Darkest of days

"I made an educated wish." - Deadpool

 I know the sun came up somewhere today, but not here. It is bleak, it is dark, it rains intermittently, like hope, it comes in waves but is then gone.  There was no sun today, there was no joy, there was no hope. What happened? Why does America hate women?  Is it fear?  At first, I thought it was over before it started.  There would be no chance to elect a woman, a woman of color. No way. As staunch a feminist as I am, I see reality every day as a caregiver of two nonverbal severely disabled kids in this sometimes cruel world. But I swear for that brief second,  I felt it, did you? The tide turning, a skip in my step, a glimmer in a young girl's eyes, a better tomorrow with choices and dignity and respect.   I didn't imagine it. It was there. Or was it?  I must have been living in in an alternate universe, one of equality, kindness, and respect. 

Today, I am reeling, I cannot fathom this truth, this reality. Yet, here we are. 

It is abundantly clear, as a nation, we hate women and minorities, and the LGBTQ+ community. That has become unsparingly obvious. But what about the truly vulnerable?  We have room in our hearts for them surely? The elderly, the disabled, the mentally impaired?  Nope. Or maybe it's not hate. Maybe it's far worse, a blatant disregard for not just their rights, but their very lives. Disdain and indifference for the "other".  No regard for them at all.  No humanity because, we just don't consider them. They are less than human. But, but, but... the cost of eggs. 

I always believed at the end of the day, women held the cards. We kept the house standing. We are the backbone, the strength, the reason it all doesn't come tumbling down. We finally had it, within grasp, but it was not to be.

Of course, we have to go on. But before then, I  fear we will reap what we have sown with this awful man.  We have chosen the worst of the worst and now women and children will suffer for it. On the course for a more perfect union we have stumbled backwards, decades backwards. Those of us that are Gen X bear some responsibility for this as we were gifted rights that we did not think to fight for until it was too late. Now our granddaughters, daughters, nieces, friends, will suffer. Many have already died because of archaic laws that Dobbs triggered. I am so sorry for this truth. 

Of course, I know better days are to come, but right now it is merely the calm before the storm, and so let's prepare and get ready, for this will be the fight of our lives. I believe it will be worth it. 

Thank you Madam Vice President, you fought the good fight and in a fair world you would have won.  But damn, no one told us life would be fair. 

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 dilemma

 It's not that I don't want to write about the kids, my experience with the kids, get the release from putting all these crazy emotions on paper.  I know it would be helpful to others, especially those that care about us, have kids with special needs and selfishly, this would also help me, boost me, give me purpose, have goals outside of getting out of bed yet again. Where I am struggling is the feeling that I have to explain "what happened?" Meaning, what happened to the kids. Why are they disabled?  What's wrong with them? Or worse, what did you (me) do to cause it? These are the questions that people want to know and I have no good answer for them, not only that, I don't think they are something that happened "to me" or "for me".  It really has nothing to do with me.  They are human beings that happened, that were born, just like everyone of us that draws a breath.  And yes, they are a gift and a burden-arguably just like every other child. And in the deep recesses of my brain, I worry I caused this, it's my fault. My fault for what? To help create the most genuine, wonderful, kind beings to walk amongst us. Am I so arrogant that I usurped God's creation. It was me, not her? But again, then that goes back to the thought, the fear, that awful part of me, that believes something is inherently wrong with them.  That I want them changed, different, more like your kids?  Do I?  This is the reason I am struggling to explore my deeper feelings and why I just let people see where I am just below the surface, but only there. What if deeper is dark and ugly and ungrateful and wishes that John and Elizabeth were "healthy" and played sports, and got B's,(sorry, what, oh yeah, A's) and went to college? What if I am mean and judgmental and want a new life, a fair life, an easy life? What if I am too tired one day to keep doing this because it will never ever change, only get harder?  What if, what if, what if? So you see, these are topics that are kind of tricky to tackle when you are in the trenches with children/young adults that never grow up. 

Also, I'm struggling with the 'best mom" comments. I am not even close to the most average mom. Please don't comment that I am. I love and protect and care for and change and rinse and repeat and you would do it and don't say you wouldn't.  I don't advocate like some, I don't volunteer like many, I gave this writing thing a go and its been yet another another epic fail.  I am trying to keep everyone alive and get through the days, knowingly, I have zero control even over that. Yes, nice encouraging words feel good, but also I don't believe them to be true so I'm surely a fraud. It's like the "imposter syndrome" I keep reading about.  People think I'm good, but I'm not, and if they knew me, the "real" me, they'd know.  Know what, who knows?  Crazy Mary holds a special and big part of my neurotic brain.  

We say we only want our children to be happy. Well, that's a laughable lie. Because if that were true, I would be content forever. I arguably have the happiest children around, but we all know that just isn't the case. We want them to be accepted by their peers, safe, cute, liked, have a "gift" or a "passion" that will make us and others proud. We know now that they just want to be heard and seen for exactly who they are, but we are so wrapped up in what we think we want for them, we can't see the forrest for the trees.  Is that the analogy? I don't know. Anyway, those are the parts of myself I don't want to look at, explore, admit. Are those the things I wanted when I became their mother?  Are those the things I still want, but will never have? Have I dealt with feeling of loss of a child that "might have been"?  What kind of monster asks these questions?  

It's a lot. That's all the admitting I can do for today. Are you really sure we want to hear more and am I capable of giving it?

This is us

                                                             

Mourning the living

 

Will I ever smile again and mean it? Will the world ever be right side up? How do people just move about in it, it’s as if they don’t know or care? It’s so strange? It’s odd to be the only one suffering. It’s even odder to think that I am. 

I can’t believe time keeps moving. Games, dances, parties, as if there are things to celebrate!  Children are so easily  going into adulthood and college and jobs, how, how, how! Was it too much just to ask for the laughter and the smiles and the easy disposition? Of course it was, it’s always too much to ask. As if I deserved it to be easier or manageable. I now must live in the undeliverable, in the unknown, in the abyss. There’s no where to go. There’s no up anymore, nothing tangible to hold onto. 

Is this the bottom? I can’t sink any lower. I must  sit here and know this. The awfulness of grieving the living. 

Yesterday, yesterday, yesterday. It wasn’t perfect,  but it was doable. I could do it. Today, all of the sudden, doable feels like catching the wind. Will this fear ever subside? Can the new normal spare me this sorrow; I’d take his pain, but it’s not possible. I’d absorb him into me and carry it, I’d do anything for his suffering to cease, even ease. How can I make it so? How can we know the unknown, how can we move forward? 

Was this how it was going to go all along? No warning, no sign, just the disappearance of a young man, locked even farther into himself, his very person stolen. I sleep only by the grace of alcohol induced blackness, but when that fails I am awakened by  the nightmare of roaming room to room, searching for him, but never ever finding him.  Or worse, seeing him on the floor seizing, barely breathing, even with tools that I have accumulated from another epileptic child that are of no use, that are of no help, and so I can just watch in agonizing despair as my child suffers. And it plays over and over in a mind that is already depleted. 

I miss the son I’ve never had a conversation with but knew like my own reflection in the mirror. Now the mirror is a hole, deep and dark and there’s nothing staring back. How did it break? I long for the silly laughter, arm around the shoulder, long walks, a predictably uncertain future. 

I didn’t get to check all the boxes and help build a nineteen year-old that the world accepts or even tolerates, but to me he was perfect in every way that really matters.  Where did he go, how do I find him, heal him? 

Whomever described having a child is like having your heart living outside your body, must’ve had a child with needs that are vast, because my heart in all of its shattered pieces lives somewhere else and I can’t find the broom to sweep it up and tape it back together. 

I used to be the person that counted my blessings, knew it could be worse, was grateful everyday. That worse case scenario keeps a grip on my chest that feels so tight my heart couldn’t live inside me anymore even if it tried.   I am no longer the mom I was trying to become,  and I wouldn’t recognize her if she came knocking.  She seems silly to me now, someone who was reckless in her faith, silly in her hope, ridiculous in her joy. 

A fool. 

This is not a cry for help, for there are no more tears to be shed.  This is acceptance, resignation and description of a boy’s life seized and a family changed. 

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

 

Dear Brain

I am peace.
Worry overwhelms me, anxiety overtakes me, life exhausts me.
I have gratitude.
I am broken longing to be whole.
I have love.
I am alone. I know to be kind to the one and only body I have.
I make poor decisions trying to destroy it.
I have the best of friends.
I can be hateful.
I am a forgiving soul.
I gossip and have guilt.
I am working to be more authentically myself.
I hide who I truly am.
I want the very best for my kids and for them to be happy.
I chipped away at their soul just yesterday.
I read trying to get better, be better, know better to do better.
I wasted hours binge watching violence.
I have joy.
I am filled with rage.
I am inspired.
Life is exhausting.
Social media makes me feel connected.
Twitter causes me rage.
I wrote down my goals.
I haven't made a move on any of them in years.
I am forever grateful for this amazing life.
Why is this happening to me?
I am confident.
What in the world is my purpose?
I am self aware.
Everyone is against me.
I laugh everyday.
Crying is easier.
I live an abundant life.
Why is there never enough?
I am faithful.
Doubt consumes me.
I am honest and caring.
Fear and resentment overshadow my decisions.
I am just like you.
You have no idea what my life it like.
I have empathy.
What is wrong with those people?

How can I be all of these people locked inside this grey spongy thing? Why can't I just be the best version, instead of sinking to the lowest common denominator? What is it that makes this self sabotage possible?  Brain, I need your help. I need you to get on board with what my higher potential is. I need you to get out of my way. I will not surrender to your neurosis. My spirit will win.


I am a work in progress

I have a choice

I will live in truth

I am human

I am love

Here we go.....

I guess let me first start by saying, and I think it is fairly obvious, I’ve never taken a snap or ever run through the tunnel, made the tackle, and certainly never had the glory of  diving into the end zone. But I understand the importance of camaraderie, effort, teamwork, winning, losing, suffering, everything falling apart and then put it all back together, grace, anger, humanity, defeat, and rising to the occasion. That’s not just football, that’s life-does it make football relevant in this life, absolutely. Does it make it the only thing in this life, well, I mean, come on!! But we’re coming into a high school football season where I already care more than I should, have invested more time than I have, and thought about damn football and my son’s experience too much, and I don’t like to admit that because if you know anything about me you know that I have SO much more to worry about. But honestly, we all do! I think, well, I tell myself, it’s OK that I worry this much because this is going to be my only experience with high school football and I want him to get everything out of it-but at the same time what I can’t prepare for is the mistakes that will he will inevitably make and judgment that will ensue. I cannot protect him from the hits on the field and I certainly cannot protect him from the hits he will take from “well-meaning” adults off the field. And, frankly, it makes me want to suit up! Yeah, watch your back-I’m comin’ for ya! 😉

So, what’s  a girl to do? I decided to make a couple promises to myself. I will be positive and focus on being the best cheerleader for all activities. Don’t worry, not pulling out the old uniform-WAY too small! 😬

I’m cheering for soccer, volleyball, tennis, dance, debate, bowling, track, golf, basketball, etc. and I promise not to give two shits if you win or lose-because here’s the thing-you learn and become the man or woman you will be through BOTH (gasp) and you will not peak at Highlands High School. You are building your foundation through your successes and failures and this is your launchpad. My goodness, Birds, here’s your chance to build integrity, work ethic, and some of the best relationships of your life, and for each and every child at HHS, I hope you take these experiences to grow and learn and when you leave this nest, I hope you fly!!!  

Go Birds! 💙

Elizabeth

Oh my gosh, I remember. These days a lot of my former life is a blur. Life, it passes in an instant. It's true what they say.  The days are so long. The years so short. But, the day you were born.  I remember it.  I remember knowing.  Knowing you were not ok, feeling that burden of a future unknown.  Yet, the love was so crazy strong, so overwhelming. That love would carry me, us, to the next step- to the future-to whatever it was, whatever it will be.  I held you, my third and last child and in all of your smallness; I felt the weight of your enormous spirit.  I felt your will to breathe, to eat, to smile, to flourish.  Your mightiness gave me an unquenchable thirst to get up, keep getting up.  I have you to thank.  To thank for countless tears, too many sleepless nights, unimaginable grief.  I have you to thank for perseverance only a mother can know, strength only a mother can muster, love only a mother can feel. I don't even know what this day will bring, every day I cannot control. But I remember holding you in my arms and knowing that we would brave it together. My daughter you have taken so much from me and for that I am grateful because you have given me infinitely more. You took my fear, you took my uncertainty, you took my weakness and you turned into an unbreakable bond. I want you to forever know, I am grateful for all you have taken because the gift of your presence and of your strength-these are things I couldn't have mustered alone.  I was not whole before you.  Thank you for breaking me into a million pieces and thank you my sweet girl, for putting me back together again.

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

I imagine

I imagine you as a girl. A devoted daughter, a peace keeper, a rule follower with a bit of a wild streak. A young lady who loved to play with friends and probably a little boy crazy too. Singing silly cheers (the forest city colts are going mighty far!), but loyal to the cause, always supporting the team. As a young woman, I imagine a bright, confident person-but not too, of course. I imagine you were someone who was willing to take the risk and go out on her own to college-falling in love and then ultimately, doing what was expected, and going back home-but still pushing the envelope by staying away in KY just a tad longer. I imagine you quickly meeting friends that would last a lifetime. There were good times and good friends that will always be there. Those years probably passed quickly and marriage came shortly after college as it did for so many. At the time it was just considered normal to follow your husband's job and make a life where the work was. So I imagine you bravely moving far away to start a new life with new people and fitting right in with volunteer work, bridge, and fun times in a new city. And, of course, beginning a family and making a home. I imagine it was difficult after working to build a life to make another move and then a transition came that would bring you back to the old Fort. I imagine that that was handled with patience and fortitude to make a foundation for your family and the poise needed to move to a new city where "everyone knows everyone". I'd imagine there wasn't wasting any time in getting acclimated to the social scene and involvement in church.  No one would guess you weren't from here, you know everyone's maiden name!
Life probably, I'd imagine, threw you some twist and turns that you couldn't have expected even with two sisters. Having three girls would be hard enough-but us.... one more stubborn than the previous, all knowing exactly their place and their worth in the world. I remember the message, "you can be whatever you want to be." I imagine you shake your head because sometimes our viewpoints appear to be so different from your own. But remember even if our perspective is different, you should feel proud that we think independently, thoughtfully and from experience.
Know that you were present, you were stable, you were hope, and above all else, you were love.  And those things still hold true today.
When we were a little bit older it may have been time to take a breath, but you went back to school and started a new chapter with a new degree and a new career path- wading your way through a different world than when you left it, but navigating it brilliantly and effortlessly. I imagine it probably wasn't that way, but you made it look like it was.  There was always dinner at 6:30 (how did you do that?), a ride to wherever, and stuff just got done. I imagine a woman who valiantly fought for her family and made the decision that she would chart the course of her own destiny.
I imagine you probably didn't think of it this way, but you weren't going to be defined by your past or your children or a job title. You became a pillar of strength. I can't imagine losing a mother, a sister and a best friend.  These tragedies could be life defining, curl up, put the curtains over the windows, give in to grief moments-but they never broke you. Your resiliency-astonishing, your strength-admirable. I imagine it made your resolve stronger in building bonds with other women in church and reconnecting with old friends.
I imagine this decade will bring, as life does, other things that can't be predicted or planned but it won't keep you from being your authentic self. A woman to be revered and respected. A mother, a grandmother, a wife, a mentor, a friend.
I imagine it would have appeared that we may not have been paying attention to your wants and needs, so focused on ourselves and what we wanted from life.  But we were paying attention to your strength, grace, your kindness and compassion, your willingness to help others, and always, your politeness and generosity to all. Because frankly you are "it" for us. Our everything, Our Mother.

Happy Birthday!!🎉

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.  

Just give me a minute to think about it!

Humans of New York

“My wife and I are divided about whether it was inevitable, or if something caused it, but we do have video of Jackson at 18 months, coming up to the camera and talking. But soon afterward his language stopped developing, and eventually he lost the language skills he already had. He stopped responding to his name. You could even bang pots and pans behind him, and he wouldn’t respond. But when we tested his hearing, it was fine. People would say: ‘Boys develop later.’ Or ‘Don’t worry, my daughter didn’t begin talking until she was three.” But we knew it was something more. This was twenty years ago, so the doctors didn’t even know what to tell us. The head of pediatrics at Columbia met with us, and said: ‘Let me do some research on autism and I’ll get back to you.’ We started to worry that Jackson might never progress. Around this time, I overheard some acquaintances worrying that their four-year-old son might be gay. It made me so mad. I thought: ‘Give me a fucking break. You know that your child can grow to be happy, independent, and fall in love. I’d trade anything for that knowledge, and you’re freaking out that your son might be gay.’”


So I shared this post a few days ago on FB from Humans of New York and now I feel anxious and weird about it.  First I should know better than to share a post if my heart is racing or I've had too much wine, can't remember at this point which was the case. Anyway, I wish I hadn't shared it, not because I haven't felt exactly the way this father has, but because, I felt like I was shaming other parents for the way they feel.  Its hard to explain but I will try. All of my friends have "typical" children, seriously you probably couldn't find even a speech impediment in the lot of them.  So, of course, they worry about "typical" children things, ie walking by 15 months, potty training, test scores, sports teams, etc. And these are all things I worry/worried about with Jacob so I totally get it.  I think what resonated with me is the anger that sometimes builds up if someone goes on and on about a seemingly ridiculous worry (pooping on the toilet or site words) and I am baffled. Listen people, if anyone needs to worry about kids pooping on the toilet, it's this girl. And I should be over it, how many years have I had disabled kids? But I still get all fired up inside. Again, that's what parents with typical kids worry about, so move on Mary (sorry, that was me talking to myself). But a son being gay worry is different. Maybe the couple was worried about how their son would be treated or ostracized or left out if he were gay. Maybe they worried he wouldn't be able to marry or have a family or do what most of us take for granted if he were gay.  I hope those were their concerns rather than just the thought of him being gay, and since I don't know, I want to give them the benefit of the doubt. Because I feel the above concerns are legitimate and because at the end of the day we all want our children to be accepted. And, news flash, our society has not accepted homosexuality yet. Hopefully by the time our children are grown (or by tomorrow), being gay will be a non-issue and no one will even blink an eye and love will be love and that will be that.
I am not sure if this even made sense, but I needed to write it and now it is done. No more heart racing and no wine because it's morning.

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?