Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

For the 3rd year in a row, my family went to a local tree farm today to pick out our Christmas tree.  When you visit this family owned tree farm, you walk through the fields in search of your family's perfect tree.  Once you find it, you flag down an employee who will chop it down for you, then you carry it to the front lot where they shake the loose needles off, bundle it up, and tie it to the top of your car. 

For me, a visit to this particular tree farm makes me a little nostalgic for a time long ago when I was a little girl.  For two reasons. 

First, it reminds me of the tree stand that my parents ran for a couple of winters when we lived in Oklahoma.  We lived there from 1977-1980, but I can't remember if they did the tree stand all 3 winters we were there.  I do remember sitting in a little trailer with a portable heater at our feet, our bodies all bundled up from the cold, and my dad in a full length Carhartt-type snow suit for men so that he could help people carry their trees to their cars. Who knew Oklahoma could be so cold?!  It's a fuzzy picture in my mind, but it's there - a childhood memory that I conjure up every Christmas.

Second, although my family never got our Christmas tree at the tree farm we visited today, I always knew exactly where it was. It is on the same road as the farm where my mom was raised, a Century Farm that was owned by her family for over 100 years.  As I drive up and down the hills of the long gravel road, I remember all the trips to Grandma's house - the yummy smells from the kitchen, the long walks with uncles and cousins in the timber, playing in the cool water of the creek, hiking over the hill of the cornfield from Grandma's house to my uncle's house to see his family, and the farm animals scattered all over the farm. 

I pointed out the lane for the farm to my children as we passed by it, and told them that it's a long lane with a big white house at the end.  It always seemed endless to me, especially when we had to walk down it in the middle of the winter or during a muddy spring when our car just couldn't make the trek.  My son said he could see the house, but I know what he really saw was just the top of the old barn set back behind the house. 

 

In my mind, though, I can still see the view from the top of the hill:

The "little timber" would be on our right, and a garage housing trucks, tractors, and various parts beyond that.  A big white house sits just inside a fence and gate.  Just in front of it to the left is an old chicken coop, and a grain type shed set up further than that.  As you approach the house, a 2nd lane is on the right, behind the lilac bushes, and leads to the barn, cow pastures, more fields, hog lots, and the "big timber". 

 

If you walk behind the house, you see the sprawling orchard.  To the left of that is the field that, at one time or another, housed a goat, a fallen tree "fort", and a path to more pigs and sheds.  Straight back from the house is Grandma's garden where you can find nearly every vegetable in abundance before it makes its way to the kitchen and the cellar in jars. 

 

Walk along the path next to the garden and come to the rickety old gate that seems so large to a girl of 7, but probably isn't that big to an adult.  Climb over and you're in the yard of the falling down "old house", the home where 6 children were raised until their new house was built. 

 

Head over another fence to the grain bin and the big old barn, but pick up a big stick before you cross over into the pig lot.  You never know when one might charge at you!  Keep walking along the path and head for the big trees, the timber.  Keep an eye open for the bulls that are out there somewhere, but they'll leave you alone if you keep your distance.  You might get lucky and catch a glimpse of a deer, or feel the minnows between your toes in the mud of the creek, and you might find some pretty little wild flowers to take back to Grandma.  And she'll place those flowers tenderly in a jelly jar and set them on the window ledge above her kitchen sink. 

The main farm was sold in 2007, shortly before my uncle chose to end his life in the house where he was raised.  We were all there to clean out the house after his funeral - my mom, her siblings, my cousins.  We found many old things hidden away in the attics, memories my parents and aunts and uncles had stashed away long ago.  Blue 4-H jackets, cowboy hats and boots, long forgotten wedding gifts that were still in packages, baby clothes meant to be saved and remembered, cribs used for the many grandchildren who had visited over the years, books and notebooks from school days, and pictures.  We shared many laughs and smiles, and many more tears as we remembered all those loved ones who were gone from this world. 

 

We all grabbed something, or thingS, that we wanted to save and transport to our own homes.  For me, the medal sign and certificate that declared the land a "Century Farm", a few clothing items worn by me and my siblings, some of my Grandmother's dishes, my Godfather's 4-H jacket, and an old budget record book kept in my Grandma's handwriting that documented the debits and credits of the family farm. 

 

Real objects that stir the pool of memories.

 

It's all there.  Locked in my mind.  A distant childhood memory that I can see, clear as day, as if it just happened yesterday.  A memory that I wish could come alive now for my children so that they could live it and see my happy childhood days for themselves.  Hopefully my memories are clear enough that I can paint them a picture of that place through my stories.  And hopefully I'll tell the story a little more often than just once a year, in late November, on the way to the tree farm down the road.

 

Conception and Misperception

A few years ago, I was relocated to a different school in my district for one school year due to a flood that destroyed my city and school.  I experienced a lot of sadness that year like losing everything in my classroom, being separated from the staff and families that I had been with for so many years, and not knowing the status of my future placement with the district.  I also experienced a lot of joy that year like the birth of my second child, reconnecting with old friends who happened to teach in the building I was assigned to, and meeting wonderful new friends in my new placement as well.  One of those new friends, JP, was so welcoming and friendly, and I really enjoyed getting to know her.  It would be a few years later, however, before I would realize how amazing JP really is.

Thanks to the internet, blogging, and facebook, I learned recently that JP is pregnant for the fourth time.  She had two children early on in life, then became a single mother raising those two children.  She is not ashamed to say that she and her two children lived on food stamps, and she took out student loans to put herself through school to become a teacher.  She became a full-time working single mother of two, and started working in a low income school.  I'm told that she did it all with a big smile on her face, a positive attitude, and a gratefulness in her heart for all that she had. 

When I met her, she had met a nice man whom she married, and she had a third child to complete their family.  She was so happy!  So I was not completely shocked when she announced that she was pregnant again. 

What did shock me was the fact that it is NOT her baby!

This amazing woman that I am so happy to know, is a surrogate for a couple who live in another country.  When I learned that, I thought to myself, "Wow, she is such a giving person, that is so awesome!"  I also read between the lines of her blog posts and interpreted her comments with my own perceptions of what reality is. 

She said, "I am so excited for the Intended Parents" and I assumed, "Oh, that couple can't get pregnant so they have to get a surrogate." 

She said, "One of the IP's immediately called his mom to tell her the baby is a boy" and I assumed, "I wonder if his wife cried when she heard him talking to his mom about their baby."

She said, "The size of the baby will depend more on the the egg donor and the Intended Parent" and I assumed, "That poor woman doesn't have her own egg AND she can't carry her baby."

All of my assumptions were clarified with JP's most recent blog post when she said, "They will make such great Daddies!"

I literally dropped my mouth open and gasped. 

Is it a big deal to me that they are two men wanting a baby?  No.  Do I care if two men want to be fathers?  No.  I am disappointed in myself that I ASSUMED that it was a man and a woman, the "traditional" parents.  Why shouldn't the Intended Parents be two men or two women?  I am even more proud of JP that she is taking this giant leap and speaking so matter-of-factly about something that is not "the norm". 

I can imagine that carrying a baby for someone else would be an incredibly emotional experience, and I'm not sure that I am strong enough to take that leap for a friend, much less a stranger, as JP is doing.  I have often said that I would do it for someone I love like my sister, but would I?  I have a friend who wants to be a mother so badly, but she is having trouble getting pregnant.  I told her the story of JP, and I said to her, "I think I would do that for someone I love."  My friend stopped in her tracks and asked if I was serious, like maybe she was feeling me out as an option for her if she came to that point in her baby efforts.  So, would I do it for her?  I would like to think that I would do it for her, for any close friend or family member who asked me and so desparately wanted a baby.  But I can't guarantee that my answer would be yes.  Maybe it would be easier to do it for someone knowing that you would be able to see that child, watch him/her grow, and always be a part of his/her life.  I think that's what makes JP's experience more remarkable.  She's not doing it for any monetary gain.  She likely won't ever see the child again since they live in another country and are strangers.  She is just doing it because she wants to bring the joy of parenting to a couple who might not otherwise get to experience it. 

And aren't we all entitled to experience joy and love?  It shouldn't matter who we choose for a partner, but rather what we have to offer a child.  Joy and love would top my list of things to give, before a Mommy AND a Daddy. 

Best wishes to the tiny gift JP is carrying for his new Daddies.  And best wishes to the Daddies as they embark on this incredible journey called "Parenting". 

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

Someone in my book club recommended we read "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot.  If I am perfectly honest, I wasn't overly excited about the choice.  I was worried there would be a lot of medical terms that I would not understand.  What I found, however, was a nonfiction book that pulls you in and reads like fiction.

Henrietta Lacks was a 31-year old woman when she died of cervical cancer at Johns Hopkins Hospital.  She was the mother of five children ages 11-months to 16-years at her death. 

One of my greatest fears has always been that I would die and my children would not remember me or even really know me.  I felt so drawn to Henrietta because my fear was her reality.

I learned a much more remarkable thing about Henrietta's death:  her cells (HELA) continued to live way beyond her 1951 death.  A doctor at Johns Hopkins took some of Henrietta's cells without either Henrietta's or her family's consent, and those cells were used in research studies at Johns Hopkins.  Remarkably, the cells also continued to divide and live on, something I don't completely understand, but was clearly amazing to the scientists who possessed the HELA cells.  The cells were then shared, although it is unclear if they were bought and sold, with other scientists at other institutions. 

The HELA cells were used in countless studies over the years, and her family never knew.  Even more remarkable, her family never received any monetary benefit of any kind over the many years that HELA cells were used.  That information itself does not upset me as much as the fact that her children were so poor they could not afford medical care.  Their mother's cells were used to advance medicine in so many ways, and they could not afford prescriptions for heart, stroke, and kidney diseases. 
I find that so sad and so unforgivable.  If Henrietta were alive to give her consent, if she had said, "Yes, take my cells but always take care of my babies", would the outcome really be any different?  Not likely.  And that too makes me very sad. 

All I can do now all these years later, upon my discovery of Henrietta Lacks and HELA cells, is to tell others about this amazing book, this amazing chapter in the history of science and medicine.  And hope that others read it, learn from it, and never allow such a travesty of justice to occur again in the name of science and medicine.

Thank you, Henrietta, for sharing yourself with all the world.

A Much Needed Vacation

I have this memory in my brain of a family gathering in 2006.  My son was only a few months old as I gathered with all of my cousins and their children for our annual holiday get together.  One of my cousins was going on a trip in early January with her husband, and they were leaving their two children with grandparents for a week. 

I felt sick to my stomach at even the thought of leaving my baby for one night, never mind A WHOLE WEEK!!

Another cousin shared that she was going Christmas shopping with two girlfriends for a weekend.  Two nights away from home.  WITHOUT her husband and two children. 

I held my baby tighter as my anxiety grew. 

At some point I was able to regain control, pick my chin up off the floor, and say that I could not imagine ever leaving my son to go away on a trip.  My much wiser cousins with older children looked at each other and then back at me, and then said in unison, "You will."

It's taken me five years, but I finally get it.  I am taking my first trip away from my children.

I have everything in order:  notes left for my husband regarding all of the activities he needs to remember each day; books and small "treats" for my children to open each day that I am gone; daycare lined up when my husband is at work; and my boarding pass printed and ready to go in the morning. 

Everything is ready.  So why the anxiety?

I think I am worried that something will happen, and I will be far away and unable to get back to my babies fast enough.  Ridiculous.  What could happen?  

Don't.  Get.  Me.  Started!

I need to just stop thinking about it, trust in my husband's ability to care for our children, and be grateful that he recognized my need to get away from my responsibilities for a few days.  After all, this trip was his idea and a gift from him to me.  He bought me the ticket, altered his schedule to be home with our children, and encouraged me to go and have fun.  So I am going.

And I will remember to tell myself that I will be a better Mommy after taking some time to myself to relax and enjoy one of my favorite places.

When Life Seems Unfair, Choose Joy

My sister's friend, Sara, is dying.

Life is not fair.

Sara is 38 years old.

Life is not fair

Sara has been confined to her home for many years, I have lost track of the years.  She suffers from a painful disease, Ankylosing Spondylitis, as well as Leukopenia that makes her susceptible to germs, and she has had to live in a very controlled environment for the past several years. 

Basically, all the things we all enjoy daily - sunshine, fresh air, most food, other people - would kill her in a short amount of time. 

Life is not fair.

And now, as I type this, she is lying in her bed.  She is surrounded by family and close friends.  Hospice has arrived.  Her breathing is slowing.  Her organs are shutting down. 

Why aren't they screaming "LIFE IS NOT FAIR!"???

Because Sara believes in a power higher than her.  She believes in God.  She believes that He has a plan for her, has always had a plan for her.  She believes that she was given this disease for a reason.  She believes that something greater than "here" is waiting for her "there", and she is ready to see it.  She believes that an eternity of painfree living is within her grasp.  She believes that her dad, who died suddenly last year, is waiting for her with open arms.  That she will see him as soon as she passes to "the other side". 

I cannot begin to understand what she has been living with for the past several years.  I can't know what it is like to have groceries delivered to your door that you go get only after the person has left.  I can't know what it is like to take so many medications every single day.  I can't know what it is like to only talk to friends on the phone because it's not safe to see them in person.  I can't know what it's like to never leave your home. 

I think I would feel so lonely.  So depressed.  So sad.  So angry.

But she did not choose to feel those things.  To live like that.  And that is what makes her AMAZING!

I cannot begin to understand how important it has been for her to believe in God, heaven, and all the things she believes.  I cannot begin to understand how fully she embraced her motto, CHOOSE JOY, rather than be eaten up by sorrow and self pity. 

What is remarkable about this young woman is how calmly she is staring death in the face.  She is using her last breaths to comfort those who love her.  She had someone phone my sister this morning so that she could say simple words that she wanted to say - "I love you!"  But the words she said next were meant to comfort my sister: 

"I am going to find your Dad as soon as I get there and give him a big hug.  And then I am going to dance with him again." 

She was referring to dancing with my dad at my sister's wedding.  Her words made my sister choke back sobs, but she felt such comfort because SOMEONE is going to see our dad, even if it can't be one of us.  SOMEONE we know, love, talk to, is going to hug our dad soon.

For that alone, I want to believe.  I want to believe that she will pass peacefully from this world to heaven.  That her Dad will be waiting for her with open arms.  That she will find my Dad and flash him her big smile that makes her eyes sparkle, and that he will smile back and hug her tight.  I want to believe that the place she is going is better than the place she is leaving.  I want to believe that our loved ones in Heaven are watching us, guiding us, with us always. 

But I am scared of that unknown. 

I am trying to trust Sara.  I am trying to believe.

I will take her words with me and try very hard to CHOOSE JOY in all aspects of my life.  I know it will be hard, but it can't be as hard as living the way she lived.  I get to see my friends, eat what I want, run outside, hug others, be ALIVE.  She cannot do those things and yet she vowed to CHOOSE JOY.

So, for you Sara, I will CHOOSE JOY.  And I will take the life that is given to me and try not to judge what is fair and not fair.  And I will look to God, the power higher than me, and try to trust His plan.  And I will believe that you are there, in Heaven, meeting your God with a smile on your face and a body free of pain.  And I will remember you.

Please give my Dad a hug and tell him how much I miss him.  And then sing him a song with your beautiful voice.

This is Sara singing "Amazing Grace".

September 11: Then and Now

It snuck up on me. 

September 11, 2011.  The ten year anniversary of a day that I should not be allowed to forget. 

But it snuck up on me.

Today a friend of mine shared some thoughts she has been having as this anniversary date is upon us, and I allowed myself to think back and remember what I saw, heard, and felt on September 11, 2001.

I had just started my sixth year of teaching Kindergarten and First Grade.  I had a great team of teachers that I loved seeing everyday.  I was proud to be teaching for one of the greatest principals in the district.  I was engaged and ready to start the married part of our relationship.  And I was looking forward to my first solo trip to New York City on September 21, 2001 to visit a very good friend who had moved there.

Life was great!

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in my classroom and kept hearing bits and pieces of things going on in New York and then Washington.  We had one tv in a conference room that the custodian and secretary had on to get updates.  We were all running in there to watch Diane Sawyer in her white sooty blouse broadcast live from the scene.  We watched the loop footage of the first plane crashing into the tower.  We stared in disbelief, and then gathered ourselves as we headed back to the classroom to meet our students and act as if nothing had happened.

As my students came in, these five to seven year old children, they gave me more information.  I remember a boy saying, "Two planes crashed into a tall building!"  I had only heard about the first plane at that point so I said, "Two?  Are you sure there were two?"  I pulled up my computer screen and verified that a second plane had indeed crashed into the towers.  This same boy would later cry softly during circle time as it sunk in that his "mommy works in a tall tower", a building in our city's downtown.

I remember thinking of my very good friend living in Brooklyn.  I knew that she took the subway to work every morning, and that she would pass through the train station under the World Trade Center.  I called her cell phone, and thankfully she answered!  She was standing on top of her building in Brooklyn with other neighbors watching the smoke fill the sky.  She was going to work late that day after working late the night before.  She was fine.  I remember telling her that I love her, and to be safe.  She told me to tell everyone she's okay. She had a friend at work in that building.  She would spend several days searching for him or anyone that saw him get out of the building.  She would be the contact for local authorities since his family was in Minnesota.  She would provide details about what may have been on his desk, in his wallet, on his person so that they could identify him if they found him.  I never knew that horrible detail until a year later.  I can never know how much she agonized over those details.  How much she wishes she could have been chatting with him months later rather than attending a memorial service and dedication in his hometown in Minnesota.

I remember a student coming in a bit late saying "A plane crashed by the President's house."  I started to correct him and say that the President doesn't live in New York, but his mother told me that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon.  I felt like things were spinning out of control.  What was happening?  Would we all be sent home?  Were we safe? 

I remember sending an email to my friend who lives in D.C.  I remember her words of reply soon after:  "We're all fine.  Scared shitless, but fine."

I spent a lot of time just talking with my students that day.  I tried to calm them, reassure them that we were safe.  I remember showing them on the map where New York is, where Washington is, and where we live in the Midwest.  I remember telling them that we are so far away from the bad stuff.  But were we?  Where was all the "bad stuff"?  Who were the "bad people" crashing airplanes into buildings?  I certainly did not have those answers. 

Parents starting coming early to pick up their kids.  They would walk into the room, looking shell-shocked, but calm.  And I remember that each one gently kissed their child, hugged their child as if they hadn't seen each other for days, and held their child by the hand or in their arms as they left the room. 

I didn't have children of my own.  I had no idea what they were thinking.  Were they worried that their kids weren't safe?  Were they worried that the same things could happen in our city? 

Now that I have children, I think I have a better idea of what they were feeling. 

Relief.

Relief that it didn't happen to you, your spouse, your family.  Relief that your child wasn't in a daycare at the site, or a school just down the block.  Relief that your baby was safe and that you were able to pick him or her up from school because you were safe too.

I remember driving home that day, a beautiful early fall day, and seeing a set of three airplanes fly over the interstate.  Traffic actually slowed to watch this trio of planes pass overhead in a blue sky that the FAA ordered free of all aircraft until further notice.  I would learn later that it was Air Force One and two fighter jets returning the President to the East Coast from his undisclosed location. 

As much as I didn't want to see the horror happening in New York and Washington, I knew that I would be glued to the TV as soon as I got home so that I could get all the details.  I watched non-stop coverage, on numerous channels.  I watched the planes crash over and over on each news report.  I watched the people gathering with candlelight vigils all over the country.  I watched Diane Sawyer continue to broadcast live from the streets of New York where she had been since running from the set of Good Morning America early that morning.  I watched one of the nightly news anchors (Peter Jennings?  Tom Brokaw?  Brian Williams? I can't remember which) get choked up as he ended his broadcast.  He had just heard from his daughter or son who was overseas, and I could see the relief that he knew all of his children were okay.  I remember his words as he choked back tears, "Parents, hug your children tonight." 

I have other fuzzy memories from the days immediately after September 11th.

I remember talking to my friend in New York and deciding not to make my trip to see her the following week.  I remember she said, "Don't come.  It's so sad here.  And it smells bad." 

I remember watching all the news reports, and seeing all the faces of those who were "lost".  I remember the looks on the faces of those looking for lost loved ones as they shared pictures, and told what floor their loved one worked on or what emergency crew they were with that day. 

I remember crying.  A lot.  And I hadn't even lost anyone.

I remember when Broadway reopened after 9/11.  I remember hearing the story of the musical "The Fantasticks", a show running at the time not far from The World Trade Center.  On its first night back after the attack, many in the audience and a few in the cast were moved to tears as the lyrics of the opening song took on a new meaning. Here are a few of those lyrics, written 40 years before the recent events:

"Try to remember the kind of September

When life was slow and oh, so mellow . . .

Try to remember the kind of September

When no one wept except the willow . . ."

Deep in December it's nice to remember

the fire of September that made us mellow

Deep in December our hearts should remember

And follow . . . follow . . . follow . . . follow . . .

I took my trip to New York the following year, September 2002.  I went to the site of the World Trade Center.  I saw the giant flag hanging from a crane.  Saw the cross constructed out of steel beams.  Saw all the pictures and other memorials hanging on the fence around the chapel across the street.  I saw the giant hole that used to be buildings.  I felt the pain, the sadness, the loss of that city.  And, as much as I love New York and my many visits to the city, I was so grateful that I didn't live there and didn't have to feel all that pain every day.

Now, ten years later, I am still a teacher.  I still live in the Midwest, but love the bustle and excitement of the big city.  I am again taking a trip to New York in September.  But now I am the mother of two small children.  The news is again showing images from that fateful day.  Diane Sawyer again did a segment on the babies born to men who died on 9/11.  The babies who are now almost ten years old.  I cried when I saw them because I thought of my own babies and how much my husband would have missed if he had died before they were born.  I can't imagine raising them without him, and I can't imagine what they would be like now without their Daddy. 

I finally, ten years later, have a better understanding of the parents who walked into my classroom to pick up their children on that morning in 2001.  I know how it feels to hold your child in your arms when you are sad.  I know the relief and calm they bring when you see them again and they look exactly the way they looked when you left them.  I know that when the world seems crazy, when things are spinning out of your control, your children center you. 

My children are my purpose.  And even on their most naughty, most hyper, most annoying days, they are my reason to be. I wouldn't trade my NOW for any of my THENs. But I will remember the events from my past, and I will learn from those events so that I can be the mother my children deserve.  I owe that to the mothers and fathers who never came home to their babies ten years ago. I remind myself to enjoy every minute of our life together because I never know when my last minute with them will be. 

Mommy's Turn To Run

July 4, 2005...the last time I ran in a road race.  In fact, the last time I ran more than a block.  I was eleven weeks pregnant, running in an annual 8k with my running group.  The next week, I told them all that I was pregnant and had a great excuse to stop running for awhile.

Fast forward six years, and I am finally returning from my hiatus.  In that six years, I have had two children, and watched myself slide further and further into "Sloth Mode". 

I am not proud of it, just stating a fact. 

I used to really enjoy running.  I ran my first marathon, Grandma's in Duluth, in 1996, and I was in the best shape of my life.  My second marathon was in 1998, New York City, and my third marathon was in Chicago in 2000.  In between, there were numerous 5k, 8k, 10k, 1/2 marathons, trail runs, relay runs, and even one triathlon. 

My husband was always a runner, and in our 19 years together we have often planned trips to great locations based on the running events available.  Slovakia in 2000 for the Peace Marathon (half marathon for me).  Italy in 2004 for the Prato Marathon (half for me).  In 2002, a fun run in Scotland, and a half marathon in England. 

Then came baby number one in 2006, and I happily said good-bye to running.  We continued to travel and my husband continued to participate in various events, but now he expanded to biking as well.  So baby and I went along as he competed in marathons, trail runs, 50k races, bike races, triathlons, and 3 Ironman Triathlons.  Then baby #2 came along in 2008, and I starting taking two small children to numerous races and events for him, including another Ironman.   

This summer, our family drove across the country so that my husband could compete in his 5th Ironman.  I endured the long months of training without complaining.  I packed the car full of entertainment and snacks so that I could survive the 12 hours it would take him to finish.  I hauled two kids and all their stuff, a stroller, my husband's bike, his three gear bags, and his very weak body back to the car after the event and got everyone (2 sleeping children and 1 very sick athlete) into the hotel room and into beds.  And I was happy to do it. That was my job - support crew.

But as I watched the athletes competing in that Ironman, as I recalled days when I could run a marathon (or at least a mile!), I decided the time had come for me to get back at it and start running again.  On the drive home, my husband was saying how happy he was to be done with training for awhile.  I jumped at the opening and said, "Good.  Because it's my turn now."  Luckily he is very supportive and more than willing to give me the time to train for an event.  He found me a half marathon during my next driving shift, and I was a registered participant shortly after that. 

I would have 2 1/2 months to go from no running at all to a half marathon.  I now have about six weeks left, and I am surprised how well my training has gone!  I actually get up early in the morning to run, and I ENJOY it!  I am not a morning person, so the fact that I get up AND enjoy it is AMAZING!!!

I love how peaceful it is early in the morning.  I love that I can run, shower, and have a cup of coffee before my kids wake up for the day.  I love that my clothes fit a little better since I have lost almost 20 pounds in eight weeks.  I love that I have something that is just for me and that I look forward to doing several times a week.

And I wonder, why did I ever stop?  Why did I let it all go? 

To say it's because I became a mother is a really weak excuse.  I know lots of women who continue to run or exercise in some way despite having children.   Saying it's because my husband is always training is not any better of an excuse.  First, he is not that selfish and would never tell me that I can't do something because of his schedule.  He always asked me before he signed up for any event, and made sure I had time to do things that were important to me when he was training. 

I think it's safe to say that I became lazy. 

So now I am trying to break the "Lazy Sloth" cycle and find joy in running again.  My reasons for wanting to run are plenty, but these are the top three reasons:   

1.  I want to be healthy.  That means losing weight, eating right, and exercising.  I have been blessed with a family history of heart disease, and I need to make more healthy choices with my body so that I can live a long life.  Since I started running again, I don't think daily about the possibility of dropping dead at a young age like my grandfather did.  I feel good about my weight loss and how I look, and want to keep fit so that my pants continue to stay comfortable. 

2.  I want my children to see me doing something great.  I see how my son's face lights up when he sees his dad running or biking in an event.  I love his smile when he yells for his dad.  I want him to smile and light up as I run by him.  I want him and my daughter to yell for me during my race, to be proud of their mom.

3.  I want my husband to be proud of me.  I love watching him compete in various events.  I love watching the string of athletes until I see his familiar stride, love the emotion I feel when I see him, love his look of satisfaction when he finishes.  I want him to watch for me, to cheer for me, to feel pride when he sees me.  I will look forward to seeing him at various points on the route, and I know that he will keep me motivated so that I will finish.  I am grateful, in my training, to have a supportive husband.  He runs and bikes much less right now so that my training can be a priority in our house. 

I am very grateful for a recently discovered running partner, an old friend who knows me well.  She meets me on dark streets early in the morning, and we run.  Sometimes she talks more, sometimes I talk more.  Because we have known each other for 30 years, many things can be said and heard between us in only a few words.  It's great therapy, just having someone listen to you a few mornings each week.  I have cried more than once on our runs, not because my body was hurting but because my heart was hurting.  She listened.  And when I couldn't talk, she did the talking and reassured me that everything would be okay. 

I have had a tight calf muscle, and recently a very sore hip, but my friend keeps me motivated to run.  And she walks with me when I can't run and tells me, "It all counts!"  It's good to have a partner to get me up and out the door on these early mornings.  I am so thankful that we ran together one morning, and that it has turned into a 3-4 morning a week ritual. 

On the day of my half marathon, I will be alone at the start.  That's two places I haven't been in almost six years - at a race start and ALONE.  My husband and my kids will be somewhere in the crowd waiting to yell for me, but I will be alone with my thoughts for at least two hours.  I know I will stay motivated because there is always good crowd support at this particular venue.  I am not worried at all about finishing.  I just want to feel good at the finish so that I will stay motivated AFTER the event.  I am on a healthier life track now, and I want to stay there long after this one event. 

My daughter helped me make the bracelet pictured in this post.  The green is my son's favorite color, and the pink is my daughter's favorite color.  The message in the middle is a reminder to me to stick with it during my training and on race day.  But I will continue to wear it after this half marathon as a reminder to stick with it for many years yet to come. 

I hope to make all four of us very proud on race day.

When Death Comes Too Soon

My son started Kindergarten today.  My husband and I were both a little teary-eyed as we said good-bye to him, but he had a big smile and faced the day with excitement. 

After dropping him off at his classroom, we joined other Kindergarten parents at a meeting with the principal where all of our questions were asked and answered.  We all shared our nerves, sadness, and excitement (for some), but the principal shared the most important news of the day.   She welcomed us to the school "family", a family that had lost one of its own the previous day.  A parent of three boys at the school died suddenly yesterday.  He was only 44 years old. 

As the story unfolded, I felt such tremendous sadness for this family that I did not know at all.  The wife who was suddenly a widow.  The three boys ages 7, 9, and 11 who said good-bye to their dad yesterday morning when he dropped them off, and who was dead before school ended that same day.  I felt sadness for the eight siblings scattered across the country who were answering their phones to receive the unexpected news about their brother.  I felt sad that I had been crying just moments before because I wouldn't see my little boy for a few hours when this family would never see their husband/father/brother on this Earth again.  Ever.  My first-day-of-school nerves gave way to tremendous sadness that caught me off guard, and took away my breath.  

When I lost my Dad suddenly four years ago, I was not at all prepared for the phone call that came announcing his death.  I remember exactly where I was in my house.  I remember the time.  I remember feeling like I had been punched in the stomach.  Like the air was all sucked out of the room and I couldn't breathe.  I remember calling a friend to come stay with my son because my husband was out of town at the time.  I remember collapsing in her arms, unable to stand as I cried onto her shoulder.  I remember it all like it happened yesterday.  And every time I hear about the unexpected death of someone who has died much too early, has left his or her family at such a young age, I remember with such clarity the day that my Dad died.  And I relive it, over and over.  I have several days of limited sleep, lots of crying, and prayers sent up to grant me long life so that my children will not be left to grow without me.  Even 62, the age of my Dad when he died, is way too soon for me to leave this world. 

A former student of mine lost her dad in a house fire in May of 2010.  I cried when I was told, cried with her when she told me she missed him, and cried for days as I remembered my own pain at my father's death.  I wrote a Facebook post at that time that captured what I was feeling, but I wanted to write it again somewhere that I could see more frequently.  I want to be able to remind myself that even though my Dad has died, I was lucky to have him.  I was "lucky" that I was nearly 37 when my Dad died.  I got to have much more of him than a child of age 6, 7, 9, or 11.  I need to remind myself of all that he saw and experienced with me, rather than all that he is not present for now. 

It's been 15 months since I wrote this, but it still brings tears to my eyes.  And it is still the way I feel today.  Lucky.


May 10, 2010...

A little girl in my class lost her daddy today. He died in a fire in their apartment, and he was only 35 years old. When I was given the news, I was first grateful that she and her brother spent the night at her grandma's house and were safe, and then I was hit with a deep sadness that she is only 6 years old and has to live without her daddy.

I was lucky enough to have a Daddy for almost 37 years, and I thought that wasn't enough time. How selfish am I? There was so much more that I wanted to share with my Dad. I'm so sad that he doesn't get to see me be a mother, that he doesn't know my kids, and that he misses all the day to day junk of life. But how lucky am I that he got to teach me how to ride a bike and how to swim? That he got to watch me graduate from high school and college? That he got to witness my marriage? That he was there the day I became a mother?  That we took trips together?

If I close my eyes and listen, I can hear my Dad laugh and I can see him smile. I have so many great memories. So how lucky am I? I bet my student thinks I'm pretty lucky. I hope that the rest of her family talks about her dad to her so that she can remember the time she had with him. I hope that someone else in her family has pictures of him, since everything in the apartment was lost, so that she can remember what he looks like. I hope she feels his love for her and that it carries her through the horrible days full of sadness that are ahead of her. I hope that she is able to feel him in her heart and hear his voice and laughter in her ears as she grows. Those are the things I would wish for my babies if something so tragic happened to me.

I know I am lucky to have been blessed with a loving father for 37 years, but on days like today I'm still just a girl who wants a hug from her daddy and misses him very much.

The First Day Of Kindergarten

I now have 16 "First Day of Kindergarten" days under my belt.  17 if you count my own first day at age 5.

I am a Kindergarten teacher.

I have watched little boys and girls walk into my classroom on the first day of Kindergarten for the past 16 years.  I have watched their faces.  Some were filled with wonder and excitement as they looked around their new classroom.  Some were filled with fear and anxiety as they clung to their parent's hand.  Some were filled with pure sadness as they said good-bye to mommy and/or daddy.  The tears would stop eventually for them, I assured their parents, but for some it would take the better part of that first day before they became just comfortable enough to stop crying. 

But it was always the faces of the parents that I was most curious about for many years.  Some came in smiling and laughing as they "FINALLY" sent their last child off to school.  Some were scared and nervous, asking lots of questions like "What if he doesn't have enough time to eat all his lunch?" or "Will you call me if she doesn't stop crying?"  And then there were the parents who had tears sitting precariously just inside that bottom eye lid.  The ones trying so hard to keep it all together, for their child's sake, as they helped their little boy or girl get acquainted and settle in for the day.  Those parents were simultaneously the most pitiful and the most interesting for me to observe.  Pitiful because I wondered how they could feel so much sadness at being separated from their child for a mere 6 1/2 hours.  Interesting because I wondered what must they be thinking inside their heads that made them well up with tears and stifle a sob as they waved good-bye one final time and slowly walked out the door. 

This year, I finally know what those parents are thinking.  This year, I send my son to Kindergarten.  This year, the "First Day of Kindergarten" takes on a whole new meaning for me.

I watched my students' parents differently this year.  I tried to anticipate my own feelings on my son's first day of school through all of these parents in my classroom.  Would I be like P's mom who just couldn't make herself leave?  Who found a different question to ask just so she could stay long after the bell rang?  Or would I be like K's mom, who hid behind her husband as she felt the tear slip over the edge and her shoulders begin to shake because she didn't want her son to see her cry?  Or would I be like C's mom giving a quick hug and kiss followed by "I love you, have fun!"

The teacher in me tells me to be nothing like P's mom.  No teacher appreciates the lingering parent on the first day of school.  I hope I will be like C's mom, keeping a smile on my face and instilling a sense of adventure in his heart.  But I think I will most resemble K's mom.  I know I will cry.  I just hope I can be as graceful as she was so that my son doesn't see my tears.  My brain tells me that he will be fine.  That he'll have fun.  That he'll make new friends and learn new things.  But my heart will miss him all day.  And I think the day apart will feel much longer to me than to him as I wonder what he is doing with each passing minute.  

In one week I will know the answer to my questions about this unique "First Day of Kindergarten" for me.  And, like it or not, the next thirteen years of school life will begin for our family.  Ready or not, here it comes!

Book Review: Unbroken

I finally finished this book selected for my book club last month:  "Unbroken:  A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption" by Laura Hillenbrand.

Let me preface this post by saying the following...

First, I wish I had shown more interest in/registered for more/paid attention better in geography and history classes when I was in high school and college. 

Second, every time I read a piece of historical fiction or non-fiction I am reminded of how little I actually know about the world in which I live and the events that have shaped this world.  I shamefully admit that I am very ignorant about a lot of things from my country's history, not to mention what has happened in the rest of the world.

Now that I've taken the first step, admit your ignorance, I am ready to move forward and state that I really enjoyed this book.  I felt a range of emotions as I read, and I learned a lot about World War II and the people who lived it. 

Laura Hillenbrand writes a beautiful and, at times, painful account of Louie Zamperini, "a juvenile delinquent-turned-Olympic runner-turned-Army hero (Amazon.com review)."  Louie's plane went down into the Pacific ocean during a routine search mission in 1943, and most of the crew were lost at sea with the wreckage.  This is the story of Louie's survival and what he endured during his years as a Japanese POW.  It is also the story of how he survived after coming home from the war, how he fought his personal demons, and how he chose to live the life that he fought for during the war.

I was shocked to learn how many men were held as POW's by the Japanese during WW2, and deeply disturbed by how they were treated.  Or, more importantly, MIStreated by the Japanese guards.  I know, I should have paid more attention during those history classes!

But I felt some retribution as I discussed this book with other women in my book club when I learned that all of them were just as clueless as me on the topic.  I, as some of the other women confessed, knew Hitler was the big bad guy during WW2.  I have been to three concentration camps, or what remains of them, in Europe, and to the National Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC.  I have read several books over the years of Holocaust survivors documenting the horrors they experienced and witnessed during the war.  I thought I knew a lot about WW2.  But I thought the extent of Japan's involvement was that they bombed Pearl Harbor.  That they somehow snuck into Hitler's war and attacked the U.S. so they could get some press.   I just didn't get it - what was the connection between Japan and Hitler?  And Italy?  What was up with Italy?  All these years and I thought Italy was part of the ALLIED forces when they were actually the ENEMY!  I must have been sleeping through that portion of history class because I honestly had no idea how Italy was involved.

Before you criticize me, please see my statements at the beginning of this post.  I know that my lack of understanding is shameful!

Now I have a better understanding of WW2, of every country's involvement and what they stood to gain (in their opinion) or lose, and what effect it had on ALL parts of the world.  And I am interested in learning more about this important piece of our history so that I will no longer feel "clueless" as I keep moving forward in my life. 

Thank you, Laura Hillenbrand, for writing a book that was interesting, engaging, and educational for me.  And thank you to Louie Zamperini and other WW2 vets for your service to our country.  We owe you all a debt of gratitude for refusing to be "Broken" by powers beyond your control, and for living to tell all of us about it!

29 Gifts - Take Two

I was doing great.  I was on a roll.  Then I went back to work and I lost my mo-jo.  I only work part time, but I was full time for two weeks before resuming my part time schedule.  And that was enough for me to get completely off track from my 29 Gifts, blogging, and all things for myself.  In the book, 29 Gifts, she explains that you could just pick up where you left off if you miss a day.  It was too hard for her to start over when she missed one day so she just moved on with her next gift and let that day go.  I, however, have let too many days go between my gifts.  I am pretty sure I have to start over.  So tomorrow will be Gift 1, Day 1 and I will try the process again. 

Hopefully the universe will forgive me. 

I know I am very lucky that I am able to work part time.  It's hard to do without a lot of the things we want because we don't have as much money, but I will only have one chance to be present for my two children while they are small.  And that is worth the smaller salary to me. 

Although, I have to admit, it was VERY hard to sign my new contract last week and visualize my salary doubled to the amount I would make if I were full time.  We could remodel the kitchen.  I could have that back patio converted into a 3-season porch.  We could go to Europe!

But all of those things will have to wait.  My babies will only be small for such a short time.  And that is more important to me than money and all the nice things that come with money. 

But I'm still going to buy my lottery ticket later today and pray for the best!  And I will think of an appropriate gift for tomorrow.  Day 1, the sequel.

Gift 10 - A Reunion

I took my family to my mother's family reunion today, a July tradition for many years.  The location changes each year, moved from the outdoor parks around the city to indoor churches or reception halls with air conditioning.  But the purpose is the same:  catch up with family from near and far.  Especially those that we don't see very often.

My grandmother was one of seven children, and this reunion is with members of that extended family.  My grandmother has been gone for nine years now.  One of her sisters just passed away this summer.  All the others were gone before my grandmother with the exception of just one.  My great aunt, along with her husband, is the only living sibling from that family.  I watched her today and wondered what that must be like.  What must it feel like to bury all of your siblings?  What thoughts do you have when you see that you, the youngest sibling, are the oldest member of the family?  I'm sure she's grateful that she has enjoyed so many years of life.  I'm sure she's grateful that the majority of her siblings also enjoyed a very long life.  But what does she think about the situation beyond that?

I am now, and have always been, very afraid of death.  I like the idea of the "ever after" of heaven, but I get sick to my stomach if I think about it too much.  I don't like to think about eternity, myself as an elderly person, or the death of my loved ones.  It scares me.  I do wonder if that will change as I get older, and consequently, closer to death.  But somehow I doubt that.  Maybe it's the fact that I have young children and I don't want to think about them living without me.  Or maybe I'm just afraid of the unknown, a more likely reason. 

Each year at my family reunion, I face the same questions and mixed feelings about death and what lies beyond my present.  I recall the people who were there last year but are absent this year.  I did it a lot the year my grandma passed away, and the year both my dad and my uncle passed away less than three months apart.  One of my mom's cousins started an album several years ago.  In it she keeps the sign in sheets and pictures from each reunion as well the programs from family members' funerals and any other family related news or events from each year.  I am glad that she did that.  It is fun to look back and see my signature from when I was younger, and pictures of all of us growing and aging.  And, at the same time, it is profoundly sad to see my dad's face looking back at me from the book both as a living person beside me in pictures and on his funeral program.  But I'm still glad it's there.  That he won't be forgotten as we gather each year.  That he is still part of the annual reunion, even if his presence is only in a book and in our memories. 

Today my prayer of gratitude is for my extended family, my mother's family.  I am grateful for my twelve first cousins who have been with me through so many life events, especially their support when my dad died.  I am grateful for my great aunt who reminds me so much of my grandma when I look into her eyes.  I am grateful for her daughther, my godmother, and her other children who bring so much laughter to every event they attend.  And I am again grateful to my mother, for smiling through adversity, for carrying on in life even though I know she feels so alone so often, and for honoring her own mother by continuing to gather with relatives for an annual reunion.   Today my gift is of time to my family and thankfulness to my mom.   

Gift 9 - A Visit

We took the kids to see my mother-in-law today.  It's an easy gift to give. I give her the gift of my children, and it lights up her whole day. 

My husband's mother is not the baking-cookies-in-the-kitchen kind of grandma. She doesn't cook us big meals on the holidays. But she does love her son, and she loves her grandchildren.  She lives modestly, but she would give them the moon if she were able.

I know that she thinks I am a good mother, a good wife.  I also know that I don't appreciate how much she loves my husband, my children, and even me.  She doesn't live in the same city as us, but only lives about 30-miles away.  It's difficult for her to drive on the interstate to see us, but it's also difficult for us to see her very often.  I feel very guilty about that, but I also feel a bit relieved that I don't have to make daily time for another person.  I feel guilty that she wants to see my kids more often and I don't make that happen.  I feel guilty that she wants to come and spend the night, several nights even, and I find excuses to not make that happen.  Why?  I certainly hope that my future daughter-in-law doesn't do that to me, but I also can't make myself stop doing it.

My prayer is for my mother-in-law today, that she continue to be in good health and living independently.  I also say a prayer of gratitude for her love of my husband, and that she raised a wonderful man who I am lucky to be married to now.  And I am grateful for her love of my children.  Her face lights up when she sees them, and it makes me happy to give her that joy.  I am also making a resolution for myself that I will invite her to our house to spend the night and enjoy her grandchildren.  And I promise I will enjoy it. 

Gift 8 - Relaxation

Today was a glorious day for the pool.  It was HOT, the pool was crowded, it was GREAT! 

We are members of a private pool here in town, and today we took some friends there with us to enjoy the beautiful summer day.  It was fun to see my friend again, and fun to watch our kids play in the water.  I wish my gift could have included lunch as well, but I unfortunately don't have enough money right now for that gift.  But I think my friend appreciated the time away from the regular routine of entertaining the kids during the summer, and I appreciated the company. 

I offer up another prayer of gratitude for good friends today.  I am also grateful for the pool, a place where both of my kids are entertained and happy for several hours at a time.  And, finally, I say a prayer for my friend who seems unhappy about her life right now.  I pray that she finds some peace and happiness in her life.

Gift 7 - For the Kiddos

I set up a playdate today for my kids, a gift that is for them as well as for me.  The date was with a friend of my son, who just happens to have a little sister to play with our little girl, and a Mommy who I like very much.  I am hoping that she will become a friend as our boys move through their school years together. 

I've always had trouble making new friends.  I would say that I have a lot of friends now, but it has always been difficult for me to initiate a friendship with someone new.  I tend to rely on the familiar - friends from high school, friends I meet through other friends, friends of my husband's, and even family members who I consider "friends".   As my son begins his school career, I am hoping to make new friends with other parents.  I'm not expecting to instantly bond with several people, but I am hoping for one person that I can look for in the crowd of faces at school events, and know that someone else is looking forward to seeing me too. 

I am hoping that this "Mommy" will become that face in the crowd for me, my lifelink through elementary school.  My prayer of gratitude is for her today, and to our potential friendship that is just beginning.  I also say a prayer for our boys, that they will continue to form a lifelong friendship. 

And, while I'm at it, I am also quite grateful for the new coffee she introduced me to today.  Thanks for the coffee, friend!

Gift 6 - Time And Wine

My gift today was for an old friend.  I met her at a local restaurant for a glass of wine and then a walk.  But, more importantly, my gift of time allowed us to have a real conversation.  To catch up on life.  To talk about something other than our children.  It was really great.

I have known her for over half my life.  We have been together through many life events.  We have also had our moments where life divided us for various reasons.  But the good thing about an old friend is that she knows my history so I don't ever feel like I have to explain anything to her.  We can not see each other for several weeks and just pick up where we left off.  I appreciate that about her.

So today my prayer of gratitude is for my friend, and for all my friends both old and new that I hold dear.  Life would be very lonely without friends.

Gift 5 - An Email and A Prayer

I received an email today from a classmate from high school.  She was letting me know that another classmate's father is undergoing chemotherapy for lymphoma, and his treatements have been very difficult.  They have tried several types of treatment, but his body is just not responding well.  They are nearing the time when they have to say they have tried everything but his body has had enough. 

My gift today was to send an email to my classmate and let her know that I am thinking about her and praying for her father's health.  I also told her how much I admire her strength and positive attitude.  I can't say that she is a close friend, or that we were even close when we were in school together.  In fact, if I had to guess, I would say that I wasn't someone she even liked much.  Although I don't remember doing or saying anything offensive to her in our teen years, she may have perceived something in a different way.  I don't know.  And now, 20+ years later, I don't really care if she liked me or didn't like me when we were in high school.  What matters most now is that she is a human being who is hurting, and I wanted to do or say something that would hopefully help her hurt a little less. 

One of the things I like most about my high school alma mater, is that we had a very small class.  We knew each other well, knew each other's families, and are still connected all these years later through email, facebook, and periodic reunions.  I know that this particular classmate lost her mother to cancer 23 years ago this month.  I know that her sister was diagnosed with cancer several years ago, and fought herself into remission.  I know that my classmate is getting married soon, and would love to have her father there with her on that special day.

So I said a prayer to God today and asked Him to give strength to her father as he faces another round of chemotherapy.  I prayed that his daughter would find strength in her support of her father, and faith that his treatments will provide relief for them all.  And I said my prayer of gratitude, again, for the health of my own family.  I have no idea what the future holds for me, but I hope that I can face it with the strength and positive attitude that I have witnessed from this woman.

Quote of the Day

I saw this at the end of an email today, and it made me laugh out loud.  I had to write it down so I will remember it:

"Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the ground in the morning, the devil says, "Oh crap, she's up!"

Love that!!

Please Look After Mom - Book Review

I finished reading "Please Look After Mom" by Kyun-sook Shin.  The book was a bestseller in South Korea, home of the author, and was released in English print in the United States this past April.  I received a copy at that time, after reading multiple reviews from several sources such as NPR, The New York Times, Barnes and Noble, and Amazon.com.  I was intrigued since I was able to travel to South Korea a few years ago, and I thought maybe the book would bring back some of those memories.  What I was not expecting was how much I would reflect on my own mother's sacrifices over the years, and how I have started down the same path to give to my children before myself. 

In the book, an elderly mother is separated from her husband in a busy Seoul train station.  The story is told from the perspective of one daughter, one son, the husband, and finally the mother.  Her husband and adult children search for her relentlessly while simultaneously recalling how much she sacrificed for their happiness and how poorly they feel they treated her over the years. We learn a little more about the mother with each chapter, and learn how deeply each family member's guilt lies within them.   

For me, the story made me stop and think about my own mother.  I remember when I was a kid and we had movie night, my mom rarely sat with us through the whole movie.  We used to laugh at her and make snarky comments about how she couldn't sit still long enough to watch a movie.  Now that I am a mother, I realize that while the kids are engrossed in a movie night with their dad, I can wash and fold two or three loads of laundry, unload and reload the dishwasher, and balance my checkbook.  And I'm listening to the movie all the while so that I can still discuss it with them when it's over.  My mom wasn't lacking an attention span, she was multi-tasking.

Another thing I realize now is how much I took advantage of my mom's sacrifices.  She would give up her share of the dessert, spend her last dollar on a small toy or treat, skip dinner to make it to countless ball games, and wake up in the dead of night to pick us up from a friend's house or late night party so that we could get home safely.  Now that I am a mother, I find myself eating just the crust of a pizza after my kids pick off all the toppings.  I eat the last dripping licks of vanilla ice cream so that my daughter can get to the coveted cone because I don't have enough money to buy myself an ice cream.  I sleep on the very edge of a queen size mattress because the two little people in my life are afraid of a storm and have squirmed their way into my bed in the middle of the night.  And I go without sleep at all when they are sick or hurt because I am scared to close my eyes and not hear them if they need me. 

Being a mom is hard work.  What I didn't realize until recently is that being MY MOM was hard work too.  And, she would probably say, still is.  I can be impatient with her.  I get snippy when I think she is slowing me down while we're out running errands.  I don't have a lot of sympathy when she says she doesn't feel well.  I often think she is just complaining or looking for sympathy, but is it really that hard for me to just give her that?  I argue with her when I don't have the same opinion as her rather than respest her opinion for what it is, her OPINION.  My mom tells me often that my daughter reminds her so much of me.  She says it with a smile on her face that I'm sure means both "I miss my little girl" as well as "paybacks will be hell for you".

As the mother of a daughter, I have resigned myself to the fact that someday I will likely hear "I hate you" from my daughter. That she will tell me I don't know anything.  That she will walk ahead of me and roll her eyes when I fall behind. Perhaps that is just the nature of a mother-daughter relationship:  you love one another more than you can imagine, but you can push each other's buttons and make each other CRAZY at the same time.  I have said numerous times how grateful I am to have my mom be such an active part of my life.  I cannot imagine my life without her, and I have told her that many times.  Reading this book reminded me that I need to acknowledge my mom's goodness more often.  That I need to thank her more often, even for the little things. And that I need to take the time to ask her what I CAN DO FOR HER more often. I hope I can do it.  I will certainly try.

Gift 4 - I Love A Parade!

Photo from Google Images

My gift today was for my two children.  I took them to a local 4th of July parade that has been held for many years.  My dad always loved this parade, and was even in it a few times for his job.  I didn't have children when my dad was in the parade, but I think they would have gotten a big kick out of seeing him go by them.  I'm sure he would have been throwing some of their favorite candy too.  Lots of it. 

As I watched my son scramble for candy, and my daughter eye the shriners suspiciously from her stroller, I reflected on how much I love the community where I live.  It is a college town, a medium sized city with several "bedroom" communities around it, and it is very family oriented.  This weekend alone, we had access to two different music festivals as well as three separate firework displays.  That doesn't include any of the regular weekend activities - Farmer's Markets, family storytime at the library, and dips in the three public pools, just to name a few.  I grew up here, went to college here, and am making a conscious decision to raise my children here.  I love it here!

My prayer of gratitude today is for the beautiful city that I call home.  I am so grateful for all that it has to offer to me and my family.  I also said a prayer of thanks and safe keeping to the men and women of the military who are so far from home today.  I pray that they stay safe so that next year they can celebrate our nation's independence with their own families, in the place that they each call "home". 

Gift 3 - Happy Birthday!

Today we are going to a birthday party for my cousin's two children.  They are having a swimming/water slide party, and we were invited to join the festivities.  I don't even have to fret about a gift because I keep a stack of books and art supplies on hand for last minute children's gifts.  We picked out a paper doll sticker book for the 4-year old girl, and a board book for the 1-year old boy.  I also have some art supplies ready for my mom to give as a gift to the 4-year old, and she found a small toy for the boy.  Easy Peasy, Lemon Squeezy!

Along with my gift for the day is a prayer of health and happiness for the birthday boy and girl, and a prayer of gratitude that I am organized enough to keep gifts on hand in the closet for almost any age child.  I also say an extra prayer of gratitude for my family, including these extended family members. 

My extended family is large.  Very large.  My dad was number six of seven children, and my mom was number three of six children.  My mom has two siblings that are close in age to her, and then there is a 13-year gap and three younger brothers.  All from the same mother and father.  I have twelve first cousins on my mom's side, and our ages range from 27 to 46.  We are, and have always been, very close.  We spent many days and nights together, took trips together, spent every holiday together growing up, were in each other's weddings, lived within 15 miles of each other, and called each other "friend" as well as "cousin".

My dad's siblings were much more spread out, again from the same mother and father, so I have many more cousins and a much larger age gap.  I think the oldest is 62 years old, and the youngest must be around 35 years old.  I am not as close to all of those cousins. In fact, I don't even know the names and ages of a few of them.  Or where they even live now.  But there were a few that I spent a lot of time with growing up, and am still close to today.  The birthday party today is one of those families. 

Actually, the grandmother is my first cousin, and the party is for her two grandchildren.  She is not much younger than my parents, since my dad became an uncle at the age of 4, so it was like her three daughters were my first cousins since we were the same age.  When we moved far from our family for my dad's job when I was seven, this is one of the families that came to visit us. Twice.  I have pictures of me and my two siblings in sleeping bags on the floor with these three cousins. Their oldest daughter and I were very into scrapbooking for awhile and spent many Saturdays together doing albums.  Their middle daughter is the same age as my sister, and they got into lots of trouble together as kids and young adults.  The party today is for the children of the youngest daughter.  I would say she is the one I know the least, but she is still someone I know I can call at anytime and she'll be there  They are very close sisters, and they have always treated me like an extended sister as well.  I love them, all of them.  And I can't imagine my life without them.  

So today I celebrate the birthdays of two sweet little babes whose Mommy has been a lifelong friend.  And I am grateful to call them all "family". 

Heaven Is For Real - Book Review

A friend of mine suggested that we read the book "Heaven Is For Real: A Little Boy's Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back".  I was not overly excited about reading it, but I added my name to the long waiting list at the library and forgot about it.  The day before we left on vacation, my name came up on the list for an mp3 audio checkout of the book.  I downloaded it and planned to listen to it on my ipod when it was my turn to drive.  Once I started listening, however, I couldn't stop.  I really enjoyed it. More than I thought I would. 

I was a bit of a skeptic because the book is written by the boy's father, Todd Burpo, who just happens to be a church pastor.  I didn't want to hear preaching about living a good life to get into heaven.  It was not like that at all.  Mr. Burpo shared the events of his 4-year old son's illness and his family's struggles, all without a preaching tone.  He did share passages from the bible that he recalled when his son spoke of specific things, but I appreciated hearing those connections.  It reminded me that I DO know a lot about the bible and scripture, and maybe those six years of Catholic education were not a complete waste. 

Since finishing the book, I have found myself saying quick prayers here and there for other people.  According to Colton Burpo, God and the angels are listening.  Who am I to disagree with him?  As a child, my prayers seemed to be more like wishes than prayers - "God, I would love a new bike" or "God, a Ken doll would be so fun to play with".  As a young adult, they were selfish prayers - "help me do well on this exam"; "please don't let them cash that check before I get paid"; "I really don't want my parents to know that I did that". 

Then I stopped praying for a long time.  It didn't seem like it mattered.  Was anyone really up there listening to me?  Colton Burpo says someone is listening.  But he says they listen harder to the prayers offered up for others.  Since listening to this story, I started praying again, but I am focusing my prayers on others.  I pray for my friend from high school battling cancer.  I pray for an acquaintance who will have a double mastectomy next week. I pray for a family member undergoing heart surgery.  

I'm sure I will still offer up prayers for myself.  And I would be willing to bet they will be selfish or sound like wishes from time to time:

"Dear God, please let my son follow directions today.  All day.  The first time he hears the direction."

Hopefully I will remember Colton's message and trust in a power higher than myself.  And maybe, somehow, I will be listening closely enough to hear an answer to my prayers from time to time. 

Gift 2 - Thanks, Mom

My gift for today is for my Mom.  She is my rock.  I can always count on her to do ANYTHING for me ANYTIME I need her.  I know that I don't give back to her nearly as much as she gives to me.  I tell myself that I will have more time for her when my kids are a bit older and don't need me as much.  But does that day come, really?  I am an adult, a mother of two, and I still rely on my mom to listen to me, comfort me, and help me when I'm in a bind.  I likely will be that person for my children for many more years to come.  I hope. 

So when will it be my mom's turn? 

My mom is that person who always puts others before herself.  She has always been that way.  She took care of her younger brothers, she took care of her children, she took care of her elderly mother, she took care of her co-workers, she took care of her mentally ill brother.  Now she takes care of her grandchildren in addition to her children.  However, she would say the grandchildren are fun, part of her reward for working and parenting for so long. 

At some point it has to be her turn, right? 

Today I took my mom to lunch.  My gift was a thank you to her because she took care of our house while we were out of town.  That was a job!  While we were away, our air conditioner stopped working and the internet wires were somehow disconnected.  My mother spent an entire day at my house waiting for repair people to come fix everything.  The internet is fine now, as evidenced by this post, but the air conditioner is done.  We will have to purchase a new unit which will be a major financial burden for us.  My mom felt guilty that she couldn't do more when I started crying on the phone, worried about how we would pay for it.  And I know, if she had the means, she would replace it for us.  That is the kind, giving person that she is.  My mom doesn't need to read "29 Gifts" because she lives it and has been living it for most of her life.  She is a natural giver.

So today my prayer of gratitude is for my mom.  I am so thankful that she is here, that she loves me and my family, and that she is a natural giver.  I hope that she knows how appreciated she is. 

And I hope our budget allows for a new air conditioner sooner rather than later because it is getting hot!