Tag Archives: family

Decisions, Devotion and Destiny

Today marks two years since my Mom passed away. I still hear her voice but her singularly calming, practical presence is missing. Her bluntly honest remarks often caught people off guard or made them laugh (if not a little bit uncomfortably). I don’t know too many people who are both blunt and smart. Generally, I just feel disappointed with the world and miss Mom especially because her confidence and clear communication was always one thing I knew I could rely on in this world.

I have become permanently impatient with people who are reluctant to make decisions – or more precisely – accept responsibility for making them, when it seems like such an important time to respond to the urgency in our world. The last 3 jobs I have held all curiously presented the same set of frustrations: people “in charge” who wanted authority but either had no desire, impetus or wisdom to exercise their authority. I would bring important issues to leaders that impacted my day to day (and would result in wasting resources if left spinning indecisively) only to be pushed off for some future date when making a decision would become clearer for them. What? I remember thinking, “Dude, you are literally being PAID to make DECISIONS. Like, that’s your JOB!” as I walked away in frustration. But the universe continued to present this frustrating set of circumstances to me over a period of several years in jobs I grew to strongly dislike – so there must be a good reason, eh?

I have concluded that this lesson repeatedly appeared in my work life because there was something else I needed to be doing. Primarily, listening to my own voice and cultivating the “meaning” that I found so disappointingly missing elsewhere – within myself. As a woman approaching 60, it’s fair to say I have spent two decades devoted to my family. Not just the person who made sure tasks were completed – but real, geniune, from the heart devotion – the kind you feel towards your first love. As an empty nester, I’m still very devoted to children. On this rainy morning of the anniversary of my Mom’s death, I just returned from delivering a birthday package and cake from Birthday Connections to a child in need who currently lives in a domestic violence shelter. I feel really good about having the privilege to be in a place in my life where I can play a small role in uplifting another person and be true to something I feel devoted to in my heart. I think Gen Z’ers would call this “Alignment.”

A new friend of mine surprised me yesterday with a “Yahrzeit” candle – a memorial candle in the Hebrew tradition to light on the date of a loved one’s passing and keep lit for 24 hours of remembering, honoring the deceased, performing acts of charity in their memory, etc. I had already intentionally chosen to volunteer today for Birthday Connections as a way to honor my Mom, who successfully nurtured and raised seven children. But the Universe really wanted me to “get” this lesson, so my friend Shelly, who has experienced much loss, generously opened her heart and gifted me this beautiful and gentle tradition. I am so grateful and deeply comforted by her kind act. In the Christian tradition, lighting a candle is a form of “devotion” – recognizing the sacred in another person and memorializing their goodness through prayer and remembrance. It isn’t even noon yet and already I can say I have fulfilled the mission of this day – and will spend the next several hours in gratitude and restful contemplation.

We are all born to discover our unique gifts. As Ralph Waldo Emerson beautifully writes in an essay:

“Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me. Therefore the poet brings his poem; the shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a stone; the painter, his picture; the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing.”

The gift of intentionally (decisively) honoring my Mom’s memory today and practicing devotion in her memory by supporting a local child in need brings me to my final thought – my destiny. I honestly am starting to believe that my destiny in life is to be a “feeler of big feelings” and conduit for people who may not recognize or articulate their own. In other words, I’m the uninhibited person in the room who will say something awkward that is maybe cringe but also funny – and potentially touches another person’s heart so that healing can begin. So far, I have been fortunate to be able to recognize mostly good things from the painful experiences I have had in life. And without fail, honest and good-hearted people have met me along the way to help me make sense of recent losses and pain.

I will conclude with a thought about recovery. Lately I have been thinking that I have not been very “emotionally sober,” even though I do not drink alcohol anymore to survive big feelings. There have been a couple of major losses in a short period of time in my life and many days, I find myself “growling” at the world instead of living in gratitude and bowing in reverence towards my good fortune. This is why I am considering going back to a 12-step recovery program and actively working the steps of AA. An old friend has recently reappeared in my life and kindly offered to accompany me as I start this journey over – in search of emotional sobriety. Rolf Gates, a brilliant yoga instructor and recovery writer, writes in his “Daily Reflections on Addiction, Yoga, and Getting Well”:

“Much of early recovery was like finding the bodies trapped in the snow after an avalanche. Frozen in their last moments – new boots, worn parkas, bits of scarf. My sadness was overwhelming. My 12-step sponsor, Henry, knew this about me. He was kind to my sorrow. There were no answers for what broke my heart. There was no getting any of it back….

….Henry would look at some broken part of my life, lift an eyebrow, and drawl, “what is was like.” We would laugh until tears came to our eyes at what it was like and would be no more.

Reflection:

Life has put people in your life who have not been afraid of your sadness. Thank them with your heart. Maybe thank them in person. Who has helped you laugh the laugh of freedom?”

The people who are appearing in my life who are not afraid of my sadness are helping me heal and discover new ways to use parts I have previously discarded and labeled “broken.” To me, this is a destiny worth fighting for and enjoying.

Quiet Knowing

Until 5 days ago, I thought my children and a select few friends were the only people I knew with the quality I call “quiet knowing.” It’s the rare and beautiful way of showing up in the world for the people you love simply, modestly and matter-of-factly that says “I see you. I support you. I love you.” It stands out to me because there are so many people in the world with needy and inflated egos these days – desperately searching for affirmation and approval for displaying basic human decency. Or “friends” who are ready with empty words and promises that are really lazy traps to just keep giving the relationship a mild pulse for social appearances or some unforeseen future need. I will admit to failing to recognize “fake friends,” even at my ripe age of 59. They rob you of energy and time you will never recover. They confuse you with words that never quite match their actions. And most importantly, they are always unavailable when you need them the most.

My niece’s quiet and simple gesture while visiting family in Chicago that was so like things my own children have done sent my heart soaring. “This is Quiet Knowing!” my intuition screamed. I love quiet knowing because it comes from someone who is sincere, self-assured and gently well intended. I walked into my nephew’s home for an annual family gathering, greeted warmly by children, dogs, laughter and the anticipation of a fun reunion. As I entered the kitchen, my niece, Rhetta, welcomed me and said, “I have this non-alcoholic rose if you’d like,” as she casually nodded toward a lovely tray with beverages and pretty glasses assembled for the gathering. It wasn’t cheap grape-juice based nonalcoholic wine, either, which tells me she respects my taste and maturity. It was also more than just a regular “warm welcome.” It was love, kindness, support and quiet knowing all wrapped in one genteel effort. That’s not just classy it is downright soul-shatteringly beautiful. It says: “Here you are and here I am meeting you where you are.” My niece told me she loved and respected me all in one brief exchange that I have not stopped thinking about since I returned home. So I decided I had to write about it. We must support the Quiet Knowers in our lives because they deserve to be in our innermost circle of cherished people. Rhetta did not mean to be gushed over in this way, for sure. That’s another reason why this act of quiet knowing must be celebrated, honored and remembered. She has now joined the sacred group of quiet knowers in my family – Isa and Mario.

Isa has always been a quiet everything: observer, friend, helper. When Mario’s dear friend Zech passed away in high school, Quiet Knower Isa got in her car and drove from college to surprise her hurting brother and be by his side to support and love him. There was no bravado, no fancy words were exchanged. Isa just solemnly entered the house and hugged her brother – letting him know she wanted to help ease and absorb his sorrow. Quiet Knowing is extraordinary love and strength. We all felt it but Isa did not need praise or recognition. She gave her brother the gift of her presence and that was that. In her wake of quiet knowing, we all felt a little bit less heavy and sad.

Mario showed me his Quiet Knowing earlier this year when we tragically lost our dear friend Caryl. When he learned that Caryl’s friend Kris, both Moms of great friends of his, was struggling to find the strength to speak at the celebration of life, Mario volunteered to speak on her behalf. Quiet Knowing at a time of deep sorrow and helplessness – the child showed us he was now a man. He actually stood at the podium in front of a couple hundred people on a freezing January day with me and opened with, “Hey everybody, I’m Mario” and in that moment of quiet knowing, Mario’s beautiful display of strength and tenderness made us all feel a little bit better.

I know I am extremely lucky to only look as far as my immediate family for this strength and love. Quiet Knowing cannot be taught and somehow these family members with amazing hearts simply share them without being asked or needing praise. Look for the Quiet Knowers in your midst and try to appreciate the enormous strength they have shared with you today. I know I will be spiritually weightless for quite some time.

My Friend Caryl with a “Y”

You know that experience of meeting someone for the first time and they are so extraordinarily “something” you are sure your life has just changed for the better?  This is what happened to me almost 15 years ago when beautiful Caryl showed up on my doorstep with 8-year-old Conley.  The sweetness of her smile and gentleness of her demeanor were so comforting to me, a Mom who had been struggling for months to help her son adjust to a new city and school with no friends.  They showed up one early Fall Saturday to take Mario on an adventure – a Fall festival at the nearby Indian Mission.  Mario and I were both thrilled.

A couple of weeks earlier, Mario came home from school a little less grumpy than usual.  He told me he had met someone he was pretty sure was going to be a good friend.  Mario was excited to get to know him better because they both enjoyed cussing and, better yet, Mario shared that the new friend’s kindergarten brother was “very cool” and cussed also!  Perfection – Universe, I think we have found a match.  And thus, Conley Niedens entered our world (and it has never been the same).  After that day at the fall festival, Mario and Conley were pretty much inseparable – for better or for worse!

When I noticed that Caryl’s name was spelled with a “y” and she had a career in the design world, I started to really love and appreciate her artistic flair.  Her ability to create a beautiful and warm atmosphere – both physically and interpersonally – was unparalleled.  Warmth was something our household needed desperately after uprooting our kids from their dream home in the country 200 miles away and suddenly planting them in suburban Kansas City.  I learned that Caryl and Lyle were from Great Bend, Kansas, which really increased their likeability with our family after having just lived in Winfield, Kansas for 8 years.  Very quickly, the Niedens family just felt comfortable and familiar to us.  It wasn’t long at all until the Tamburinis were included in many weekend KU basketball or Chiefs football watch events.  We looked forward to being at Caryl and Lyle’s house because we knew it would be warm and filled with laughter (maybe a little yelling at the tv or the boys!).  She was always trying new recipes and buying me cookbooks. One time I took a centerpiece to her house instead of a dish- when I told her the florist had named it “low and lush” she quipped, “Like ME!”


I mentioned Mario and Conley were a “for better or worse” duo – and this could have gone either way in my friendship with Caryl.  When your kid is known for getting a little rambunctious with someone else’s kid – sometimes that doesn’t lead to warm and fuzzy vibes between the parents.  I so loved and appreciated Caryl’s realistic and consistently calm approach to raising boys!  I never felt judged by her or obligated to make excuses for “boy behavior.”  Caryl’s friendship was genuine and the more time we spent together, I understood our family had been adopted into her “tribe.” How lucky we have been.  

Caryl was not easily shocked, which really worked for me because sometimes shocking things came out of my mouth or my kid’s mouth and sometimes borderline shocking things happened.  She proved to be an “all weather” type of friend over and over.

Mario and Conley were roommates at a 3-day basketball camp at KU after 4th grade.  It turned out to be too much togetherness and talking for Mario.  When I arrived at KU to pick the boys up, Conley was still very wired and excited and Mario looked like he had not slept the entire time.  He was ready for major down time but that did not happen in the car ride back to Kansas City with Conley.  At one point, Mario threw a blanket over his head, telling Conley “the air does not need to be filled with your voice every second”!  Conley thought that was very funny but I could tell Mario was getting close to losing it.  We ended up solving the problem with a quick side trip to McDonald’s (my number one parenting go-to).  Caryl was very entertained by the story when I dropped Conley off and often brought it up when we were meeting new people together.  

Caryl had an amazing sense of humor.  Our friendship may not have survived our boys without laughter! Once when he was going through our cupboards for something good to eat, Conley declared, “Tell your Mom she needs to go to the store!”  Not long after that, Conley and Mario were sent to the hallway for being disruptive during the “Just Around the Corner” puberty video at school.  Never horrified, Caryl just took it all in stride as another day in the life of being a parent.  I so appreciated that and found comfort in her friendship and support. 

Caryl supported me through my various job changes (at least 6) – and was always the first to congratulate me and stop by the house with a little special gift to recognize the new beginning.  I was even a DREADED SILPADA REP for about 10 minutes and Sweet Caryl was the first (and only!) person to step up and offer to host a jewelry party!  She was also a huge supporter of my sobriety.  In early sobriety, you learn that not all friendships are necessarily “good” for you and that change is to be expected.  Caryl showed up at my house not long after I stopped drinking with a hand picked mocktail bar.  It was one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me yet she walked in with this beautiful gift and quietly got to work mixing me a mocktail as though it was something ordinary.  But in fact it was extraordinary and so was she.

I had not known Caryl very long when my Dad passed away.  She was the first friend to stop by the house with a pork tenderloin for our family.  Just “Good People” through and through. When my Mom passed away last year, Caryl was already not feeling well but not really sure what was going on.  She took the time to look up a recipe for a braided apple bread and brought it to me warm on a Sunday evening wrapped in a lovely fall ribbon.  Completely Caryl with a “Y”! The things she did for the people she loved were always works of art made with the utmost care.  She was really proud of the spaces she worked on for Pierce and Conley as they entered young adulthood.  

Our pets always loved Caryl, another sign she was a very special person.  On the day I went behind my husband’s back and adopted a cocker spaniel, the first place I went to was Caryl’s house with little Pudgey in the back seat!  She was delighted with the little creature and sure he would be the perfect addition to our household.  Caryl was also the first to express condolences at the loss of a pet.  

Caryl made the most of every situation, including the last year of her life.  She accepted that life isn’t fair and had many conversations with her loved ones about it.  She told me last summer she was very proud of her boys and the life she had lived.  In every conversation I have had with her over the past 12 months, she mentioned Pierce and Conley and things they were doing that made her very proud.  Conley’s graduation from KU made her enormously happy.

Recently, I visited Caryl just before lunchtime at the nursing home.  She invited me to join her in the dining room and told me a little something special about each of the women with whom she shared a table.  Little did these women know, they had become part of a very special tribe led by Caryl with a “Y” – the one and only.

Caryl told our friend Kris she wanted all her friends to have a packet of wildflowers to remember her by.  She so enjoyed her back garden and basking in the sun.  One of my most cherished memories of Caryl will be this memory of her in her garden, peaceful.  An endearing goodbye of hers with me was always, “See ya later, darlin”.  So for now, precious friend, I will see ya later, Darlin’.

“We show up, burn brightly in the moment,

live passionately, and when the moment is over,

when our work is done, we step back and let go.”

Rolf Gates

Little Women

I received a Christmas gift early this year. On a chilly autumn afternoon, friends and family gathered to honor my parents’ final wishes: to spread their ashes together in a field near the home they raised my six older brothers and sisters and me in. You might think this would be a terribly sad occasion at first: the finality of releasing the only remaining physical representation of the 2 people you loved more than anyone in the world. Yet, as spiritual experiences often do, this setting and the people gathered blanketed my soul in peace and absolute assurance that my parents were pleased and all was well.

My children were there along with a dozen or so friends I had not seen in over 20 years, so it was a little surreal, for sure. This coming together of the past and the present for a brief moment, my heart wrenched with grief and love as it took in all the beauty around me. My childhood home, anchor of love and safety, visible in the background and the smells of home long tucked away in my sensory memory brought back to life for a brief moment to honor my Mom and Dad. 

Right before we spread their ashes, a larger gathering of old friends met in our hometown Parish Hall to break bread with our family and celebrate Mom’s life. Theresa, a dear farming friend, had lovingly displayed a cotton harvest themed quilt of my Mom’s in the entryway to our repast. I was expecting a warm reception, but this? Her gesture showed respect in the simplest and most profound way: the work of of my Mother’s hands, gifted to her years ago, represented a lifetime of love, friendship and memories. I had worried too many years had passed since our family lived in our hometown for our reappearance to make sense or feel authentic. Theresa’s warm welcome removed all doubt that my parents mattered to the people still living in our farming community.

The most surprising and delightful part of the experience was our unexpected invitation to enter our childhood home for a tour. To me, our home was a wondrous land of exploration, a kind of Narnia of my very own. As the youngest of seven, I spent many hours alone roaming the 3-acre yard surrounded by glorious fields in every season. It was there my imagination led me on many adventures which no doubt established the vibrant inner life I have always enjoyed and drawn from during difficult times. To be invited inside the home my parents so beautifully launched we children from was an early Christmas gift I eagerly accepted.

Walking around the old familiar rooms, the late autumn sun casting a warm golden light in the front room as I had always remembered, my two sisters and I briefly stepped back in time as the daughters of Dick and Rhetta, beloved community members of this town we left 43 years ago. It was in the kitchen that the real lesson of the day struck me. Standing at the kitchen island with their mother (the daughter of a childhood classmate of my brother’s) were 3 beautiful young women, faces beaming with kindness and curiosity about these strangers who had invaded their home on the Saturday afternoon after Thanksgiving. We thanked them for the gift of this glimpse into our childhood and learned a bit about each of the trio of sisters living not dissimilar lives from our own nearly half a century later. 

As I walked away, a little sad from leaving my parents’ ashes in their final resting place, it was the faces of these beautiful young sisters I could not stop thinking about. They, too, might someday return to this grand and abundantly verdant place to honor the family they once were. Because my sisters and I had the courage to seek comfort from a community we had long left, the warmth and eagerness of the friends who welcomed us back home briefly connected us to these 3 sisters gazing at us with their Mom in our old kitchen. We had asked for this kindness and they lovingly granted it. While my parents’ lives were over, our story and connection to this beautiful place and these exquisitely kind people was not. I like a story with potential for a sequel – it must be the little country girl in me!

6 “I Can” Statements for 6 Years Sober

6 years ago this week I walked into a noon Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at Unity Temple on the Country Club Plaza, burst into tears and said, “I think I am an alcoholic.” Immediately, that community supported me and over the next 12 months I began to understand that “there is another way to live.”

As anyone who has struggled with alcohol addiction will tell you, the worst part is the period of time leading up to admitting you are powerless over alcohol. In the 2 years leading up to that day in 2015 when I finally walked into an AA meeting, I spent more and more time bargaining with this insatiable beast that was taking my life and everything I cared about from me. In the search for temporary relief from anxiety, insecurity, worry and fear, what I found was just an enormous emptiness. I was ashamed of my inability to simply stop hurting myself and others. Alcohol was on a mission to destroy my life yet I continued to open that bottle of vino fino tinto every afternoon at 5 o’ clock, the witching hour.

I think my path to successful sobriety has been primarily about 2 things: learning to manage discomfort and reclaiming my authentic self. I wish I could hug that sad woman and tell her that in exchange for hangovers, her future would be full of authentic connections, better health, flourishing young adult children and the most fulfilling career imaginable.

Living a sober life has given me many tools for navigating the scary world of FEELINGS. I used to hide from my feelings behind a big glass of red wine, but now I address my problems, if not with confidence, at least with purpose – to find a reasonable solution that does not compromise my values or boundaries.

To celebrate my 6th Sober Birthday, I want to share 6 “I Can” statements I work on constantly:

I CAN…

  • Create a life I love built on new beliefs about the person I am and who I choose to be going forward;
  • Live with discomfort, knowing that in the end what is meant for me will happen at the right time;
  • Tolerate the disapproval of someone I love, knowing that compromising my authentic self in exchange for another person’s affection or approval is self-destructive;
  • Accept contradictions of all kinds without the need to debate or argue;
  • Seek support rather than comfort when the need arises;
  • Support others without expecting anything in return.

Every sober breath is a gift. I have had 2,190 beautiful days in recovery. Thank you for celebrating with me!

Untidiness and Beauty

Well it’s been a week of angst and dread and anticipation so let me entertain you with a little story about how things went down on Cheeky Street.

It was last Sunday and I was in search of my authentic strand of pearls (because, like most women, I have numerous fake ones). I am not known for my tidiness or organization so off to my rat-packing closet I went with a mild sense of dread in pursuit of said strand. There is one box in the back of my closet that I have tossed sentimental things in over the years. I’ll throw something in and forget about it because going down the emotional rabbit hole of examining the contents in the box is often too much.

We have lived in our current home 10 years now so it’s been at least that long since I have taken a peak in the box in the back of my untidy closet. That’s how long it’s been since I have worn pearls. One has to ponder what kind of life, as a woman, one has been living that is completely devoid of my favorite jewel, but this is a subject for a different story.

It has been said that comedy is tragedy plus time. So astonishment must be something similar – in my view, it is struggle plus perspective.

I was not emotionally prepared for the 3 things I found in this box instead of my strand of pearls:

  1. A beautiful snapshot of my parents visiting me and my sister in our apartment for Thanksgiving over 30 years ago. They were struggling and, not coincidentally, they were the age I am now. In the thick of a midlife reckoning . Children raised, empty nest, left to stare at the walls or make deliberate choices about the rest of the journey, together or apart. It stunned me. A wound broke open I thought had long healed. There they were, the 2 people that raised me sitting on the cheap sofa my sister and I shared in our little apartment as young women. Mom and Dad, my biggest heroes. The perspective I have after 30 years of living my own struggles shone a bright light on the beauty of what they did for each other and our family. They stayed the course and supported each other until the end, as the vow “until death us do part” said. Holding that photo in my now wrinkled hands with the ability to put myself squarely in the middle of their struggle with some inkling of how it felt for them made me proud to be their seventh child. And proud to be made of the same persevering cloth they are.

2. A love letter from my husband written during a painful turning point in our marriage. How it is I determined that this letter, among several, should make its way into this particular box full of memories, I wish I knew. Juxtaposed with the photo of my parents at midlife, the letter marking a difficult crossroads with my husband pointed toward a theme: struggle and love are one. We lose our way occasionally and what is the one thing that helps guide us? Love. I started to think that maybe these memories were tucked away in a box in the back of my closet because I wasn’t ready to deal with the pain or release the anger and resentment. Thankfully, the past 5 years of my life have been largely about confronting resentment and finding ways to assemble some tools in my life for managing it. I am glad I have stayed in the struggle for my marriage and our family, just as my parents did. My husband and I have often joked we could write a book about the huge financial and career challenges life has thrown at us and from which we emerged stronger and happier. Maybe we will.

3. Finally and perhaps most preciously, several envelopes of my children’s baby teeth. I told my son last Sunday what I had found and he was completely grossed out. “Why would you save something so gross, Mom?” he wanted to know. I thought to myself, “because you were mine.” And that’s another paradox of love, isn’t it, particularly the love for a child. I kept these momentos of childhood to remember the passage of time and hold close to my heart the struggle and beauty of caring for something outside myself, in my case 2 somethings, my daughter and son.

“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed,” Antoine Exupery

I never found the damn pearls. I did find empirical evidence of a life well lived, however. If there were ever a question that my parents or husband loved me, all I had to do was look inside the untidy box at the back of my disorganized closet. Sometimes life reminds us there are more important things than possessions. I am completely grateful and surrender to those times.

My son brought this beautiful croton leaf inside yesterday afternoon as he was helping my husband rake. He knew I would cherish its beauty, something he has always known about his Mom. As the seasons change and he prepares to leave the nest for good, my heart aches once again with dread of the pain of seeing his empty room and missing the sound of his shotgun laugh. Maybe this leaf will go in the untidy box and one day many years from now I will rediscover it and remember yesterday with pride, love and a heart filled with gratitude for a life well lived.

I Just Want My Plush Towel and Other Holiday Reflections

img_2142

It’s been awhile.  The last time I wrote was last May as my son was leaving the house to finish his senior year of High School.  A pretty big day at our house and any parent’s.  It took me a few months to get my grounding after that day.  Going from 18 continuous years of round the clock parenting to a sudden and immediate “layoff” is quite a jolt and I was terrified I might never regain a sense of purpose.  So I found a volunteer gig and a new mantra, something like, “Guide Me,” grounding words I would repeat throughout the day every time I felt a new wave of panic rising.

Where to begin?  When you have poured your heart and soul into two human beings who are ready to launch into the world and the thought of moving forward terrifies you, how do you start?  Fortunately, I have had really good experiences volunteering in the past and it is something I am comfortable doing and my husband was supportive of me doing instead of looking for a paying job right away.  So I had a wonderful summer helping a local rehabilitative organization as a volunteer at a summer camp for developmentally challenged adolescents build executive functioning skills.  Ability KC is one of my favorite places because they support individuals and families of all ages and abilities to recover from debilitating injuries or conditions and regain strength and resilience.  As a person in recovery from alcohol addiction, building resilience is something I feel very passionate about.  So I started taking steps forward in my life and trusted God and the Universe to “Guide Me.”

Summer went by quickly and I built connections with the darling camp kids.  I learned massive amounts from the 20- and 30- something physical and occupational therapists running the camp.  I found that, as always, I had been planted in exactly the right place at the right time with the right people working for the right purpose.  Continuing with this trust and purpose, somehow I gradually awakened to the next opportunity in my “Life After Mom” journey.  I knew I wanted to work with kids on the brink of young adulthood who needed extra support.  So I began applying for jobs with local school districts as a Special Education Paraprofessional.  What luck and joy I had when a local middle school contacted me for an interview in early August.  I am now employed there and part of another team of inspiring individuals I am learning so much from.  And I have the privilege to connect with young people on a daily basis, meeting them where they are and trying my best to support and help them learn.  I am beyond grateful to have this new purpose in my life.

Recently, when strolling the bathroom aisle at Kohl’s, I realized I hadn’t given myself the luxury of a really thirsty and plush bath towel in many years.  So I bought 2 cream colored ones, something a Mom knows never to do with kids around because they’d be destroyed in days.  Another thing about the plush towels:  I just want them for myself but I haven’t explicitly communicated this to my husband.  Occasionally, in his morning haze and rush to work, he grabs one and I find myself feeling territorial and angry – about a towel!  Here’s my takeaway from the hidden meaning behind a newly liberated Mom and her plush towel anger issues:  it’s a small luxury just for me that I am not expected to share with anyone.  Ready to laugh out loud?  After 21 years of nurturing my family, I just want to be asked if they can use my plush towel!  I feel ridiculous about all the power I have given these towels in my psychological life and my family doesn’t even know it!

Moving forward in life after full-time parenting requires a sense of humor.  I appreciate the sense of belonging and acceptance I have at the middle school where I am working.  It’s building my skills, resilience and confidence.  No matter what age, we all need each other to build strength.  And plush towels.  We all need at least one just for ourselves.

Happy Holidays, friends, and may 2020 bring you an abundance of joy, new adventures and plush towels.

Overnight Parental Metamorphosis

 

My son, my second child, just left the house for his Senior Year of High School finals.  I know this day is a major rite of passage.  So I go to my basement and retrieve a few fragments of his and his sister’s childhood from the big box of grade school papers I have kept all these years.  I am that Mom.  The one who frames art projects and puts every lost tooth in a ziplock bag.  These memories are my treasures.

You don’t get to choose many of the experiences your children will have outside your four walls and nothing prepares you for the disappointments the world will heap upon them – you can only hope that your love will be the cushion your child needs to bounce back and return to the world of unexpected experiences the following day.

As a child, Motherhood and writing were my true callings.  I wrote plays and each afternoon baked goodies in my Easy Bake oven before picking my imaginary kids up on my bicycle riding up and down my long driveway and talking to them.  As an adult, my life has luckily pretty much mirrored what I always dreamed and imagined motherhood would be.  Except the joy I have felt over the beauty of children’s innocence and unfaltering love was deeper than anything I had ever experienced.  And the anguish over not being able to solve a child’s heartache with a bowl of ice cream and a hug more harsh than any adult experience I had ever known.

The most unexpected delight from mothering a girl and a boy has been the gift of being the guardian of the gentle unfolding of their hearts in this world.  Being a parent at our house has often meant inviting the outside world to our table.  The way my children embraced our Little Brother when we were matched as a Family in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program was loving and open-hearted.  They were open and accepting of the experience and shared our abundance of love, food, toys and fun with him without urging by me or their Dad.  And the outside adventures their hearts led our family to were beyond any planned playdate or experience I could have ever mapped out.  When our daughter told us at age 8 she wanted to be a competitive cheerleader, we set off on 2 years of driving hundreds of miles each week and thousands of 8-counts and sassy faces and moves to impress judges at competitions.  She already had grit, determination and focus.  The competitive sport just gave her an outlet, and her overwhelmed Mom was grateful for that.

My husband will faint in disbelief when he reads this, but I am grateful to have lived in the country on 32 acres for part of our kids’ childhood, in particular, the formative part.  They learned how to occupy themselves on long, windy, hot summer days without constant monitoring or activities.  Families enjoyed campfires, storytelling and music in the evenings and our son became a huge fan of the annual music festival that took place 1 mile from our back door.  To this day, his favorite smell is smoke from a campfire and as a young man, our house has become the headquarters for his friends to linger, laugh and talk into the night by a simple campfire.  Our daughter honed her writing skills and our many 8-hour car trips to visit family in St. Louis were a great source of inspiration.  Here she writes about the “Throwing Up Spring Break” of 2006 which was preceded by the “greatest day” of our 6-year-old son’s life at Disney on Ice.

Although today officially marks a transition from parenting children to young adults, and my heart is somewhat tender with wistful memories of those early days, I look forward to the next chapter – one that has already begun with my daughter – of witnessing, supporting, validating and loving the young adults my children become.

These 2 are my treasures and they belong to the world now, not me.  That’s both the most painful and proud reality of parenting:  these children gifted to us are born to fly.  Instead of planning the next week to make sure I am available for sporting events or other activities they love, I am, even as I write this, officially promoted to Witness.  I don’t have to referee their journey anymore.  Another Mom recently said, “You go from parent to consultant overnight.”  It might take me a few boxes of tissue to make the transition.  Each tear will be worth it.

Now I get to see who they invite to our table.

A Gentleman in a Turbulent World

Gentleman

 

This is a post I have been thinking about for over 2 months but this week provides the perfect backdrop to what I want to talk about:  the characteristics of a gentleman.  Specifically, the man I married and had children with.  As a young woman, the things I loved about my husband hit all the “marriage material” marks:  well-educated, hard- working, sweet, funny and eager to have a family. After 22 years of marriage, the single trait that stands out above all others has nothing to do with personality and everything to do with character:  my husband is a gentleman.  He can be trusted to consistently be fair, loving and even-tempered.  He treats people with respect, no matter how he feels about them.  And he never ever, not once, expected the world to hand him anything he wasn’t willing to work for.

When my Dad passed away, his best friend shared something about him that I wish I had known and been able to process as I grew into adulthood and tried to understand the man he was.  His friend told me that, more than anything, my Dad was excited about having been accepted to Law School as a young man.  It was his dream that, unfortunately, never came to be.  Family obligations changed his fate and my Dad, ever the gentleman, honored his commitments and took care of his family instead of pursuing his dream.  I found this out exactly one day after he died and for me, this shred of information explained the unspoken questions I had about my Dad for 45 years.  Because he was a “man of the 1950’s,” I suppose it wasn’t considered appropriate or even relevant to talk about his dreams – he just got up every day and took care of his family.  He could have been a real resentful jerk about his fate but chose to be a gentleman.  That’s why I fell in love with my husband, I understand now.

I want our children to see their Dad through my eyes as they become adults and that’s really what this post is about.  I want them to know absolutely without a doubt that:

  • You are the Center of your Dad’s world – there is nothing he wouldn’t do to give you love, self-assurance, creativity, hope and excitement about the things you can do in this world with your one life;
  • Your Dad is often incorrectly mistaken as meek and mild because he has a gentle temperament but nothing could be further from the truth.  He is a fighter to the core and he’s overcome many personal and career obstacles fighting for you and our family.  Your Mom quits things – your Dad never does;
  • When other people are bragging and bullying their way to temporary, “better” positions in life, you can find your Dad quietly plugging away in his corner of the world, doing hundreds of small things that gentlemen do:  honoring promises; finishing projects long after your Mom has given up because it’s the right thing to do; staying focused on what needs to be done today to reach that distant dream in the future instead of procrastinating (again like your Mom); being kind to people who may have hurt him or someone he loves instead of puffing out his chest and threatening them in order to make himself feel better (you know I do this!).

When your Dad is angry, he finds a way to resolve it and move forward because he knows in and of itself, anger will destroy everything in his path.  Your Dad, the Gentleman, is a saver, a lover, and a person who takes what is before him today and makes something that lasts into the future.  In his quietly determined way, your Dad is the strongest person I know.  And he has never once bragged about that.

My hope for you children is that you will offer this wounded world some of your Dad’s fair-minded, even-tempered gentleness.  It will serve you and those around you very well for the rest of your lives.

The Path that Found Me

My husband and son are out of town on a big adventure for several days and my daughter and I are relaxing, enjoying some down time.  As is my habit when I have a little extra mental space and time, I go digging through old boxes in search of old letters, pictures, tokens from my past.  Though I have seen this photo so many times this morning it startled me:  she’s so young and fresh, like the strawberry she’s posing with next to her friend.  At 52, it is wonderful to have arrived at an age where I can recall a story for nearly every little scrap I have saved in my “special box” over the years.  Here’s what I remember about this picture.

The friend I am with was a special one for a short time.  We were both recently out of Graduate School and beginning our career paths, though mine was in the nonprofit world and her’s was health care administration.  Her career-obsessed, interrupting, impatient colleague drove us to the dinner we are enjoying in the photo.  I was half-heartedly pursuing what I thought would be a good “career path” for myself, though 50 percent of the people I met who were serious “career-oriented” people were way too intense for me.

Silly then, sillier now.  That’s me.  But I was ashamed of it then.  Looking at this sweet girl in the picture, I want to love her and reassure her that the right Path will find her. That it ultimately does not matter in life who you impress at meetings or how high you are willing to climb to earn a career.  The rude colleague of my friend ultimately achieved the highest honors in her career and she received accolades, awards and respect.  Good for her.  My “non-path path” has been glorious, sometimes painful but always given me the right kind of experience and space I needed to grow.

My son brilliantly summed up for me the most valuable part of any journey when he exclaimed his woes about his second day of kindergarten on the car ride home:  “My day was horrible!  The teacher only gave us 7 minutes to daydream!”  This kid is so my kid.  To resist externally imposed structure so resolutely at age 5 was both a blessing and curse for him and I have personally witnessed the toll an absurdly rigid school routine can take on his soul.  My advice to him and all you other free spirits out there:  trust yourself enough to know that the choices you make in life will yield abundance in many beautiful ways.  You may not choose a path that is laden with financial rewards and career milestones worthy of publishing in a business journal.  But this much I know:  THE WORLD NEEDS DAYDREAMERS!

So the path that found me was the one that was inside my heart as a youngster.  I loved getting on my bicycle and playing “carpool” with my imaginary children.  Unfortunately, as a woman in the eighties and nineties, it wasn’t very cool to admit that all you really wanted to do was “just be a Mom.”  But that’s what I have done and it has been my greatest joy in life.  I have a daughter, too, and she’s a creative genius and force of nature.  And I married a guy who does my favorite thing in the world:  he writes great love notes.  This one popped up when I was treasure hunting in my special box today.  We had been married exactly 5 weeks, I was undergoing testing for terrible allergies, and my guapo half Argentinean new groom wrote me these words:Love Note

My life has been rich and the journey becomes sweeter with age, as anybody over 50 understands, because we know each day is so precious.  I am so happy I decided to go through that box today and even happier that the Path I always dreamed of found me.