Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Monday Dance Party

Some mornings I wake up already feeling defeated.  I don't know where I am going to summon the energy to spend all day with my boys, keeping them happy and busy and using teachable moments to shape the men they will someday be.  Sometimes I drive to Starbucks and breathe deeply the coffee-soaked air while I wait for my Tall Cinnamon Dolce Latte.  Sometimes I reach in my cupboard for some candy or another sweet treat.  And some days, I pull up iTunes, load our kid-appropriate playlist, and crank up the volume to 11.  The boys come running and we all just DANCE.  We shake our booties and wave our arms and jump on furniture.  I swing the boys around and throw them in the air.  We shout our favorite lyrics and thrash our heads.  And it feels good.  We can't help but smile.  We laugh and connect and move.

There was a time when I was told that dancing was bad.  That if I loved Jesus and wanted to please him, I would keep my hips still and my body motionless whenever I listened to music.  But one day I realized that was wrong.  I believe that our bodies are beautiful, that we are made in God's image, and using my body in this way, to experience joy and inhibition and celebrate, honors God more than anything I can say.  And so I dance.  When I look at my children, breathless, hot, and happy, I know what God sees.  He sees joy.  He sees love. There is no shame or condemnation.  Only dance.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Two Little Boys

Today was amazing.  I am totally buzzing and ready to drop from too little sleep and too much activity, but I am so glad that I was able to do everything I had planned.  After five months of attending all-day school, I was finally able to spend some time observing my son's class, and I was blown away.  My sweet James is almost six years old, and much of his education has been adapted to meet his special needs as an autistic.  This has mostly centered around speech therapy and efforts to fully develop his fine motor skills so that he can someday write and speak to the world at large.  The process has been long and difficult, for, as his first speech therapist explained, she had to start at zero to teach him language.  But this current school year has been marked by tremendous progress on every front, most noticeably an increase in communication.  One example is the yes or no question; for so long, a question asked in this format got no response, then if prompted to answer "yes or no", he would simply repeat "Yes or no."  So we were overjoyed when he began to answer a straight "Yes" or "No", in accordance with his actual wants and needs.

Therefore, I was completely floored to hear my son sing along with FOUR different songs with his class in circle time, followed by an individual recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance.  Does my son know what "One nation, indivisible" or "Liberty and justice for all" mean?  No.  But he said those words, that unifying pledge, without hesitation, and I wanted to cry, my heart was so full.  James actually has a friend in his class, his buddy from the bus, Sam.  I met Sam on the first day of school.  Its hard to miss him.  He's the boy in the wheelchair.  Now, for all the difficulties and extra services needed to raise a child with autism, I cannot imagine how much more Sam's parents have to do for him.  I will admit, whenever I see anyone in a chair, I just think of how much WORK the people around them have to put in.  And here I sat, in this classroom full of children with special needs, feeling so proud of my child and all he has overcome, and then Sam spoke.  He talked back and forth with the teacher about how he lost another tooth over the weekend.  He smiled and participated in the circle time.  A little later, during their free time, with my son happily crashing cars on the floor, I found myself sitting beside Sam.  Somehow spider webs came up, and how that is a spider's home.  I turned to Sam and asked, "Do you live in a web?"  I didn't know what to expect; with my own children, I don't get much of a response from the imaginative conversation attempts.  Sam turned his mega-watt smile on me, and said, "No."  He waited.  "Do you live in a tree?" I asked.  He thought about this for a moment, and his smile got even brighter (how that was possible, I don't know).  "YES!" he said.  "I live in a tree!  Tell the teacher!  Tell her right now!  I live in a tree!"  I started cracking up at his answer, and then we looked around the room and decided that two other boys in the class live in a cave in a mountain, and James and Sam live together in a house in a tree.  In that moment, that small conversation, I got a glimpse of what his parents must feel every day...not how difficult he is, but what a JOY he is.  Yes, his food has to be mashed and thickened for every meal.  An adult is needed to push his chair around the building, and he rides the special bus that has a lift to get him on and off everyday.  But that's the what.  Sam is the who.

It seems to be the theme of my adult life, this realization that every person is actually a person; not a stereotype or a label.  No one thing defines me, nor my children, so why do I always assume that it does others?  Today was amazing.  Not just because my son is getting a fantastic education, but because I am too.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

No Ordinary Marriage

Eight years ago, Chris and I were in the midst of one of the most stressful things a couple can experience: planning a wedding.  Is it any wonder that rich people hire someone to do this for them?  I mean, flowers and locations and photographers and caterers...its exhausting.  Throw in the fact that I thought it would be a fun and low-cost decision to make my own invitations (in what spare time,  I wonder?  I was working a full-time and part-time job, and being an awesome fiancee!).  Something that we said over and over, to each other, to our parents, to those pushy folks trying to upgrade us to the "deluxe" package, was this...We want a nice wedding, but we want a GREAT marriage.  In other words, this is going to be the first day of forever, and its not as important as all the days that will follow it.  This became our mantra.  We are not going to spend a bunch of money.  We are not going to insist that Chris be called "Christopher".  No one is rolling a special mat down the aisle for me to walk on.  We are not rearranging the furniture in the church.  We are simply two people who wish to commit their lives to one another in the presence of God and their loved ones.  The one thing we did spend an excessive amount of preparation for was our vows.  We read books and searched for the perfect words to encompass what was transpiring between us.

We wanted love and joy and peace to be the theme of our special day.  Of course, we invited other people, so that was beyond our control to enforce.  What is it about another person's wedding that makes you want to act crazy? (ahem, father-in-law)  But when all was said and done, we accomplished a fairly low-key wedding and embarked on a marriage that was worth so much more.  I occasionally see or hear about something that someone else is doing for their wedding that makes me want to go back in time and add it to ours, but overall, I know that we put priority on the most important part: the years to come.  Now they are here, they are coming and some have already passed.  We have grown a family and built a home and continue to put a priority on the marriage.  Because now we look around at our loved ones and say this...We don't want to just stay married, we want a GREAT marriage.  Its not enough to just travel life next to each other, to honor the surface commitment of fidelity while allowing all number of mistresses to come between us.  This is so much harder than keeping a wedding small.  This means every day choosing us over me.  It means going against so much of what I see and hear and absorb.  It means patience and grace and side-stepping conversational land mines.  And it means that my husband has to be just as committed to making this great as I am.  The complexity of trust that is essential to a marriage just astounds me when I really think about it.  But he does it, and I keep doing it, and by the grace of God we keep going and loving more every day.  The other day I was reminded of a phrase that sums it up: "There is no short cut to any place worth going."  There is no short cut to a fulfilling marriage, but I refuse to give in to being ordinary.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Those girls

I was having a bit of a stressful week, feeling overwhelmed and underappreciated, when my very darling husband offered to let me take a little break...Go to Chipotle and have a treat and read my book and basically be alone for a while.  Bless that man, I really needed it, and I was able to come home feeling so much better because of it.  But it was not just the silence and personal space that had me rushing in the door and scooping up my babies and excitedly preparing dinner for the family.  When I walked into the restaurant, I spotted Those Girls standing in line just ahead of me.  You know them...if you are like me, you used to be them.  There they stood, a pack of three (isn't it funny how young people always seem to travel in threes?  I never noticed until my mom pointed it out, then laughed every time Melissa, Tracy and I would go somewhere together...especially if we happened to meet up with the Micciches and Mike, and our trio would join their trio... I don't know why, but its a thing), fresh from the gym in their form-fitting shirts and capris, every part of their youthful bodies exactly where its supposed to be, not yet stretched from the growth of a child within.  The young man making their burritos looked like he had hit the jackpot, as he flirted and chatted them up and took A REALLY LONG TIME putting their food together, distracted as he was.  They tossed their hair and giggled at everything that was happening, so that I started to feel a little paranoid that perhaps they were laughing at me, the middle-aged lady behind them trying to stare or become too impatient.  Because, of course, I remember when every boy represented a Possibility...maybe not The One, but someone with whom to spend some time, boost my self-esteem, make me feel special and beautiful.  I remember the butterflies that made eating impossible (a real feat for me, let me tell you) when a Possibility was around, the hope and excitement of the unknown.  As we sat to eat, Those Girls wound up within earshot, and again, I swear, I was trying not to eavesdrop.  But then they told a lengthy story about their friend Rachel, and it was impossible not to tune in with my own name being mentioned so many times.  See, apparently some girls were going back to their dorm room, but accidentally walked in on Rachel and a dude "hooking up hardcore".  Cue more fits of giggles and exclamations, and, oh yes, I am remembering when I was the one walking in on a "hardcore hookup".  Only I think we called it "getting all up on each other" or "like, totally getting it on".  And Those Girls, bless them, made me so glad to be the me I am today, and not the them I was a decade ago.

Every time I sit through a movie or TV show where someone is getting married, and they are stressing about it being "the last time I fall in love" or committing to "one person for the rest of my life!", I have to roll my eyes.  Because I definitely don't miss the stress and confusion and broken heart of young love.  I like the stability of knowing that I am committed to this one man, and he is committed to me, and I know when I will have my next 10,000 kisses, and they will all be wonderful, because I know exactly where to put my lips and where to expect his to be, and I know what he tastes like, and the smell of him up close.  I don't have to worry about if either of us has braces (or both! We'd be stuck together and the principal would have to call the police to separate us!), or terrible breath, or just really does not know what goes where.  Surely I'm not the only one who had some bad first kisses?  And its a relief to know that my husband has seen me at my best and worst, and can mentally do a composite of all those times he's seen me, so that he's not even seeing how bad I might look at any given moment (its a real thing, I heard it on Fresh Air), and certainly not begrudging me for some frizzy hair or dark circles.  I used to try to look "perfect" every day in the throes of youthful obsession, and it is EXHAUSTING.  I would much rather be myself, highs and lows, flaws and fabulous, than depend on a fleeting attraction to sustain a relationship.  And the thing I love the absolute most about this moment in my life?  I live with NO ONE else who is "hooking up hardcore".  I never have to see a roommate topless on my couch with her boyfriend, or hear moans through a wall late at night...the only people getting some at this house are the ones sleeping in my bed.  And that is such a relief.  Because no one should have to confront another person about staying clothed in a common area, or see the genitalia of some other girl's dude.  I don't want to know about anyone else's sex life, and I don't have to!  And I will be so sad to leave this phase of life, especially if it means walking in on one of my boys "crashing" or "boinking" or whatever they'll be calling it in another 20 years (please, let me have this one). 

Oh its good to be 30.  Its good to be happily married.  Its good to no longer be one of Those Girls.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Snow walks

Winter is here!  The snow has been falling for about a week and the days are too cold to melt any of it, and the suns rays are weak whenever they are visible.  I have ambivalence about winter and cold.  On the one hand, I grew up in Dallas, where a cold day was about 50 degrees and necessitated a coat and maybe mittens, but most of the year was hot and sunny.  That became my ideal.  Then my family moved to Ohio, which experiences each season in its glory, and I became entranced by the changes in nature.  The grass is so lush and green in the spring, and the leaves are a rainbow of colors each fall.  Even snow, with its dreadful cold, is a bit of a novelty and delight at first.  I am usually pleased to see its arrival, although by mid-January I'm ready to travel about without its cold sting every time I step outside, and its inconvenient storms making roads hazardous.  We do live here by choice, however, and so I try to make the best of things.  This winter, I am really going outside of my own preference for staying warm and cozy inside by taking the boys out for Snow Walks.  It started last week when the snow came rushing down, and it wasn't safe to get in the car, but the kids were desperately in need of an outing.  So I dressed each of them in their cold weather accessories: sweaters, snowsuits, hats, gloves, boots, winter coats, and we trudged down the street all the way to the playground.



Yes, I brought the wagon, because I knew I couldn't carry one little guy all the way to the park, much less if either of the big boys decided they were done walking when we were any distance from our home.  I did not anticipate how difficult it is to pull a wagon in five inches of snow.  However, we made it to our destination and Winston attempted to use a snow-covered slide.  The results were not great, although he didn't get too upset about getting a face-full of snow.  That was all we had time for, however, as James looked up at me and asked, "Can we go home now?"  And so we returned, slowly, coldly, to our house, which had miraculously transformed itself from a snow prison to a warm, comfy haven.  We have gone on two more snow walks in a week, and although I loathe the numbing of my fingers and toes and the bite of the winter wind, I find that I love the feeling of being the only people outside.  I love the hush of a thick layer of snow on everything.  I love kicking the soft powder off my feet and watching my children frolic in the new sensations.

My children's personalities are completely on display on our Snow Walks.  Winston, second only in birth order, charges ahead, throwing himself into snow drifts and running with abandon.


James, my cautious adventurer, is almost always several steps behind, holding up his pants so the ends don't get wet, although he doesn't realize this permits the snow and cold to get his legs and even his feet, calling out, "I'm going to fall!  I'm going to fall!" despite staying perfectly upright the entire time.  James also enjoys kicking at balls of ice and clumps of snow, which contributes to his place at the end of our caravan.


Finally, the little guy, just one year old and not quite ready to walk along with us through snowy streets and frozen playgrounds, gazes out at the world around him, from his place in my arms or his seat in the wagon.  This is really his first experience with snow, as he was just an infant last winter, which was fairly warm and didn't produce much of the white stuff.  He is warmest of all of us, under his many layers and held close to protect from the wind.  I find myself planning our days around whether we can go out and explore in the snow, and am hoping that my friends are correct in saying this makes me a good mom.  Regardless, its a whole lot of fun!

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

The Worst Years

It is a new day and a new year.  I look back at 2012 with a smile on my face for all the lovely moments that have occurred, for the marriage that continues to grow and strengthen, for the family that keeps going and provides love and laughter and tears and worry.  Its been a good year.  As we all turn our focus to 2013, we are clearly hoping for a good year.  We are hoping for a year of love, of weddings and births instead of funerals and divorce.  We are hoping our politicians will join each other in the aisle instead of standing so far apart.  We are hoping for peace in our communities, in our country, and in our world.  Yes, I want to have a good year.

I know what a bad year is like.  I have 3 years in particular that could be described as the worst years of my life.  The first, 1993, was the year my mom got homesick and insisted that we leave Dallas and move to Ohio.  I spent the year trying to figure out where I fit in with kids who seemed strange to me and didn't have a guidebook to infiltrate their customs.  I resented my mom for taking me away from my home.  I experienced snow for the first time, and the novelty wore off within a few weeks, so that I was cold and lonely.  Next, 2000, my first year at college and the year I spent in depression barely getting out of bed.  The year I felt alone again, and even lost myself for a while.  Then came 2008, the year my parents were separated and my sister moved back to Texas, when I was unemployed and staying home with James and getting sick from the baby growing inside me, and my husband worked all day and then went to school in the precious few hours left each day.  Those years were the worst.  When I was so alone and couldn't even tell anyone what was going on, because no one seemed to understand or care.  But...

When I moved to Ohio, I met Melissa.  By the end of 6th grade, that terrible lonely year, we were best friends, and she has been there for me ever since.  When I graduated high school and started college, I started dating Chris.  By 2001, I was in love with the man I am spending my life with.  And in 2009, my parents got back together and Winston was born, and Chris finally got his degree so that he could be promoted and spend more time with our growing family.

Going through those worst years was...the worst.  But out of each, something good and meaningful and long-lasting came.  In the worst years of my life, I found hope and friendship and joy at the end.  The years in between have been exciting and fun and full of love.  So, while I truly hope that 2013 is even better than 2012, I can't say that I hope its not the worst.  Because I know that it will end, and I can't wait to see what it gives me going forward.