Mirror mirror on the wall

 Today was like most, if not all days. We wake up, I make my coffee, Adam makes his eggs. We sometimes say pleasantries and other times go about our days until the kids/adults get up.  We have two special needs adults so we bathe, change, feed, play/engage with them and not necessarily in that order but the same rituals. Every single day for 20 plus years. We do not go a single day without telling them they are loved and that they matter. Then we send them off for a few hours of school, unless Elizabeth isn't feeling like it, because unlike America, it's her world and we just live in it. 

Then Adam goes to work and I do domestic stuff which is not my favorite but this the life that we have and it is a good life filled with joy and love.  And now the veil of darkness has again reared its ugly head. The hate that was simmering, the vile inhumaneness that now we must tolerate again is back. So I breathe heavier, think deeper, cry alot more often. Think to myself, "how can this be?" when I know exactly how. 

My eldest son is worried, he says I'm better this time.  I say, "no, I just know who we are now so I am not surprised by it." Heartbroken, yes. Devastated, absofuckinlutely. Discouraged, you bet your ass. But I am older, wiser. I don't know why it took until almost fifty to understand this country's disdain for women, but it did. 

I am white and middle class and understand my privilege, but with these kids, these kids. I know 51% of this country does not care about them.  Just does not care. Those I love so very deeply do not care. I must live with that and go on. But my mantra remains as it did in 2016, he did not break me then, he will not break me now. He will not break me. He can't, I am all they have. 

Lens

 It’s weird when the eyesight starts to go. You have to wait and look at the menu, your eyes look all crazy when you put on the readers. But your friends are doing it and you joke and you laugh about it, and it’s all good. What do you expect, you’re 49. 

And it’s also weird when your sister, much younger and many times mistaken as your daughter, tells you that 49 seems old. Maybe it is. I’m  warming up to it, as it’s better than the alternative. 

And today I ate cottage cheese with salt and vinegar potato chips on top and couldn’t wait to tell someone. It was magic and maybe sad, but I’m 49, I don’t care. 

It’s true what they say about not giving F’s as you age, if only we could gift it to our kids a tad younger and spare them some heartache. Although, the heartache builds the character, so maybe they shouldn’t be spared? Whatever, I don’t know. 

And as the wine sets in, I cannot believe I was born here, raised here, loved here and I can pass that onto my kids by the grace of community friends and family. What is happening to families in this world is unfathomable, and it’s weird that I just get to go to dinner on a Monday and Target on Tuesday and a football game on Saturday.  Why do I get to do those things while so many suffer? 

I've found myself asking the “why’s” a lot more and the “wtaf”s a whole lot more. And although I don’t have answers to things I pray for, or solutions to things I beg for; I have more love than I dreamed of being possible. If you are reading this, you have given me and my family that love, and I will pass it on this 49th year and all that may come.  ❤️

                                                        Yes, it's a problem, mind your business

The worst

I guess I am just surprised that we are surprised?  Are we really?  A rude, belligerent, narcissistic, shell of a man is going to be on a national stage and do something respectable, tolerable, relatable-even coherent?  

Has he ever?  

Would he ever?

Is he capable?

Who do we think this man is?

Why would we ever put faith in a person that has not shown a shred of human decency in the short, albeit, torturous time he has been President?  ((not to mention his lifetime of cheating, fraud, racism, sexism (all the isms) and manipulation))

I am struggling. I cannot help but ask myself what kind of person would support this man?  I know it is not fair, I know it is wrong.  I should not judge. But how???? 

How do we try and and raise humble, respectful, honorable children in the wake of this?  Of course it starts at home, so how does one explain him to their children?  What does one say about the soulless to their sensitive, impressionable sons? And heaven forbid, what does one say to their strong, ever-questioning daughters?

Damn, he makes it so difficult not to throw things, question everything you thought you knew and believed in.  He is that vile. He is that repugnant. 

Unlike our current President, I have reason, empathy, compassion, a thought process. And I used to believe that people that supported him did too, that maybe they voted for party or misguided principle rather than on facts. Yes, I know they believe me naive, and I cannot reconcile that they can't see what I so clearly do.  Yet, I understand reluctantly, they see me the exactly the same way.  I so heartbreakingly understand that many think I am the one who just doesn't "get it". 

 Disheartening.

And then it hit me last night that this is more about us than it is him.....so I ask, where will you stand in history?  What story will you tell?

I just cannot grasp the possibility that he would be reelected, but I couldn't have imagined he would be elected in the first place. Here we are. 

What does one do with this rage? I guess I will do the only thing I can do. 

Vote.

                                                                            

Hope

A couple of years ago, my former pastor and friend, Terry Webster, asked if I would contribute to his sermon, from a mother's perspective. He was gracious enough to share it in it's entirety.  I am sharing it with you because I believe hope, faith and love hold true-then, now, and forever. Happy Easter! He is risen indeed. 

Easter Sunday Sermon

April 1, 2018

‘The Unfinished Gospel’

The long process of cleaning out all of my stuff has slowly begun.  After all of these years, I have a lot of things tucked away that need to be dealt with. One of the things I have discovered is that after all these years, I only have 4 sermons that I have saved. I know that is a bit of a disappointment for everyone who were really looking forward to me putting them into a book that you could buy in a few months. Sorry about that. One of these sermons was the very first one I ever preached, which surprisingly is really bad. A second one was part of a series that was used when a previous church built a new facility. The third was the Sunday after September 11, 2001 and the 4^th?  Well, you get to hear it today. It is one that is really special because part of it was written by one of our folks here at FPC.  So here goes. If you remember it, I am really impressed. If not, then it is new to you. So here goes.

‘The first thing the world noticed about the early Christian was that they ate together’.  So begins Rachel Held Evans words on communion in her book ‘Searching for Sunday.’ It is an amazing book about her journey on loving, leaving, and finding Church.  These words aren’t too surprising because for the early Christians because the life of Jesus-his death and resurrection, changed everything in their lives, so men and women, slave and free, rich and poor, Jew and Gentile gathered to eat.

The story of the resurrection is amazing, so amazing that apparently Mark couldn’t find the words to describe it. This morning we hear Marks gospel story, the original 8 verses he wrote to tell about what happened on that Sunday morning. As we heard Mary Claire read these words, the main thing you may have  noticed is that Mark’s story just sort of ends.  Really, it’s not a great ending. I can understand the urge to fix it-the rest of the verses in chapter 16 were added later by well meaning people hoping to sync it up a bit more with the other gospels, maybe to give it more of a victorious feel. And I can understand why these extra words were added. Because while Mark starts out in the usual fashion, its early Sunday morning, it’s still dark, the women are going to the tomb to tend to Jesus’ body, the stone is rolled away, they hear the word that Jesus has been raised, they are sent back to tell-Mark seems to botch the ending completely with his last words…’so they went out and fled the tomb, for terror and amazement has seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.’  Do you see what I mean? It’s the only resurrection story in the Bible where Jesus never actually makes an appearance. And then these women disciples fail at what the young man tells them to do.  This is all pretty surprising. They have been told not to be afraid—words that the Biblical code words for ‘good news is coming’—but it doesn’t happen for them. All they do is run off and hide, afraid, fleeing the tomb and saying absolutely nothing to anyone.  And there you have it, a resurrection story scene without Jesus that seems to end in failure.

So what is going on with Mark? To be honest, I thought for the longest time that he just wasn’t very good with endings. But the more I read this, the more I realize the genius and beauty of what Mark is up to.  Instead of leaving the gospel story where it is, Mark does something really remarkable—he lets us wonder. He lets us think. He lets us finish the story. Mark writes this very open ended gospel that seems to end in failure precisely to place the burden of responsibility for telling the good news squarely on our shoulders. Mark isn’t terrible at endings, it turns out-Mark is rather brilliant, and by telling the gospel this way, Mark invites us-the disciples, the early church, you and me-into the story, to pick up where the story left off and to tell the good news of Jesus.

So that got me thinking. What can we do, what can you and I do to continue what Mark started? What did these women do?  What did the disciples do? And for some reason, my mind stated wondering to a couple of things…Mary, the mother of Jesus, and a family wedding.  So, I sought out an expert-one of our moms- Mary Claire Brass. You may not know that along with being a great mom, Mary Claire is also an amazing blogger.

Now, no one could ever fully grasp what Mary went through—seeing her son go through all of the horror she witnessed. What did she do?  So I asked Mary Claire to put herself—as a mom—and see all of this through her eyes, through the eyes of Jesus’ mother.  And her words are “A Mothers Hope”

A Mother's hope

She lay in deafening silence. Her heart was empty, broken. Her mind raced-the thoughts came without warning. He was bad, wrong, evil. He didn't deserve to be here in the first place, he's wasn't good enough. These were the words of others, but they were infiltrating her brain as if they were her own. She shook her head to rid herself of the doubt. It had been months, but the uncertainty still crept in.

What she knew, what she reached for was what he meant to her. But not just her-what he meant to countless others-those he touched, those he came close to, those he loved without condition, those he healed, those who believed. Her will started to come back and she lifted herself to her knees.  It was still too much. The sobs came like a flood and she let them come so she could release the doubt, the fear. She embraced the condemnation of others so she could then send it away, it wasn't hers to keep. She decided right then she would love like he loved, forgive like he forgave, stand like he stood-with the weak, the poor, the broken, the sick. All as one, all as equal. How could she start?  How could she heal? She reached deep within her soul or what she felt was left of it and decided bringing people together would be the only way. For the people who loved, doubted, even hated Him to come to eat and drink surrounded by his spirit, brought together by love.  Love would be the only way for so many to sit down as one.  She hadn't sunk so deep that she had forgotten that love was the only thing that outlives us all, the only thing that really mattered.  And so she decided, people would come together for communion to remember and celebrate his sacrifice. His life for each of theirs-his life, his death, and ultimately his resurrection.  And in this decision she was able to stand and raise her arms wide open to allow herself to be filled back up again. Filled with all of the things that her son was to her-belief, honor, love, forgiveness.  She would replace grief with determination. Determined he'd be remembered through her eyes, through her actions, through his meal. Who she knew him to be. Her heart became full. For once again when she was totally lost, she was able to pick herself back up and open her heart. And she became filled with something she thought she had lost when she lost him. She was filled with hope. 

‘For the people who loved, doubted, even hated Jesus to come together and eat and drink surrounded by His spirit brought together by love’

Pretty amazing, isn’t it. To bring people together around a table because God knows what can happen, what will happen, when we break bread together.  And this brings me to a wedding. A few years ago, Marsha and I headed off to Austin Texas for the wedding of my nephew Stephen to Elisabeth. Most of us hadn’t met her, but were really looking forward to this opportunity, not only to meet her, but also to join together in this celebration of the covenant of marriage. And it was great to meet Elisabeth, and how do I describe her. Well, there is lot about her that some might not appreciate.  She is a lovely young woman, wild red hair, body art, multiple piercings, wildly liberal, divorced, wants nothing to do with God, and worse of all, a huge fan of the University of Texas.  But she loves my nephew, and love overlooks a lot, doesn’t it.  Well, after the wedding in the park that they wanted, we all gathered for a reception at a combined yoga studio/art museum, one of their favorite places.

And as we gathered around this table, there was this family, my family. There is one sister in law, a widow, the grooms mother, who is a self ordained Pentecostal minister who uses her religion to hurt others.  My brother, who isn’t sure what he believes about God anymore as he has watched his wife struggle in her 10^th year of dealing with cancer that has nearly bankrupted them. Sadly and strangely, it is the same cancer that hit the Webster house up here in Kentucky.  Over in the corner is a nephew, who is still struggling with the effects of some poor decisions he made a few years back-decisions that have changed his life forever.  There was my sister and her husband and their 3 kids, who still miss and grieve the death of their oldest daughter Sara many years ago when she was 15. And there was my oldest sister, who pretty much embodies everything good and holy, but who wasn’t able to marry her partner because of the state she lives in.

The Webster clan is an opinionated, loud, stubborn, arguing group of people. But here we were, with all of our flaws, and our needs, and our struggles, adding one more chair around the dinner table, welcoming one more person to the family.

And as I was sitting there, breaking bread with my family, I started to see the real power of the words that Mary Claire wrote, and what the resurrection and the table are all about.  It is in the midst of the brokenness, our disunity, our wounds, and our joys and love, that God brought Jesus back. Like those women, we don’t really understand what happened on that Sunday morning, we might never fully understand, we might even run away, but we gather to remember, to celebrate, to break bread, to pull up some more chairs and allow more people to be welcomes to God’s table. 

Easter is a celebration for the broken, for the questioning, for the doubting, for the scared, for those who want to run away and for those who are certain, who have no questions, who have it all together.  And that is the way that you and I can finish the story that Mark started. We open our arms, we pull up another chair, we welcome those we love, and those we don’t, and we share in this amazing gift of resurrection and of the table.

As Rachel Evans writes, ‘the gospel doesn’t need a coalition devoted to keeping the wrong people out. It needs a family of sinners, saved by grace, committed to tearing down walls, throwing open doors, and shouting ‘Welcome! There is bread! There is wine! Come eat with us and talk!’ This isn’t a kingdom for the worthy, it is a kingdom for the hungry. As we live in this Easter moment, we are the church speaking the word of God saying ‘I’m throwing a banquet, all those mismatched, messed up people are invited. Come and eat!’  Hmm. It is just like a family pulling an extra seat at the wedding banquet.

Friends, Easter is a celebration of the feast of God. It is God welcoming us to the table. When Jesus wanted to explain what his death and resurrection was all about, he didn’t give a theory. He didn’t give his followers a set of scriptural texts. He just gave them a meal around a table. Today we join together to discover Jesus as we sit around the table and break bread, here at this table, and also as you sit at table with your family or with friends every day.

When

Meetings at school for IEPs, ARCs, behavior, blah are pretty much status quo around here. You get used to it. So going into the transitions meeting for John last week, I was fine-no big deal. Then it hit me, about halfway through-oh no, high school. It was like a tsunami in my gut. He can't go to high school. Its so big there and the kids are big, and they laugh with and at each other, and talk and joke around and go to Physics and they're so big.  And he doesn't do those things, and he never has so how can he go to high school?  But, that's how its been at every school, right? Yes, except Physics. But the other schools have pictures on the walls, and sensory rooms, and lots of colors, and bean bags!  I know, I am completely ridiculous. 

Will he be ok, probably. Will he adjust, hopefully. Will he learn in safe and loving environment, definitely. Will he care about any of the things that are making me crazy, I'm sure not. But I will. And there is nothing I can do.

I just need him to know, I will be here and I love him, my almost high schooler. 

When

When the sun rises in the morning
I’ll be your yawn
When the words don’t come
I’ll be your voice
When the fall creates pain
I’ll be your tears
When the world moves on
I’ll be your right here
When the boys play their games
I’ll be your friend
When you jump
I’ll be your ground
When the anxiousness fills you
I’ll be your break
When the music stops
I’ll be your song
When their eyes divert their gaze
I’ll be your contact
When the street is full
I’ll be your hand
When the moon creates night
I’ll be your pillow
Whenever, wherever, and whatever comes
I’ll be your mom

 

Nothing has changed

Dear Jacob,

Everyone is writing letters post-election, so I thought I would jump on the bandwagon, or maybe I just like bands, or doing what everyone else is doing, who knows-but I am your mother so you will read this. 

First off and most importantly, nothing changes. In this house, we teach love, patience, and respect.  We practice it some of the time too. ;) In all seriousness, though, what happened last week, does not change this.  This is who we are, who we have always been. We must match our actions with our words and I know it starts with your father and me. 

Let me tell you what I mean by that.  You know that look your dad gives you when you so much as look at me sideways or worse, talk sarcastically or negatively to me?  Yeah, you know. That doesn't change.  Your father and I have built a relationship and family based on mutual respect, love, and trust and I understand you may question if our high regard for one another is the norm, considering the President-elect's behavior towards women, but it is real and it started when we took our vows. It strengthened when we were blessed with you, and when Johnny and Elizabeth arrived in all of their wonderfulness, it became unbreakable.  He loves me and respects me (and I him) and I hope and pray he has taught you to do the same-not just me, but your grandmothers, your aunts, your cousins, future girlfriends-all women. So, nothing changes.

On that note, and this is going to be awkward, when you are in the inevitable situation of being with a girl and she shows any sign of fear, second-guessing, back tracking, you back off. You must be the guy who doesn't push, doesn't take advantage, doesn't take what isn't his.  Please, be the man who knows better and does better. Please, be like your father. 

I know what guys and girls talk about. I am not naïve.  I, myself, have engaged in conversations and language of which I am not proud. Words matter, and I am sorry.

And while we are on the subject of women, YES, I emphatically admit I wanted a female President. But not any female. I wanted her. Why? Because while I went about living my life, she fought tirelessly for women, families, children with disabilities, equal pay, equal rights.....oh my. I just expected she'd keep fighting that fight. I feel overwhelmed by the prospect that now I am alone in that fight. I understand rationally, that this is not true, but it doesn't make me feel less afraid.

We will continue to be a family that loves and respects everyone, no matter if they are different than we. 

Nothing changes. 

As you know, I never expected the outcome of the election or I would've talked to you more about all of the awfulness (and my opinion about it) on both sides.  I was going to be as one blogger put it, "a gracious winner".  But, that doesn't matter because nothing changes. We still love and respect people that voted differently than we did. They are our friends and our family. Their perspective and their experiences are different, but no less important. To say otherwise would be hypocritical. (Deep sigh) 

Oh, and please grow up to be the man that your sister sees when she looks at you. She loves without condition. You light up her world. I hope that never changes.

Also, continue to surround yourself with young men and women that treat people with kindness first and that align with your values. I know it can sometimes be embarrassing when your brother and/or sister do or act in certain ways, your friends have always been good to them. That is important and I pray it never changes. 

Lastly, my dear pasty, intelligent, athletic, handsome son-you have a great responsibility. Your were born with more advantages than most people, this holds a great responsibility for you. I know you're just a boy and that might not seem fair, but I've never told you that life is fair. Of course, you will make mistakes and you will say and do things that you regret, I hope that you'll grow from those things and become better.  Never forget who you are.

So, you see, nothing has changed. 

Yet, everything has. 

I love you, 

Mom

Seized

Never have I ever.  And there aren't a lot of firsts around here. We've seen and been through a ton of stuff. Much I'd like to forget, some, like today, I, unfortunately, never will.
Let me back up.
So, I am totally pumped about the first day of school. What mom isn't? (Well, maybe teachers, but we've already established they are a special breed, of which I cannot even begin to understand) Johnny and Elizabeth are pumped too, of course, they are as tired of me as I am of them. So we are up early, getting everyone ready and Elizabeth is in her usual sweet good mood (at least first thing).  But as we are headed down the stairs, she makes an awful gesture and her arm violently starts shaking, she crumbles to the ground, and the look on her face-I cannot tell you. It was the look of horror. It actually looked like her brain was under attack (which I know is exactly what was happening) and her face wore the image of what that must have felt like. Sheer terror. She has seizures almost everyday, but this has been a really good summer and we have seen very few and they are small and pass quickly, they are not minutes of shaking violently on her part and absolute panic on ours. Yes, they are still incredibly upsetting, but nothing, I mean nothing like what we witnessed this morning. I am truly baffled and so sad. Adam was heart sick and very close to being stomach sick as well, if you know what I mean. (barf city) But, after a few minutes when she came out of it, she was a little shaky (pardon the pun-oh, stop, I am allowed a little humor!), But miraculously, after about 1/2 hour of laying limp on me; she popped right up and was her old bossy self. She wanted to eat and sing and play. She smiled and got her color back. It was surreal. I wondered: does she have a headache, is she super tired, does she understand or even remember what happened, did she lose any learned behaviors, is she in pain, how in the world did she just manage to come out of that?  I don't think I will ever get the image of her face out of my head.
But, I will tell you this-I have never witnessed such resiliency.  What a lesson. I have been boo hooing about how "hard" summer is for me because, well, because of her :/.  (and her darling brothers, of course)  But, what she has in her small ten year-old frame is still what I am seeking in my own self.  The ability to keep fighting, never give up, don't let yourself get defeated. Or even if you are, and I was, exhausted, out numbered, a mess-don't let it get to you. I, once again, felt too beaten down and I lost my sense of humor, my patience and it felt like my mind. I know better than to start down this path. I have a lot of people coming in and out, I have a ton of help but I cannot seem to stay on top of the emotional roller coaster and flat out resentment right before school starts. Towards whom?  Anyone who comes into my vengeful path, unfortunately.  But mostly Adam, let's be honest!
Thankfully I have a new day ahead so I'll start fresh and be grateful,  put on my best face and undoubtedly pray for a safe and happy school year for my dear girl- hugging her tight enough so some of her bravery will inevitably rub off onto me.

A few days ago with big brother Jake (she loves her brothers)

Committed

On our anniversary
Which we both forgot
Because we are #busy (everyone is, I deplore this word)
I just wanted you to know that I am committed. And this could mean a couple of different things. First and most probable it means I fell apart. It happened-there just wasn't enough energy, positivity, self help-books or even enough wine to get through. So, I gave up. I gave in. Please put me in a padded room for an infinite amount of time. I cannot lie-a room with just a bed and my own thoughts and no one else-for maybe just a bit? Well that sounds eerily scary and spectacular.

But that's not the case. Turns out, I am somewhat sane and there is plenty of wine. The committed meaning I am referring to is about being with the same man for over 17 years and sticking with it. (married 15 of those years-every minute counts!) Sticking with the good, the bad, and the ugly, the awful, the terrible. 

Have you ever considered the dual meaning? Committed and (insert daunting music).....Committed.

Regardless, I want to write briefly about the former of the two, rather than the irony of the definition. 

Adam,
I am committed

To God
To you

To our children

To our life

To our family

To our friends

To our work

To our health 

To what is right

 I am flawed, and by all appearances and historically speaking, you are not  (you totally are, I just haven't found it yet-don't get a big head-I'm always watching! ) 

Seriously, though,  I am committed to you. I love you. Happy Anniversary!

And you?

If I were a real writer, I would certainly consider my absence writer's block. It's not as if nothing has happened. Geez, since last you heard from me we're down 2 IPads  1 mini, 2 IPhones and countless toys that just can't handle "water weight". And the tales were long and funny and not always Johnny in his constant pursuit of destruction (I washed an IPAD mini in a dirty sheets load), but I was thinking that maybe it was too much for me and for others and maybe It was self-serving and maybe it was just attention seeking. And probably it was both of those things, I'm not sure.  And then I started pursuing a passion and that has flourished, but my need to connect and want friends and readers to "get us"  is still a fire inside me, so today I'm back and I'll tackle this post as a sign of hope and optimism in an otherwise dark world.  

And this is a funny one for me because (see above and previous posts) much of what I write is drenched in-maybe wine sweat-probably in sarcasm. So I don't always come across as the eternal optimist, but rather the consummate worrier.  Case in point- last night, waiting for my 11 year-old to take my spot in bed at 4 am, I started to do that thing where every single thing in your life becomes uber important. From forgetting paper towels at Target to the list of questions for the Neurologist you never wrote down to the forever of caring for these kids and how, how, how and who, who, who and the always, how much, much much? 

And didn't I blink and my once 4 year-old in my bed is now 11 year-old in my bed and will probably be my 22 year-old in my bed and the then will Elizabeth want to be in my bed??? And how and when and how long? And will Jake spend time with them, look after them, make sure they are unharmed, safe, loved-will it be too much? 

And my breathing sped and my attractive back sweat kicked in (I sleep in basically a snow suit so that could've contributed) and then I can't stop thinking of how long 

they'll need me and my mom and my dad and thank goodness Adam doesn't drink and eats right so he'll live forever but what if his next wife doesn't love our kids as much and on and on and on. 

But then I'll breathe and calm my brain, sometimes I'll sleep for another hour-many other times I won't.  But of course, I so get it, there are so many other Mothers in is world that have so much more to worry about (hunger, illness, disease, war, exclusion). So I'll scold myself for my selfishness. Then I will do some breathing exercises, get a huge glass of water and vow to be better at this tomorrow. And by better I mean, more accepting, more tolerant, more loving, more positive, more patient, more forgiving, more sober-just a little more. I do know this, I will never stop trying.

Anyway, how have you been ;)? 

Facebook reminded me this was 7 years ago! Wow, and probably the last time they were photographed together!

Look at Her

I have a little exercise I want to try and I hope you will join me.  Sit or stand in front of a mirror and read this post on your smart phone or computer.


Look at her with compassion not animosity
Look at with her love not indifference
Look at her with trust not skepticism
Look at her with empathy not criticism
Look at her with acceptance not judgment
Look at her with confidence not doubt
Look at her with humanity not cruelty
Look at her with kindness not contempt
Look at her with gratitude not obligation
Look at her with respect not envy
Look at her with pride not shame
Look at her as capable not broken
Look at her as strong not shattered
Look at her as graceful not clumsy
Look at her as good not inept
Look at her as full not hollow

Look at her as everything she is and is striving to be.

Now, look at her (you).

If we can do these things while looking at ourselves, maybe we can begin to do them when we look at others.

She's the gift I was given to start really looking at myself
 and also to start loving myself.  

A Mother's Hope

Recently I was shocked and humbled when my minister asked me to write something for Easter Sunday (imagine!). We talked through some ideas and scripture he was planning on using for the service.  I didn't tell anyone (even Adam) that I wrote something in case it was terrible and he didn't use it (still working on confidence issues).  Anyway, he did use it (thanks Terry :))  I hope the congregation felt what I was feeling when I wrote it.  Feeling thankful on this Easter Sunday.

She lay in deafening silence. Her heart was empty, broken. Her mind raced-the thoughts came without warning. He was bad, wrong, evil. He didn't deserve to be here in the first place, he's wasn't good enough. These were the words of others, but they were infiltrating her brain as if they were her own. She shook her head to rid herself of the doubt. It had been months, but the uncertainty still crept in.

What she knew, what she reached for was what he meant to her. But not just her-what he meant to countless others-those he touched, those he came close to, those he loved without condition, those he healed, those who believed. Her will started to come back and she lifted herself to her knees. It was still too much. The sobs came like a flood and she let them come so she could release the doubt, the fear. She embraced the condemnation of others so she could then send it away, it wasn't hers to keep. She decided right then she would love like he loved, forgive like he forgave, stand like he stood-with the weak, the poor, the broken, the sick. All as one, all as equal. How could she start? How could she heal? She reached deep within her soul or what she felt was left of it and decided bringing people together would be the only way. For the people who loved, doubted, even hated Him to come to eat and drink surrounded by his spirit, brought together by love. Love would be the only way for so many to sit down as one. She hadn't sunk so deep that she had forgotten that love was the only thing that outlives us all, the only thing that really mattered. And so she decided, people would come together for communion to remember and celebrate his sacrifice. His life for each of theirs-his life, his death, and ultimately his resurrection. And in this decision she was able to stand and raise her arms wide open to allow herself to be filled back up again. Filled with all of the things that her son was to her-belief, honor, love, forgiveness.  She would replace grief with determination. Determined he'd be remembered through her eyes. Who she knew him to be. Her heart became full. For once again when she was totally lost, she was able to pick herself back up and open her heart. And she became filled with something she thought she had lost when she lost him. She was filled with hope. 

Don't be sad!!!

I am not kidding. No part of this blog should make you sad-about me or my kids! We are "fine"! Don't you love that word? Fine. Fine means nothing. It is a dumb word. So let's replace it with crazed, stressed, out of our minds -those seem about right.  But even then we really are-fine. Better than fine most days. Worse others-just like everyone else. Where is this coming from-well my mom is super worried that I am not "happy". After every blog she comes over with that worried "mom look". She is afraid that things get too hard,  that things are too overwhelming, that I will run away from home (that would actually be a possibility, but it seems like too much work). And if in reading this, sometimes you are worried too, please don't. It's supposed to be funny and make you, the reader, take a minute to reflect on your own life, it's complications, ups and downs, and know that somebody else is going through something. We all are!  Mine is not better or worse than yours, we all have stuff. So don't be sad! Really, I'm fine 😉!

Take this morning for instance-it's pouring down rain, cold rain that seeps into your skin and makes it impossible to get warm, and of course, it's time to leave for school. Elizabeth is already in the car watching a video-one down. Johnny has coat on ready to go-everything seems eerily fine but because the dog is deathly afraid of the rain, he freaks and bolts passed us, knocking hot coffee out of my hand and all over me, pain shoots through me but I figure since I'm already wet, what's a little rain, maybe it'll take the sting out. To recap, the dog has taken off straight to the car. Now, you are thinking, just let him ride with you, and I have in the past-a lot.  EXCEPT, he barks at literally everything. And it is so loud and ominous that it leaves Elizabeth in a pool of her own tears every single time. So I get the leash to get the dog, grab John's hand to take him out, put John in the car, bring/drag the dog in, take the leash off, breathe, open the door, and simultaneously the dog almost takes me off my feet and runs back to the car where John no longer resides-he is headed for the neighbors-probably to get some peace. Rage building, I run after John, the dog has jumped in the car (of course John didn't shut the door behind him, it's only raining sideways!) Elizabeth sits quietly watching Bruno Mars, I think, "yeah I'm gonna uptown funk somebody up. Don't believe me just watch." 

The dog and I are now wet and disgusting and he is leaving clumps of hair everywhere and now I don't know how I'll get him out (he's large-we both put on the winter 10, only to work the lbs. off in the Spring just in time for the the Sam Adams summer ale to hit the shelves and on again it goes!) So, I get the leash again, get John back in the car, pick up the 80 lb. dog to get him out of the passenger seat (the rage has set in, so I have Hulk strength) and once again pull him inside and almost take my own hand off trying to shut the door behind me. I run burnt and soaked to the car (because I don't want another escape by Johnny and because being late is not an option), only looking up for a second for the cameras. Because surely candid camera was following me this morning and that was some good footage! They will be able to edit out the curse words (and possibly and more importantly the butt shot of me picking up the dog from the car) for primetime TV. They'll have to, I'll be a rich reality star so I'll demand it! 

Not sad!!! 

I want you to think about it and smile, because (hopefully) this blog is for every mom! The mom of multiples who can't imagine getting through another bedtime routine, the mom who just had to go back to work and leave her child at daycare for the first time, the mom whose child was just diagnosed and they are crippled with the whys, hows, and what's next questions, the mom who has had it pretty good so she pays it forward, the moms who will never let go of wanting happiness for their kids no matter how old they are, the dad's who have either done the above or love and support the moms who do! So please don't be sad-celebrate your life, celebrate your kids (exactly how they are), and most importantly, celebrate you! 

BTW-anybody want a dog?

Bitter - 1 Mary - 0

And if I have to hear the Sports Center loop one more time about the younger than I am Peyton Manning being old, someone or something, likely the tv, is going to get hurt

And just when I am going to be mom of the year by making pizza, curly fries and fish sticks for prelunch (because minutes are decades on snow days, so prelunch starts anytime between 9:00-11:30 am) my twelve year-old asks for apples and peanut butter, I hate him and his discipline. And I hate his father who instilled all of those good habits. Where is his father anyway?  Oh, yeah, work. Whatever.

And if that same twelve year-old bounces the basketball on my already warped and failing floors one more time, things are going to get bad-especially for him. 

And when that exact same twelve year-old says he's glad it's a snow day because school is just a bunch of old people talking and you don't learn anything anyway, I shouldn't respond, "well it's a good thing you're going straight to the NBA from high school then," when it's probably the only conversation I've had with him this week and sarcasm is lost on him anyway

And if my 10 year-old son sits on my lap when I am on the toilet one more time to read Curious George-I may cry (check that box) 

And if that same son slams the doors over and over again in frustration from the mere sound of his sister's voice one more time my head might explode

And if that same son crushes one more piece of fruit in my bed or in my hair, I am going to scream
And if that exact same son doesn't get off the bed while I am trying to make it, ha-that was to see if you were still reading, of course I wasn't making the bed.  Silly. 

And if my daughter cries when I leave the room just to tend to the aforementioned slamming and fruit debacle, I might lose my shit (she doesn't really even like me that much, I'm just the only option at the moment)

And if that same daughter pulls everything out of the junk drawers (yes, they are all junk drawers) and chews up paper one more time, I might let her choke on it (oh come on-just kidding!) 

And if that exact same daughter puts one more Lego, binty, small object in my coffee cup one more time, I'll probably do nothing-just make another new cup. 

I swear I am never making it to real  lunch. (Anytime after 11:30 am) 

I did, in fact, make it to "real" lunch.....here's the proof

I don't know why she puts items in open containers,
I think she thinks she is cleaning up :)

And if that moment arrives, as it always does-that I realize that I get to have these moments-because I am alive and capable and healthy. And that I need to embrace these moments. Not because they are fleeting, because in my world they are likely forever. But because I can experience them. It shouldn't be that one of my dearest friend's sister is lying in a  hospital bed fighting for her life to force me to get to the point where I appreciate what I have right now, today. I want to have a grateful heart all the time. (Add that to the long list of to-dos). Deep sigh and breath. 

I need to take a step back, get out of my own head. I need to play when I want to collapse, sing when I want to scream, read when I want to rest, breathe when I want to suffocate, drink when I want to drink (you knew that was coming) and repeat because today I can-and for no other reason than that.

****Please pray for Darcy Patton Nayler, she is my friend Laura Patton's sister.  She needs positive thoughts and prayers!!  She is literally fighting for her life, makes everything else seem ridiculous, doesn't it?

#40

IIt's like a really great wave of relief when 40 finally comes. If you worried, dreaded, or embraced it, it really doesn't matter, it comes regardless. Then comes the deep breath- and for me, it came with excitement for a new chapter.  This is the second half of my life that I am embarking upon (I hope I have at least 40 more good years left :)), and I have to come a few realizations (or really random thoughts).  I hope you don't mind me sharing. They are not original comments by any stretch, but they are from the heart!

Spend time with people who lift you up and support you. Let go of everything else!

It's OK to dream like a little girl. Even as adults, we should never lose that!

Sing Carrie Underwood's "Somethin' in the water", like you used to belt out Bon Jovi's "I'll be there for you." It feels great! 

Hope for the best for other people.

Celebrate life!

 

Be a good friend.

Remember and honor those that built you! 

Allow your children to see your flaws and and help them understand that you are a real person with thoughts, dreams and feelings. 

Empathetic and compassionate are words that I hope people use to describe me. 

(Rather than binge drinker and constant lip stick applier/wearer) 

Although, truth be told, they are probably all true

I've said it once, I'll say it again-a fake Christmas tree can save a marriage.

It is scary I am old enough that I could have given birth to any of the KY Wildcat basketball players. #BBN

Laugh. Every.Single. Day.

Dance

Appreciate family

I may not send Christmas cards ever again-that is not something to have anxiety about in the middle of the night

Do or say something nice to or for someone every single day and it will change you for the better. In other words, resist the urge to be a douchebag.

From Adam Brass, "mix in some water."

Hug-it makes everything better.

When your jeans are too tight, your zipper comes down more easily, be more aware of this than I was last Thursday night. 

Be kind (especially if you are pointing out the above (she was BTW ;))

In the event your Birthday celebration lasts 13 hours-Dixie Chili can save your life!

And lastly, try for a positive attitude. Some days are harder than others, but try anyway!

Example:

(Today Elizabeth's huge new stroller/wheel chair wasn't locked and it rolled in the street and hit a truck, my purse was in it, luckily not her, and spilled everywhere in the street. While I was trying to pick up the contents and pack the stroller up, Elizabeth locked herself in the car and was so distraught when I couldn't  open the door. I had to have my dad drive to my house to get the spare key and she was hysterical by the time he got there. Oh, and I forgot to get the Christmas presents for church because I am a bad church goer, and was late getting presents for needy kids (not something to forget on the to do list). Also, Johnny woke up at 6 this morning, Sunday, and had dismantled and/or destroyed 50% of our eight total Christmas decorations before 7 am (we have no ornaments on the tree :(. He also accidentally bit through my skin because I didn't cut his pizza and get it to his mouth fast enough. We can't get a load of laundry dry because he plays in the dryer and throws the wet clothes on the floor.

Lastly and tragically, I face-timed myself twice while trying to text, but lived through it-barely. 

Hey, another typical Sunday! I still made it through-happy, pretty unscathed, and ready to take on whatever comes next!)

My Heart's Song

So definitely one of the scariest or maybe most worrisome things about raising a child/children (in my case) with special needs is if they really understand what you are trying to communicate to them.  How or are they processing information and how much? What are they thinking about? What if something happens to them or someone hurts them and they can't tell me?  What do they love, what do they hate, what bothers them, what delights them? As a mother, am I frustrated or distracted too much?  What more do they need?  How or where do I start? Who needs what more?  Off the subject but equally as heartwrenching, do they know how much I love them? Do I tell them or show them enough? Certainly you want them to reciprocate that love, but you can't always get what you want! These questions plague my middle of the night thoughts. But then, as with everything in life, there are glimmers of hope that sneak up on me all the time. A few weeks ago Johnny was singing in the back seat with his IPAD and I immediately recognized the songs.  I used to sing the Dixie Chicks song "Lullaby" years ago when the kids were babies/toddlers before they went to bed.  I love all things Dixie Chicks, but especially this song, and it sounds like he was listening!

Ok, so he has to do a couple other Dixie Chicks songs to warm up, and he picks his nose and bangs his head with his fish, and I can't focus on his face because if he sees me videoing he immediately stops singing, and he tries to open the door when the car is moving-oh whatever,  I hope it makes you smile :)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZE-mkQIewg&feature=youtu.be

"Lullaby" lyrics that he is singing at the end of the video:
They didn't have you where I come from
Never knew the best was yet to come
Life began when I saw your face
And I hear your laugh like a serenade

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I'm never, never giving you up

I slip in bed when you're asleep
To hold you close and feel your breath on me
Tomorrow there'll be so much to do
So tonight I'll drift in a dream with you

It is she

Elizabeth had an MRI last week and it was an incredibly long day. She has areas in her brain that need to be monitored because they have always been"abnormal" or "diseased".  We have to make sure those areas do not grow. She came out of it sick and weak and looking at me as if to ask, "why would you let them do that to me-again!?" However, even coming out of sedation, her bright personality shone through.  I am in constant awe of her strength. These were my thoughts as I watched her drift off and go in for her scan. 

Courtesy of Aunt Sarah

She is determined

She is strong 

She is attitude

She is kind

She is willful

She is bright

She is silly 

She is sweet

She is bold

She is brave

She is vulnerable

She is warm

She is mine

She is Elizabeth. 

Good news-MRI stable. 

Side note-In case you were wondering, and maybe you weren't, but my posts have been super short for two reasons 1.) my brain is mush in the summertime  2.) my computer is still broken!

Anyway,  I hope to be back with more content soon :)! But for now it appears I can only write in adjectives! 

Stay tuned though, we had a no pants extravaganza at Rossford Park I have to tell you about, that will no doubt make you feel like a better parent!

The "sent from God" Father

I know, I know, my life is enviable. Everything about it, whether it's the f%$*ing spacebar that no longer works on my computer, my impossibly long legs, my perfect children, my always immaculate house, the laundry always being folded and of course, put away; my impeccable career choices, my easy breezy personality-yes well, the list goes on and on. There is one thing though, one thing that I want to brag on today without my usual sarcastic tone, and that is Adam. Adam is the father that is giving and forgiving. He is the father that is kind and patient,  He is the father that asks for nothing for himself. He is the father that is hardworking. He is the father that loves with his whole heart.  He is a grateful father. He is a generous father. He is a playful father. He is the best father for which a kid could ask.
I hope this Father's Day he can sleep until 7:30 am (that is what he asked for) and that our little family shows him how much he is appreciated and loved. 

Trampoline fun!

Don't Poke the Bear

There are few things as important to us as our children. Let me rephrase, there is nothing more important to us than our children. But for some reason, unbeknownst to me, in a public school system where supposedly nothing short of excellence will be tolerated, my children are once again the forgotten ones. Not only not important, but seemingly their education given up on. Their development and progress simply does not matter to the school.

There is nothing like an IEP (individual education plan) meeting to catapult a person into this reality.
Let me give you a little taste. The uplifting message from PT and OT in this particular meeting was that, my autistic, basically nonverbal child in the most severally disabled classroom in the district has "plateaued."
"Nothing more they can do to help him."
"They feel like their time is not well spent with him."
"There is nothing that they, as therapists, can do, that can't be done by his teacher and his aides in the classroom." (because the teachers and aides don't do enough,that is sarcasm at its height-in actuality these people are literally sent from heaven and already do everything for the kids, so why don't we just put a little more on their plate?). 

So just to recap in case you missed something and because I don't still fully believe it myself:
Johnny is in the ONLY FMD (functional mental disability) classroom in all the elementary schools in this city.  He is nonverbal, has had an autism diagnosis since he was three, is one of only four children in the most severely disabled classroom in the entire district and he no longer qualifies for PT services, and his OT services were recommended to be reduced.

"His education is not impacted by safety issues."
Are we talking about the child who will walk out in four lanes of traffic without blinking an eye, or the child that will climb a jungle gym and stand at the very edge of an overhang, look right at you and dare you with his eyes to pay attention to something or someone else and if you do, he will step off the ledge, the child who has zero danger awareness or if he does know, he doesn't care, the child that still does not alternate his feet when going down stairs (which is a big milestone in development). The child that does not throw, pass, or kick a ball on command, the child that cannot sit in a given seat for any significant amount of time without intervention, prompts or rewards, the child that will dart through the school-classrooms, cafeterias, or gym without regard to his own or anyone else's safety. The child who has had poor coordination and low muscle tone on every developmental evaluation since he was 10 months old.  

This child is no longer receiving PT services? Actually that is a statement not a question-this child is no longer receiving PT services. He is still receiving OT, don't even get me started on this topic. My rage will go unbridled until my fingers fall off and I am grateful he is still getting this much needed therapy. I just keep thinking how it was mentioned that the therapists do not have the "resources" to help John. If anyone has a child in this school system, that would make your blood boil, it just would not be tolerated. And I find it equally unacceptable to be said regarding my child's education and future. Yes, I understand it is a public school, but tell me what you need to help him and I will get it. Instead, they look at me for what to do, what to try, strategies to use, ideas. I keep comparing it to getting an email from my oldest child's math teacher asking me how to teach him Algebra. I know, wouldn't happen. 

One thing that became blatantly obvious on that day, in that meeting. No one sitting around me at that table could see things from my perspective. Maybe that's not their fault, maybe it's the "system" that is broken. But, I know they look at me like I am so very different than they, like they could never be me. And I get that, I thought I could never be me.  But I found this "throw up our hands" mentality from therapists in our or any school system, embarrassing and offensive.
Imagine as a parent with a child at any level, being told that they had plateaued? Yeah, I thought it was unimaginable too. For those of you that never have to go through an IEP meeting-you are truly a fortunate person. For those of you that do, I feel ya, it sucks and as much as you want to believe that everyone is there for your child, unfortunately, some are not. You and you alone must fight for your kid and their education. Your child is worth it, no matter if the message is subtle or as blatant as the one above.
Luckily, I have taken a couple of weeks to calm down (oh yeah, totally calm now, I deleted my first rant immediately after the meeting). Now, more than anything, I am disappointed and sad. Of course, I plan to continue working cooperatively with the school, but I will not cower and allow my child to slip through, be forgotten, not get the services he is entitled to and desperately needs for his development and gasp, his education.  I will take accountability for my part. I got lazy, complacent, hibernated for a bit because I felt comfortable, like we were in a good place. Unfortunately, my son couldn't tell me otherwise. I am his voice.
There is no place for a sense of security in special education- the bear has been poked. 

I swear I didn't write this! 

Funny Note: People have asked me why I used this title-Adam says this to Jacob about making me mad :).