-quite. None of those milestones seems possible. I feel as though Pumpkin was born yesterday, that the last time I looked Big J was my little boy, and I still feel as though I am about 21 (other than all of that pesky life experience I have gained since then...) Where does the time go?

February is clearly a cosmic month for me. Not only is it the month of my own birth, but three of my four pregnancies were due in February (two of which came to proper fruition). Big J, my firstborn, made his grand entrance one day before my own birthday. Every year I remind him that he was the very best birthday gift I have ever received. He will roll his eyes and think it silly, but I will tell him again this year.

This year I am planning on giving myself the gifts of contentment, resolution and balance. I am seeking these gifts in a multitude of ways but one of the biggest ones is my decision to release my thoughts of having another baby. It is not to be. More and more I am realizing my role as my family's center and equilibrium. We all play our parts, and my husband is integral to our family dynamic, but there is no doubt that I wield the most power to influence the tone, harmony and balance within our home. With my eldest child entering his teenage years, and my youngest still in preschool, I need to be at the top of my game. My children need me to be fully engaged with them, while also being fully in tune to my own needs and passions. I need to be as centered and focused as I can be. I have no doubt there are other women who can manage it all better than I can. But the truth is that I am the furthest thing from balanced and centered when I am pregnant. I am not focused when I am sleep deprived. I cannot be present to all when so much simply must be given to one. This is the right choice for me, for my family.

I will always wonder about him or her. I know there will still be pangs and wonderings. But I am going to really try to let this dream go. In the end, it is still a numbers game that I can never win. One more child would bring us up to the number we once thought we would have, but we will still be two short. We will always be two short. Some holes can never be filled and I think there might be a little peace in just letting the holes be.