Feeling Inside Out

We took our kids to see Inside Out on Father's day.  It seemed like a great family activity, and a way to celebrate the Daddy who does so much for us.  We are all happiest, it seems, at the movie theater.  With popcorn and sugary drinks, with bags of Skittles passed down the row, with the lights dimmed and the magic of Tinseltown at work in front of us.  I was excited, of course, because Pixar movies never disappoint, with their tight stories, gorgeous animation, and that amazing ability to delight both children and their parents.  But I was also feeling nervous.  I had done a little research the week before, listening to the director, Pete Docter, on Fresh Air with Terri Gross.  It was fascinating to hear how the film's writers and animators had worked out the story, learned about the functions of the brain, and chosen the actors to voice the characters.  There was a key element to the movie that I knew would hit a little too close to home, though.  The movie shows the emotional life of Riley, an 11year old girl who has just moved across the country with her parents.  Pete Docter shared that this was chosen as the catalyst for the Emotions to get out of whack because his family had moved when he was 11.  But it's more than Riley's story and Pete Docter's story; it is also my story.

When I was 11, just finishing the fifth grade, my parents decided to move from my hometown of Dallas, Texas to Ohio.  In fact, I missed the last day of school to help load our Ryder moving truck, and we spent the night as a family at motel near the highway in order to get an early start in the morning and try to miss the Dallas rush hour.  I even lost my last baby tooth during our move.  In Texas, I was a basketball player, a native well-versed in the state's history, a Cowboys fan, occasionally too loud, occasionally too aggressive.  I loved school and my teachers, I knew every inch of my neighborhood, from the well-worn paths where my sister and I rode our bikes to the cavernous stormwater pipes that ran under our street.  I had friends and I was confident.  And then we moved, and much of that changed.

It wasn't until I watched Inside Out this past summer that I could finally articulate what that move was like for me.  There it was, playing out on the giant screen, the way everything around changes while everything inside is changing too.  For me, growing up felt like a severing of myself.  Childhood was in Texas and adolescence was in Ohio.  I imagine that people who don't move in the middle of their young lives probably have a stronger feeling of integration, that the places where you have your first kiss or your first job are the same places where you used to play with your friends or shop with your parents.  Just like Riley, I struggled to fit in at my new school, to be excited about the changes in my life.  And just like Riley, I lost pieces of myself along the way.  The friends I left behind disappeared like Bing Bong in the Memory Dump.  Basketball was different, and within a few years I switched from being an athlete to being a band geek.  I lost some of that confidence too, the feeling of belonging, of being home.  It took many years, and a few more moves, for me to find that again.

Then there is the final lesson of Inside Out, the realization that all of one's feelings have merit and purpose, and that Sadness is necessary to move forward.  It felt like I was sad for a full year, overwhelmed and confused and struggling.  I longed to go back, to return to the Lone Star state and my real life.  But that wasn't happening.  Yet it was in that sad state that a new self was born.  I became the sapling of the woman I am today, sarcastic and pensive and loyal and silly.  I made new friends, developed new hobbies, found new places to ride my bike and new ways to express myself.  It wasn't easy, but probably no one feels like it is easy to get older.  And it created something special inside me, a sense of compassion and tenderness towards girls entering 6th grade and experiencing all those changes.

It's amazing how it all works out, isn't it?  How the places where you feel the most pain and challenge become the places where you are most able to help others, how the worst times lead to the best times.    And how home turns out not to be the place you left, but the place where you arrive.

This One's for the Girls

Do you remember that Martina McBride song, "This One's for the Girls"?  It came out around the time I was living on my own and spreading my wings, and it was my anthem for awhile.  The verses are directed to girls of different ages.  To the girls in high school, Martina urges them to "stand their ground when everyone's giving in".  To the girls in their twenties, "living on dreams and Spagettio's", she encourages them to embrace the journey of life.  To the girls in their forties (and older, presumably, since her video features grannies in their seventies and eighties), Martina reminds them that "every laugh line on your face made you who you are today."  I love this song because it recognizes that as we age, we enter a new stage of life.  We shift our priorities and our hopes, we live differently.

First class, baby!

This week, I spent several days in airports and hotels.  It reminded me SO MUCH of my early twenties, the magical two years between college and marriage when I worked as a flight attendant.  I was living on dreams and Spagettio's in those days.  But I was living.  Instead of taking the job that I could do and would pay my bills, I took the job that excited me and enabled me to travel extensively. I went to Europe and saw aurora borealis and explored museums and new cities.

Just moments before I went overboard...

After two years, I came to a very natural shift that made me want to leave the world of airlines and suitcases and settle down to build a home and a family.  For the last ten years, the most important role of my life has been a wife and a mother.  I have lived.  I have danced in my living room and skidded in a mess of vomit and ridden carousels and been the giver and receiver of a million hugs.

We are smiling to hide our fear.

But another shift is coming; I am in the midst of it as I type this.  My children are growing up.  This school year is the first time I've had all of my kids enrolled in school. (The youngest is going to preschool twice a week, so a minor shift for now.)  I feel this pull to embrace a new season of life.  There is so much that excites me, so many passions to sift through.  I want to advocate for children and orphans, for those with special needs and those who have experienced abuse.  I want to be the air that lifts the wings of the women in my life, the way other women have been for me.  I want to do the hard work of healing and unity that brings people together in my city.  I want to keep living.

Windswept at the beach.  Sports Illustrated turned me down.

So that's been the reflection on my mind these past few days.  There is so much risk in life, isn't there?  There's the bad risk, like getting in a car with a drunk driver. (If you want to know why this is bad, ask Princess Diana. Oh wait, you can't.)  There are bad risks, like staying in an abusive relationship, or mismanaging your money so you end up homeless.  But there are good risks too, risks like moving to a new city or taking a job that challenges you.  Risks like saying hello to a stranger or going out to feed the broken and suffering people of the world.

Could not get the boys on board for this one

The thing about these life shifts is that the definition of risk changes with them.  A young woman with no children can travel to far off places and follow her dreams.  A suburban mom can choose to petition her government to adapt the Nordic Model or start ministering to women coming out of addiction.  A woman facing retirement can decide to mentor teen moms and march for racial unity.  Each of these are brave, risky lives.  Each of them follow the advice of Martina McBride, to "love without holding back, to dream with everything they have."

Ladies, I have lived my life.  And I have many, many more years to keep going, to choose life over comfort and safety.  So do you.  I believe that the worst thing we can do with these years is to hide away, to choose easy, to watch the world pass us by.  What kind of life is that?  Courage is not something we are born with, it is something we take hold of and grow the more we use it.  The time for careful planning and deliberation is over.  Get up and live.

Back to School

My kids head back to school next week.  Now that the supplies have been purchased and the calendar is marked, I find myself thinking back.  Remembering five years ago, the battery of tests (and isn't that a great phrase? because I remember feeling quite battered by the time it was all over) our son went through just before his third birthday.  All the forms and interviews and professionals that we visited, all pointing to one thing...an Autism Spectrum Disorder.  Although I remained unconvinced, desperately trying to find the reason why my son fit into the autism category when what going on with him had to be something else, anything else, something that we could fix in a day or a month or a year but not this word, this lifelong label.  Knowing that if his brain was different that it wouldn't be a quick fix and back to life as usual, but years of IEP meetings and speech therapy and adapting, because doctors can fix broken bones and teachers can make children literate and parents can give their children love and nutritious food and a safe home but no one can change a person's brain.  So I listened to the experts and held firm to my belief that I could figure this out, I could solve the mystery of what was going on inside my child.  In the meantime, I would follow the advice that everyone seemed to agree upon: enroll James in an early intervention preschool and begin speech therapy.

Preschool Graduation

I remember visiting the preschool, meeting the teacher who would have James in her class for two years, and I remember so vividly the fear.  My son was essentially non-verbal, and they wanted me to drop him off with these people for three hours a day.  How would I know what was happening to him for that period of time?  There was no way he would be able to tell me.  And they said they never physically disciplined children or locked them in closets or left them unsupervised, but of course they said that because it's illegal.  But the reason why we have laws against those things is because they have happened in the past, and what's to stop a preschool teacher from going power mad in a room of 3 and 4 year olds with developmental disabilities and sketchy communication skills?  I lived with this anxiety for a few weeks, as we prepared our son for school and more so after we dropped him off the first day.  What it basically came down to is a lack of trust.  I know how much I love my child, how powerful the desire to nurture and protect him is.  But I didn't believe that anyone else would feel the same way when they looked into his big hazel eyes and held his chubby little hand.

They might save the world, but today their mission is CANDY!

I still don't know how that year went for him.  I have no idea what he thought of school, how he was treated by the staff and the other children, what he learned and what he wished was different.  All I know is that he kept going.  That he quickly stopped crying when I brought him to the door to drop him off and that he smiled when I came to pick him up.  That the boys in his class called him "Little Screamer" and attempted to hoot and squeal with him, thinking that was his primary language (in a way, it was).  That he frequently hugged his teacher and occasionally brought home art projects that he had made with assistance.  That his teacher did a unit on the story books of Mo Willems because James loved the Pigeon books and Knuffle Bunny.

It continues to be a guide to me, watching my son for signs of happiness or distress.  It is the best indicator of how he is being treated when I'm not around, if the time has come to withdraw from a place or activity or if it is okay to continue.  I know he loves his swim lessons, because we passed the exit recently and he told me to turn around and go back.  I know he had a good time at VBS because I came to pick him up and he was dancing to the music (Let me pause here and say that beyond the baby booty shaking to Elmo songs, James does not dance. Ever.)  I know he has found a good friend in Ian because he gets excited when he comes over and willingly shares video games with him.  I know he is surrounded by caring adults at church because he hugs them and sits with them and remembers their names.

And then, this summer, he shocked me by doing something new.  We spent the fourth of July on a riverboat cruise of Pittsburgh, which the kids LOVED because it was water and boats and they drank Sprite and it really doesn't take more than that to delight them.  We were on a walk later and James turned to me and asked, "Mommy, did you like the boat ride?"  I felt like kneeling and kissing the ground, or picking him up and twirling like Maria in "The Sound of Music".  It was a huge development, and it's something he's never done before.  But I kept my mom cool and I answered his question and then asked if he liked it.  He responded and there we were having an actual conversation about what we did that day.  It happened again a few weeks later on a more mundane summer day, but we talked back and forth about what we liked and what we did and I got to hear in words how my son feels.

First day of 2nd Grade

My kids head back to school next week.  Now that the supplies have been purchased and the calendar is marked, I find myself thinking ahead.  What will James experience this year?  How much will he be able to tell me about afterwards?  Yes, his brain is different, and our lives involve IEP meetings and speech therapy and adapting, and there is no way to change a person's brain.  But this kid is surrounded by people who love him and help him learn and protect him.  And there is no limit to what he will do.

Because It's Just a Phase

I went out for a date tonight with my husband.  It was sunny and cool and I was hungry, so we went to a restaurant and talked about the big stuff and laughed about the little stuff and shared our food with each other and held hands.  And somewhere between the mozzarella sticks and the ice cream I started thinking about my friends, so many of whom have become parents this past year.  I was thinking about you all and wondering if you're having trouble getting out of the house and leaving the baby with someone else.  (Maybe you are the one having a hard time, maybe the kiddo is screaming when you pass her off to Grandma, maybe it's a little of both.)  Whew, I remember those days.

First-time parents, 2007

I remember when James was just a month old and my parents came over at dinner time and they said, "Leave the baby with us.  Go meet Chris for dinner."  See back in those days, my husband took classes in the mornings and worked all afternoon and came home around 11pm.  I had just stopped working to take care of the baby and didn't really know what I was supposed to be doing all day.  (I watched old seasons of Gilmore Girls and read novels and took the baby for a walk most days.)  So with my parents pushing me out the door, I headed over to my husband's work and met him for his dinner break and we went to Taco Bell and stared at each other until finally he said, "This feels weird."  Because it had been just the two of us for a while, we'd done this plenty of times, but now we were three, and it felt strange to be without the baby.

First Father's Day, 2007

Those early days of parenthood are around-the-clock marathons of giving and sacrificing and bonding so intensely with this new little person.  And it took months, no--years, for us to be able to walk out the door without our little kid screaming and crying and chasing after us.  There were times when I changed my mind about leaving.  Times when it just didn't feel right, I didn't trust the person who was supposed to be taking care of him, so I didn't go.  But there were other times when I knew he would calm down and have fun, I just had to leave and let him realize that other people could take care of him for awhile.  I needed to realize that other people could take care of him too.

Imaginative Play, 2013

But tonight...the boys were invited to come make cookies with Nana, so we loaded up the car.  Everybody grabbed their shoes and socks, and with a little help from us, we were all ready to go.  We pulled in my parents' driveway and there were squeals of delight from the back seat.  "NANA'S HOUSE!!"  I got out of the car, but the kids were already through the door and shoes were off again and by the time I walked inside, they had all dispersed to different corners.  I said a quick hi and thanks to my mom for the opportunity to go out, and as I turned to go, Mikey came running around the corner.  "Hey buddy, I'll see you in a little bit!" I said.  "Okay Mommy, bye bye!" he called over his shoulder as he kept running.

Birthday Bowling, 2014

And it hit me.  You guys, it's just a phase.  Those days of guilt and ambivalence and crying every time you leave...it doesn't last forever.  Those summer afternoons of breastfeeding and napping and bleary-eyed everything.  Those days of camera constantly in hand to document all the amazing, breath-taking NEWNESS.  Those frustrating hours when you just want them to sleep a little so you can look at Facebook or read a magazine or take a shower.  Those moments of doubt when you're sure you're getting it all so very wrong because it just doesn't look like how you thought it would look, your kid doesn't seem to be doing all the stuff the other kids are doing, your hair is messed and all the other moms seem fashionable and put-together.  It's just a phase.  I promise you, just keep going.  You can get through this day and this hour and this moment.  You can do this!!  You are the only person uniquely qualified to care for this little person.  To him, you are the master of the universe.  You control the weather and you make the food and you carry him around and your smile is like seeing the face of God.  And it won't last forever, this 24 hour caregiving.  There will come a day when you drop your kids off at the grandparents' house and they barely notice you leaving.  There will come a day when they walk to the playground with their brother or a friend and you stay behind.  There will come a day when they start reading books to themselves at night while you sit in the other room.  And those are all good things.  Because it's just another phase.

Spreading His Wings, 2014

College Memories

"Failure. Anyone working toward meaningful change will taste it often. When that happens, the frustration we feel turns inward, and suffocates. Self-loathing and a toxic sludge of shame can follow.

If frustration is the fuel for the engine of change, then grace is coolant that keeps the thing from exploding. When we fail on the path to New, extending grace to ourselves is vital. It is only with grace that we can stand back up and keep walking, smiling and laughing at how we fell."  -"Science" Mike McHargue

Commencement May 2002

I have an uneasy relationship to my alma mater.  I am a college graduate, which makes me proud, but I don't use my degree, which makes me feel bad.  I am an alumni, but not one who is able to make generous financial contributions.  And because I don't have a "job", I don't really need to network or make connections through mixers and alumni events.  But I still read the magazine that comes in the mail and check the emails.  It's how I got this lovely computer that I am typing on.  With that positive experience in the recent past, I decided to accept an invitation to bring my family up to Kent for the annual "Tray Fest" aka sledding down the hilly Front Campus.  This sounded fun.  And since I didn't do social activities when I was actually a student, it would give me the opportunity to create memories with my kids.

But the yucky feelings began as we loaded up the car with gloves and sleds and extra clothes.  I got on the familiar road that I traveled so many times alone, this time with my whole family.  And I felt a sense of dread.  It has been almost 13 years since I graduated, and at least 10 since I've been on the campus.  College was easily the worst few years of my life.  It was a time when I was the least healthy version of myself, when I was chasing all the wrong things and dissatisfied with what resulted.  I lost myself in the crush of brick buildings and well-dressed girls and heavy books and emptiness inside.

Apple Hall girls

Why was my reticence so linked to this place?  I mean, it's not the location that caused my depression or deprived me of friendship.  It's not like anyone actively sought to destroy my happiness and peace of mind.  It was merely the setting, the backdrop of my misery.  I ran through the usual list of regrets, all the things I should have done differently.

Upon arriving, there was a jarring sense of worlds colliding: thirty-something me with kids in tow revisiting where young adult me used to walk.  My irresponsible and immature past overshadowed by the people who depend on me everyday.  And, inexplicably, a fear that no one would talk to me or even say something mean.

Daredevils January 2015

Then my kids worked their magic.  They eagerly climbed aboard their sleds and shrieked and laughed and hollered as they rocketed down a very slippery and very steep hill.  We took turns riding down with them and helping them mount their plastic chariots.  People talked to us, mostly to comment how much fun was being had and how determined and brave the boys were. (They really are. Wow. So proud of these kids.)  By the time our fingers and toes and noses were red and stiff with cold, I was enjoying myself.  I was filled with a sense of nostalgia, remembering the classes I took in the buildings around us.  I found myself wondering if the boys would come back here someday as young men.  I pointed out the places I used to go as we drove around the campus.  I showed them the library and the parking lot that I was only lucky enough to use about four times, as it filled quickly each morning.  We passed the massive gym, "the Rec", and they begged to go inside.  Chris told them they would have to grow older and become students for that to happen.  It didn't fill me with fear for their tender hearts.  I think these kids are going to be okay.  Sure, they will struggle and fail at times, but their struggles and failures will be their own; they won't be mine.

We drove home with french fries and laughter, and I felt my memories reset.  Yes, I could have done things differently...but I know that now, only because of the pain I experienced to learn about myself. Is it fun to be lonely?  NO.  But it helps point me in the direction of healthy relationships.  Is it exciting to feel your mind sink into despair and lose sight of the future?  NO.  But I am grateful for each day since then that has dawned and the life that continues to grow and evolve out of that desperate place.  Is it pleasant to grasp at the pieces of yourself as they disappear and realize that you are left with nothing?  NO.  But sometimes we need to empty ourselves for better thoughts and ideas to take root and grow.  My years in college were miserable, but my college didn't make me miserable.  I was suffering the pains of growing and becoming something new.  And you guys, I love who I have become.  I am so glad to be the woman sledding down the hill with her wonderful boys and laughing with her husband.  I love the friends who surround me and encourage me and redeem all the hurt from toxic relationships in the past.  I'm glad for the distance from who I used to be, and the promise of who I am becoming.

Future student? January 2015

Let me end with a quote from Mikey, who is very eager to plan his future and experience EVERYTHING:  "When my teeth fall out, I get big, and I grow tall, then I can go to the gym and be student at college."

On Your 31st Birthday

On our way to Prom, 2001

If you met your husband when you were both 17, you may be so impressed with the person he has become by 31 that you have to wonder if he's the same person.  Because you remember that boy who made your insides vibrate when he looked at you, talked to you, made you laugh.  You remember how strong his pull was, that you just wanted to be around him all the time.  And then your flirtation became a Relationship, and you went from being two lovely, perfect creatures to real people with flaws and differing points of view.  And you watched him spend his graduation money on CDs at Best Buy, and then hide them under his driver's seat because his mom would lecture him about it and you wondered if someday you would be the one he would hide things from under the driver's seat.  And he made friends with a ridiculous group of guys at college, and you were grateful for the distance because it meant you didn't have to go with them on group outings and when he told you stories about them over the phone he didn't see how many times you rolled your eyes.  And you wondered if they would ruin him, this sweet boy who gave you the cherry off his ice cream sundaes and waited weeks to kiss you, who wrote you silly poems and insisted that you had to have A Song because all couples have A Song, and when you decided on one you both liked, he preferred the one from the Notting Hill soundtrack and you were adamant that it had to be the Alison Krauss version.  So you weighed these things, the douchebag friends and the daddy issues and the conflict avoidance and the fact that he was really cute and had a nice car and loved you and when he held you it was like the earth shifted so that everything was right at last.  You didn't know which was more important and you wanted it to be like a math equation, except math was always your worst subject and this wasn't an algebra test, this was real life, this was maybe the most important decision ever, whether to fall head over heels or turn and run.  And then suddenly, it wasn't a choice anymore, it was inevitable that your life was going to merge with his, and so when he got down on one knee, you barely listened to everything that he said, you just waited for that question so you could say YES!  And then the day came when you said your vows, you were both still so young, but you'd been to weddings where the bride and groom were both younger than you, and it made you feel like you were old getting married at 22.  And it didn't take two weeks before you realized just how vulnerable you had made yourself, that you had given this person your life and your heart and he could destroy you completely.  And every time you passed one of those billboards for "when a diamond isn't forever", you prayed that you'd never have to call 1-800-DIVORCE, that you would treat each other as tenderly as the cake you placed in each others' mouths in that rented hall as everyone looked on.  Because he was still a boy, so much so that when you opened a drawer to put your clothes with his you found a note from his mom that said "Don't forget to shower and put on deodorant" and you couldn't believe that the person who held your heart had trouble remembering something so basic.

First Father's Day 2007

But you built a home together, one that was filled with garage sale furniture that you proudly brought home in your tiny Saturn, and the Dave Matthews posters decorating your bedroom, and the ceiling above the bathtub that caved in so you could wave up to the couple who lived upstairs and fought constantly until one day the lady was gone and it was silent up there and the ceiling was fixed and you didn't see anyone anymore.  And you learned together, and when he got the call that his aunt died, you knew that as much as your heart was breaking, his was breaking worse, and so you held it together and packed his black pants and sport coat and held his hand.  And when you peed on that stick and the two pink lines popped up, and you felt dizzy and sick and completely overwhelmed, he hugged you and insisted on going out for steak to celebrate because this was Good News, and he held it together while you puked and cried and threatened to shove a peanut butter sandwich down his throat, so help me God I wanted crunchy peanut butter, not creamy, and he drove to Taco Bell at 1am because you just had to have a crunchy taco (what was with the crunchy cravings?).  And when you held that baby in your arms, that life that you created together, you looked at him and didn't see a boy anymore, he had somehow become a man, a father, and he took that title so seriously and went to work without complaining anymore, and said, Yes of course you should be home with the baby, I'll make the ends meet all by myself, and suddenly you were home owners and he was cleaning out gutters and mowing the yard.  And you tried not to be surprised every month when he paid the bills on time, but it was still hard to believe that he was prioritizing the mortgage over a new Playstation.  And then another baby came and he shocked you even more by cleaning the bathroom without being asked and he learned to cook really good food and suddenly he was switching from Sports Center to the Food Network and was so confident and in charge.  And so you returned to the math equation, the listing of the good and bad, and his hair was disappearing every day, but so was Prince William's and if its okay for a prince then it should be good enough for the love of your life, and beyond the looks you noticed integrity and honesty and maturity, handling difficult situations and refinancing the house to get a lower interest rate and getting up in the middle of the night to clean up the kids' puke and then coming in and cleaning up your puke and you knew that you couldn't do it if the situation was reversed.  And he updates your phone and finds educational apps for the iPad, and even after all these years, he makes you laugh.  And when your car breaks down on vacation and your aunt dies and your sister moves across the country and the doctors say there is something wrong with your son, he holds your hand and there is no one you would rather be with when everything is falling apart.  And when your bank account is overflowing and your best friend comes for a visit and the flowers that you planted are blooming, there is no one you would rather be with.  And then you discover this common desire, this wish to give a child a home, and together you fill out the endless paperwork and go to the classes and then suddenly the phone is ringing and there is a baby for you, and together you nurse this little life and make him your own and you see that the love he has for the new child is just as fierce and strong as the love he has for the ones you made together.  And you hear him at night, tucking the kids in bed, praying with them, reading from the storybook Bible, and you know that he is sharing his deepest self with them.

Family picture 2012

You wonder.  Where is that 17 year old boy?  Of course he is still there in the face, if you Wooly Willy some hair back down his forehead and trim the beard back so its just a goatee, and when the radio station plays hits from the 90's, you see him in the man bobbing back and forth and rocking out to the songs you both loved from the time when you were falling in love.  And he's there in the laugh that still shakes his whole body and the earnest eyes that are all-too-often weary and frustrated these days, when the kids won't go to bed and the appliances need to be replaced and there aren't enough hours in the day.  And you realize that he needs to get away, to take a few days and relax, and so you book a cabin for two and you get your parents to watch the boys and once again you pack his bags because he is threatening to only bring a toothbrush and you know that the people you pass by on your little trip will definitely not want to be seeing all of that.  And you try to think of a way to let him know just how much he means to you, how much better your life is because he's in it, and you hope that he feels the same about you.  You hope he still sees glimpses of that 17 year old girl you used to be, the one who loved to watch movies and eat ice cream and laugh at all his jokes.  The one who always had a hard time saying the Real Stuff out loud, who never quite got the right tone of voice to say "I love you" and didn't know what to think of a boy opening doors for her and offering to hold her purse.

Cousins

I'm making some last minute preparations for tomorrow.  My mom and her sisters have worked for several months to arrange a special "cousin reunion", gathering their children, since the years and the miles have moved us far beyond the people we used to be, when family get-togethers were mandatory and forced proximity turned us into unlikely friends or bitter rivals.  In a strange collision of intentions, we are all gathering near my grandparents farm, the family beacon in years past.  Now its the place where our grandpa is fading, rapidly changing from our lively, vibrant patriarch into a sick old man.  What was meant to be a day of catching up has turned into a chance to say goodbye, and hopefully to remember what we mean to each other.

Its time like this when I get nostalgic, when my mind shuffles through images and feelings, funny stories and scary moments.  I remember traveling to the farm one winter, driving for hours from Texas and arriving, FINALLY, at a darkened farmhouse with a distinctive smell that makes me think of soft wood and baking bread, cows mooing in the distance and wet grass underfoot.  Grandma stayed up to greet us, and took us up the stairs to the middle bedroom, where snores crept up from a mattress on the floor and we somehow lucked into the bed.  Crawling under cool sheets with my sister as our parents disappeared down the hall, wondering who else was sleeping behind those closed doors, who was asleep on the floor?  Then morning, food sizzling in the kitchen, coffee wafting through the house, parents with scratchy voices murmuring to each other somewhere downstairs, thundering footsteps barging in, "Wake up!  Wake up!"  When we lived in Texas, we saw our cousins so infrequently that it took me a day to remember who belonged to who, what was his name again, where do they live? 

from left: Judy, Grandma, John, Papa, Marla, Jacquie, Jayne (1970?)

Aunt Judy (the oldest) was married to Uncle Rusty (neither of them went by their actual names), and they were parents to Christel, Megan, Jeremy (who now goes by AJ), and David.  Christel is the oldest cousin, born when my mom was still a teenager.  David was allergic to everything, but somehow unfrosted PopTarts were okay for him to eat, and I would watch him with envy at the breakfast table, as I spooned oatmeal or high-fiber, low-sugar cereal into my mouth.  Aunt Jacquie (second oldest) married Uncle Ross, and they adopted Ryan and Erynne.  There was a time many years ago when I wanted to marry Ryan, and thought we'd be safe since we weren't actual blood relatives.  Thank goodness that never came to pass, or I might be forced to live in Canada, cheering for hockey and enduring 9 months of winter.  Erynne was closest to my age, and this made our mothers think we should be instant friends, but we spent many years fighting over ridiculously unimportant things it took the hormonal balance of adulthood to clear the way for us to actually like seeing each other.  Aunt Jayne (the middle child) married Uncle Gene and they were parents to Karen and Jarrod.  Karen and Jarrod were just old enough to be considered examples of everything cool that I would never be, but not so old that they were a complete mystery to me.  I remember sitting in Karen's bedroom, playing with her Peaches N Cream Barbie doll, flipping through her novels (I'm pretty sure that's when I read VC Andrews, thanks for the nightmares!), studying her like a celebrity on the cover of US Weekly.  When I'm 16, I thought, I'm going to perm my hair and wear acid-washed jeans just like her!  Jarrod, on the other hand, was like a template of inscrutable boy.  He was just as likely to be found reading a Louis L'Amour novel as cleaning his cross-bow, helping Grandpa with the farm chores or playing a video game.  What did it all mean?  I could never quite figure it out, but I knew that with Jarrod around, there would always be a second meal option whenever sloppy joes were on the menu.  Thank you, cousin for sharing my dislike of glopping meat between a bun.  My grandparents must have been so excited when they finally had a boy, my Uncle John (finally someone to balance out all the estrogen!)...so excited that they lost all sense and had my mom exactly one year later.  She was such a surprise that they abandoned the J name scheme and called her Marla.  Uncle John is married to Aunt Kathy, and they decided to fill their house to bursting with Jonathan, Will, Emily, Mary Kate, and Nathan.  Nathan is our youngest cousin, and now that he is 18 and graduated from high school, we are all officially adults.  I always loved to be around my Uncle John's family, because they projected such a sense of unity and love.  I've never heard them fight or call each other names, although certainly people have lost their patience or needed their space in such a large group.  For most of my life, my Aunt Kathy was the only mom I knew who stayed home with her kids.  I don't know if it made a difference, but she really seemed to enjoy them.  She was the one who would take us to an indoor pool in the winter or to the park in the summer.  I know its a daunting task to add two more kids to your group of five, but she never seemed to mind the extras.  And then there's me and Liz at the end.

Grandma and Papa surrounded by their grandchildren 1987?

One time, when all five families found themselves at the farm, it was decided that the adults would sleep inside and the girl cousins would stay overnight in our grandparents large camper parked in the driveway.  The boy cousins were relegated to a smaller, pop-out camper near the barn, but such is the luck of the less plentiful gender.  It had gotten very late, and Karen suggested that someone sneak into the house to get popsicles for us all.  She and Megan left on the mission, since Karen could navigate the house in the dark, and apparently Megan was quiet and sneaky enough to be a good accomplice.  For whatever reason (really ladies, why?), the oldest cousins (Christel, Karen, and Megan) decided to scare the younger ones (myself, Erynne, and Liz), by returning to the camper and telling us in solemn voices that bears had broken into the house and killed all our parents.  With a property surrounded by trees, and the darkness closing in, I took their words at face value and spent the night alternating between crying into my pillow and trying to figure out who would take me in now that I was an orphan.  I hoped I would fare better than Sarah in A Little Princess or Annie.  But with the morning sun came the revelation that the night had passed like all the others, and our parents were alive and well and sipping coffee in the kitchen.

Emily, Melissa, Will, Mary Kate, Jonathan 2008

For many years, while we lived closer and saw everyone more often, I looked forward to seeing my cousins.  I knew I could count on noise and activity, expeditions around the farm and whispered secrets, endless viewings of Turner and Hooch (one of three movies my grandparents owned, and apparently deemed child-friendly by our savvy parents).  It was a time when I knew we were having more fun at the kid table, when my grandparents had transformed their wooded "backyard" into a magical hiding place with a babbling brook and secret trails, and every moment was full of possibility.  We started to dwindle as first Christel went to college and got married, then everyone else followed suit.  My cousins moved to Massachusetts, Montana, Michigan, North Carolina, Georgia, and some ridiculously northern town in Ontario (Collingwood?).  And then it was my turn to fly the coop.  It didn't seem so important to come back, and my cousins became a memory.

But now, thanks to facebook and email, I'm looking forward to seeing them again.  I think we might have more in common than we think, and I'm hoping a little bit of what made those days special will transform our time together once more.  Its going to be a job, remembering who belongs to who, what's his name again, and where do they live?  Because we've multiplied, and I hope we can all squeeze into a picture with Grandma and Papa one more time.

Great Expectations

I felt like a different person last night.  I offered up an invitation on facebook..."Any ladies want to come over and watch Pitch Perfect after 8pm?" and three of them said yes.  The boys went to bed, my husband made popcorn and then disappeared upstairs, and we watched a funny, girly, grown-up movie together in the middle of the week.  One thing I've lost in motherhood is this time to sit and watch together with girlfriends.  The last time I watched a movie with a friend at home was a year ago when I spent the night with my best friend in Columbus, and after karaoke and Taco Bell, we stayed up ridiculously late to watch Bridesmaids.  Before that?  I think I had one kid, and I watched Mad Men at a friend's house.  I miss that friend time.  Because, of course, once the movie ends, the girl talk begins.  We talked about pregnancy and shared belly photos.  I ran upstairs to get my pregnancy album, and then started flipping through James' baby pictures, and then I got lost in memory.  Seven years ago...

A newly pregnant Rachel thought and planned for her future.  She thought about all that she would do with her child, where they would go, who he would become.  The plans for the child were as high and far-reaching as the plans she made for herself.  And then came the day when the doctor sliced her open to bring the baby into the world, and her heart and her mind were ripped open too.  There was nowhere to go in the hazy days of her son's infancy.  Just to the changing table, the bathroom, the couch, and back to bed.  Over and over and over.  And the child she brought home was not the empty vessel she had planned to fill with all her loves and passions; he came fully-formed with a voracious appetite for breast milk and a primitive religion that worships vacuum cleaners.  He didn't want to lay in the air-conditioning and watch Gilmore Girls or sit quietly in his stroller while she browsed at Borders.  He wanted to be outside, on the move, learning about this great world.  And so Rachel took him outside.  They walked around the neighborhood, they explored the flora and fauna in their very own yard.  She found a book about trees so she could say "This is a spruce; feel its soft needles" and "This is a maple; touch its huge leaves".  He learned to roll over on the grass, he played with sticks and pinecones, and as he grew, he chased squirrels in an attempt to befriend them and join their society.  And so it was that the child became the teacher, and the mother became the student.  She learned to see up close what had all been background.  She began taking in the stillness of a summer morning and existing in the simple moments motherhood offered, instead of planning for the future and running off to do.

The son grew older and learned new ways to have fun: video games and cartoons, bowling and swimming.  But he remains a lover of the outdoors, as he spends his days spread on a blanket in the yard, watching the birds that fly from tree to tree, and exploring gardens and parks.  And he was followed by two little brothers who shared his appetite for milk, his reverence for the vacuum, and his need to be outside.  So this morning, when my plan for a morning outing went sour and we returned home to regroup, I found myself once again exploring the yard with my youngest.  It started as him streaking, running through the still-wet grass, free as he has never been before, and delighting in the chance to watch his pee stream forth unchecked by a diaper.  But after a while, I dressed him, and then he took my hand and said, "Walk."  So we made a tour around the front yard, then back past the garage to check on the garden.  We picked flowers and pulled leaves off the tree and he made his own garden.  The big boys were inside with their electronics, but out back we simply delighted in the fresh green space we've been given, the calls of the birds and the swift movements of the squirrels.  I left my phone on the picnic table, because I didn't need to connect with anyone outside of our yard.

Its the biggest lesson the boys have taught me: to be and enjoy, to slow down and look at all the beauty and differences in the world.  To leave deadlines and schedules and expectations behind.

The second son

Just a few weeks old

Last year, I sat at the computer, trying very hard to write a loving blog post about my Winston.  I didn't expect it to be such work, such a challenge, to put together all the good stuff and leave off the bad.  I kept dismissing "He's a terror at bedtime" and "He unspools all the toilet paper when I'm not watching", thinking there had to be something enjoyable about him to share with the world.  And really, what does it say that I found it easier to think of all the things I love about my autistic son, by definition the one who should be difficult, and came up blank for his typical brother?

I'm glad to say this year is different.  I couldn't wait to sit down and put Winston together here.  Part of it is probably the difference between a boy turning 3 and a boy turning 4; there is much more participation and creativity than defiance and destruction.  But I've also given him more attention this year.  I've scheduled out the day so that he gets one-on-one parent time almost every day, and tried to make sure we do the things he likes at least as much as we do what everyone else likes.  I've purposefully scaled back the yelling.  I wish I could say I don't do it at all, but sometimes the evil mommy that lives inside me roars out and still makes tears rolls down those smooth white cheeks.  The good mommy punches her and forces her back into her cell, then scoops up 36 pounds of future man and makes the calming "shhh" noises he likes and wipes the tears.

1 year old summer 2010

A few weeks ago, we were getting ready for bed and Winston asked that I come lay down with him for awhile.  I said ok, although usually it makes him more hyper and he only really starts to settle down for sleep when I leave the room.  But I climbed in his bed and started straightening out the covers.  "This needs to be a bed, not a nest," I said in frustration.  "We are two little birds," came Winston's response.  I cracked up.  Where did that come from?  That wonderful, silly sense of humor?  Why did it take almost four years to notice it was there?

The past several months have given us the opportunity to play games together, starting with Candy Land, which my infinitely more patient husband taught Winston to play.  Then, with basic game-play established, I came in with Chutes and Ladders.  We branched out to Connect four and UNO.  For his birthday, we purchased Hungry Hungry Hippos.  I have to admit, I've been looking forward to this since I became a mom.  Family movie night.  Family game night.  Popcorn.  Candy.  Laughter.  Bonding.  Winning and Losing.  Enjoying my children.

Choking his brother to get some Sprite

Winston also loves racing.  He runs around our yard, challenging each of us to race.  I can only do two before I need a break.  Michael ambles along, outpaced in the first two steps, but determined to follow.  When we met up with friends and had 9 kids playing together, Winston asked that we establish a course, and could the others race him?  So we convinced 6 of them to make a lap around the yard, and the "big" boys (ages 5 and 6) were delighted to come in first and second place.  Winston pounded up behind them, followed by the less agile, shorter-legged competitors.  There was joy on every face as the crossed the finish line (aka, gave me a high five and jumped over a log).  Because of Winston.  I love his initiative.  I love his desire to play with others.

I also love his excitement to eat vegetables.  I have no idea where it came from.  When he sees lettuce, he happily grabs the "trees" and chows down.  It makes me look good, like I'm a mom who serves her children veggies, who maybe even inspired this behavior by eating so healthily while pregnant.  That is so not the case.  If Winston loved to eat bowls of mashed potatoes and Big Macs, then I would say, "Oh, yeah, probably because I ate so many while I was pregnant."  But lettuce?  Carrots?  I have no idea why he likes them.  His brothers certainly don't.  His father grimaces whenever forced to eat them.  His mother smiles and pretends to like the healthy stuff while secretly imagining she is biting into a molten chocolate cake.  If it weren't for Winston, we wouldn't even have that kind of food in the house.  So thank you son, for making us look good and elevating the contents of our fridge a little.

Walking for Autism September 2012

For all the ways he delights and challenges us, for the love he shows his brothers and the unique person he is, for the mind that is as quick as his feet.  For my second son, a huge section of my heart is yours.

On Hazing

I keep coming back to this memory, this moment of my life that had been pushed back to the far recesses.  Its a big storage space, the part of my brain holding onto past knowledge on the chance that I might need it again.  This one, its about 17 years old, but it resonates with me now like never before.

I am a high school freshman...well, I'm about to be.  In August, the band members load up instruments and a duffel bag of necessities and travel south to Camp Wakonda.  We sleep in cabins in the woods...My friends and I claim Cabin 5 as ours, and we return to it for the next two years.  It is our haven, a place where we are silly and weird and have teenage girl fights.  It is where we entertain with "Inspirational Romances" (wherein I read the "dirty" parts of a Harlequin romance novel in a silly voice and we giggle about things that we don't really understand), we tease and gossip.  Outside, there is a sort of bathroom.  There is a large "trough" on a cement slab where girls brush their teeth, wash their faces, shave their legs.  At any given time there are at least 15 of us engaged in one of these activities or another.  There are stalls with toilets and showers, and Tracy and I share Herbal Essence shampoo over the divider so that our hair smells pretty when we go up to the practice field.  The field, where we spend so much time in the sun that my knee pits gets sunburned.  We play "Across the Field" and "You Can Call Me Al" and "The Star-Spangled Banner".  We come back to this field when its dark, we lay on the grass with the boys who stay in the cabins on the other side of the woods, we look at the stars and imagine that we are quite grown-up out here, so far away from our parents.

And three times a day, we line up outside the Lodge, waiting to grab a seat in the dining hall.  Each table seats eight (and no more, we learned the hard way when we were seniors and there were nine at our table, and our band director made us clean every other table after the other kids were dismissed.  We blamed it on CJ at the time, because he was goofy and an easy target, but really, I wish I had just sat somewhere else instead of feeling like I had to be at a table with Melissa, Tracy, and Mike.  It was kind of miserable).  And when you are a freshman, you are assigned a day that you have to "hop" a table.  We eat family style, so the hopper is the person who brings the food to the table, gets refills, and then cleans at the end.  Its a rite of passage, we all had to do it, and fortunately, when you are a sophomore, if the class behind you is big enough, you don't have to do it again.  At each meal, a group of senior boys gather at a different table, and their goal is to not let the hopper sit down long enough to eat.  I remember this so well, the senior boys at my table, we were eating grilled cheese and tomato soup.  I don't think I got much to eat, although I think I was able to grab a few bites.  I will never forget placing the large bowl of soup on the table, it had to have at least a gallon in it, and Tad, the big sousaphone player, lifted the bowl to his lips and sucked it down.  The WHOLE thing.  In one long, unending gulp.  All in the name of hazing, or so I thought at the time.

It wasn't horrible, not like the boys who got duct-taped to their bunk beds a few years later.  It was understood that this made you part of the group, and they did move to a different table for the next meal, so it was only one missed meal for the week, and we were privileged kids whose parents sent candy and chips and jugs of water that we were supposed to leave with the directors so we didn't get raccoons in our cabins, but no one ever did.  As far as hazing goes, it was tolerable.  But now I am a mom of three growing boys, and every meal feels like this one day at Band Camp.  I am up making another sandwich, opening another cup of yogurt, slicing another apple.  I am refilling drinks that are spilled or gulped, either way empty in seconds.  It makes me wonder how much those boys were trying to harass freshmen or if they were really that hungry.  I guess when the yelled "HOP HOP HOP" as you walked up to the counter to get more food, and only stopped when you actually jumped, and how they took it a little easier on you if you were a good sport...that part wasn't necessary.  But after marching around the field all day, then swimming in the lake during our free period, maybe they were just that hungry.  Hungry enough to drink a tureen of soup.