Sep 11, 2015 | trying to raise humans
On this day of solemn remembrance and reflection, we had a small awakening in our family.
I am still processing it.
As part of our stellar parenting, we don’t really have rules like ‘no TV before school’. Gavin’s an early riser (think 6 a.m., like clockwork!), and trying to keep him electronics free while we get through the morning routine (which more often than not includes a handful of conference calls for me!) is, quite frankly, more of a struggle than it’s worth. He enjoys catching ESPN’s Top Ten Plays of the Week while eating breakfast, and this morning was no different.
Well, today, as you’d expect, most news outlets are airing stories about 9/11. And in some twist of fate, Grace was out of bed before 7:30 a.m. I was on a call for work while Kenny and Gavin were finishing up some math homework together while Grace was eating breakfast and watching ESPN, and apparently, learning about 9/11.
I’ve still not had the courage to broach this subject with either of my kids. I just can’t find the words to explain that level of evil in a way that wouldn’t scar their little 8- and 7-year-old souls. I struggle with this. Because while I don’t want to purposefully steal even a small sliver of their childhood innocence, I do want them to know the importance of honoring those who have made sacrifices. As they get older, I recognize the inherent risk in my “say nothing” approach – they are exposed to more things, and what they hear and experience on a day-to-day basis is increasingly out of our control. Perhaps the most impactful risk I was taking was not getting out in front of the message to present the information in a way they can handle. Fast forward to today, and the risk was realized.
As I was helping Grace get dressed for school after my call, she said, “Mom, I heard a bad story. But don’t worry, it happened a long time ago.”
I had no idea where this was going. I said, “Oh no. I don’t like to hear bad stories, do you?”
She said, “No.” and paused. She sat for a minute while I pulled her socks onto her feet. She said, “Do you not want me to tell you about it?” I asked her who she heard the story from. She said, “ESPN.” Ha! Oh my.
I said, “Sure, why don’t you tell me about it?” She said, “Well, I don’t think you will like some parts of it.” She took a quick breath as she launched into the story of Welles Crowther’s final heroic hour.
She started off with the details about the buildings and the planes, and I felt a pit in my stomach. I quietly started to panic while I willed my face to stay soft and open as I listened. But no sooner than she said that, she said, “But there was this guy with a special red bandana. He died, but he did a lot of things to help other people not die.” I sat quietly and watched her recount incredible details about this young man’s all-too-short life. And I was taken by her compassion. How she focused on the good and shared back a story of heroism from one of our nation’s darkest days. She explained that he carried this special red bandana “for his whole life”. How it was special because his dad gave it to him. And how he had it with him when saved 12 people and helped other people who needed it, “even though he only had one hour to live”. And how, even though he was “old”, his parents loved him so much and they missed him every day. And that lots of people wear red bandanas now to remember him because he was so helpful.
And though she did ask me some tough questions that I had to carefully answer, it struck me that perhaps the narrative lies here for now – that the story for where they are in their young lives is that yes, bad things happen, but there are always good people helping in bad situations. I know I can’t shield them forever. And honestly, I grapple with whether or not I should, as I imagine many parents do.
Two years ago today, I wrote about how I was searching for clarity and courage to tell the stories of those we lost on 9/11 to my kids in a way that instills pride over fear, unity over divisiveness, tolerance over anger. Two years later, I haven’t quite found either. Perhaps Grace will continue to reflect on what she saw this morning, and the conversation that followed. And perhaps our dialogue will continue, and together as a family, we can remember and honor the memories of those who gave all. There’s no right or wrong answer here – as with almost all things involving raising a family, the answer is what works best for that family.
Today, our young Grace is a little wiser to the ways of the world. And she also has her first hero.
#NeverForget
Sep 7, 2015 | trying to raise humans
Dear Gavin –
Tonight, I kissed your forehead as you settled in to sleep on back-to-school eve. You grinned and wrapped your arms around my neck and held on tight. Just as you always have. And, just as you always will, I imagine, until you realize that hugging your mom every night before bed isn’t “cool”. (Whoever defined cool, any way?)
Each year, those arms get a little longer. A little stronger. And, a little hairier. (I am not ready for these man traits to start, although they do make me chuckle. As I suspect many moms do, I’ve jokingly told you not to grow up. And as all children do, you have. And will.) I asked if you were excited for school to start. You smiled and nodded your head vigorously. And I believe you. I am happy for you. For just last week on the morning of ‘meet the teacher’ night, your stomach bore the brunt of nerves born from uncertain times ahead. Ah, my little worrier. Some reassuring words from Mom and Dad, a short list of good things to look forward to, a tousle of the hair and back to yourself you were.
We quietly spoke a little bit more about school and being a big third grader this year. Your nose quickly blushed slightly pink to match the rims of your eyes. Hello again, nerves. I softly reminded you of the good that will fill the halls, your class room, your life as school gets into full swing once again. You patted my hand and gave a little side smile, as if to say, “Hey, Mom, thanks for trying.” I’ll always try, buddy. One of my most important jobs – even though it may not always seem so – is to try my best for you, so you know how good life can and should be.
You murmured, “I think it’s going to be a good year. Don’t you, Mom?”
“We’ll make sure of it, dude.” We’ll make sure of it.
Sweet dreams Second Grader, for tomorrow Third Grade awaits.
xo.
**********
Dear Gracie Girl –
As I removed the remnants of some late summer nail polish and trimmed your “tickly nails” so they didn’t become accidental “scratchy nails” at school, you frowned and roared that you weren’t ready for school. You snapped your eyes up to meet mine. Your furrowed brow softened and was now almost quizzical. “Well, I AM ready for school, Mom. But I don’t feel totally ready.” You took your hand from mine and twisted it up and down as you said, “I am kinda ready for some things, but…” you trailed off.
I took your hand back in mine as I asked, “But what?”
“Well, I don’t have that many friends in my class,” you whined. I gently asked how many friends you would have in your class tomorrow, on the first day of school. You whispered, “Only like two.” I asked how many friends you thought you would have by the end of the school year, and you grinned as you replied, “Well, how many kids are even in my class this time?” See, sweet girl, you’ve got this.
I asked for your best ideas to make new friends. You told me that a good idea is to be kind. I asked, “Only to people you like?” You shook your head and said, “No, to everyone.” I nodded as you took a deep breath. You asked, “Well, what if I don’t like everyone in my class? I should still be kind?” Oh, Grace. The struggle between brutal honesty and doing the right thing is real. (They aren’t always the same – haha!) I told you that yes, you should always try to be kind and we thought about times when people weren’t kind to us and how we felt. You smiled and said, “So, it’s better to just try to be nice all the time – then no one feels bad.” Yep, that’s right. And I hope you remember this beyond tomorrow – haha.
We washed your hands and brushed your teeth. I kissed your cheek and gave you a hug. Your small arms entwined around my neck. So tightly. So tightly. You took a giant breath and whispered in my ear, “I still feel a little bit scared.” Ah, Gracie Girl – a hot fire before warm embers. I held you as I reminded you of a few things to look forward to. And, being Grace, you replied, “And then I get to come right home?” Yes, sweetie, you can come right home. You can always come home. Always. Always. Always.
Sweet dreams First Grader, for tomorrow Second Grade awaits.
xo.
**********
Oh, the emotions of back to school. Excitement + wonder + uncertainty abounds.
For everyone involved.
I changed this year.
In the past, back-to-school eve made me remorseful. I quietly lamented what I was losing as my kids grew older. I yearned for yesterday.
Today, I was less remorseful. I was more excited for what lies ahead for them in the upcoming school year. I love seeing them come into their own. With each passing year. It’s a thrill of parenting – and one I’ve grown to adore.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ve found some balance here. Maybe because I realize my kids sometimes need me to be excited for them, if only to help them get over their own uncertainty? We can’t all be anxious or sad, right? Ah, the never-ending tap dance of Mom – constantly moving to put Band-Aids on the holes in tiny souls. And those Band-Aids are never more useful than the night before a new school year.
Cheers for a good year!
Aug 26, 2015 | trying to raise humans
Besides great company, one of the greatest things about having out-of-towners is perhaps the ‘glasses’ you put on as you walk around your house. You notice every speck of dirt, clutter pile, paper stack, crumb, misplaced toy, etc. And you work hard to make your home shine – so your visitors feel comfortable and can rest easy. And – perhaps most importantly – so you aren’t mortified by your laziness in keeping up with the cleaning routine. Ok, maybe that’s just me. Haha.
This past weekend we were lucky enough to have friends from California come in for a visit. Needless to say, on Saturday before our visitors arrived, our house had never looked better. And today, you’d never know we lifted a finger to clean / straighten / tidy. Think tornado. Of stuff.
After all the elbow grease we expended last week, Kenny and I vowed to keep our house in good shape. Gavin and Grace, however, are still living here. And, let’s face it – being 8 and 7, they have little expectations for a clean home. They’d much rather tear through from room to room – whirling dervishes reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel – leaving toys and little ‘reminders’ like socks, flip flops, goggles, etc. instead of breadcrumbs everywhere they’ve been. Although, they leave the crumbs, too. Like Hansel and Gretel on steroids – only they are leaving their mark vs. mapping a trail home.
Trying to keep our pact going strong, I told Grace that she was not allowed outside until she cleaned up after herself. She hemmed. She hawed. She pouted. She crossed her arms. And rolled her eyes. Yet, I didn’t budge. I did, however, ask her if she remembered how nice our house looked on Saturday before the Finnegans visited. She said, “Yes.” I asked her if it looked really nice and if she liked having such a clean house. She said, “Yes.” I then said, “Well, I just don’t understand why it looks so messy today.” And she said, “Well, I don’t know. The Finnegans probably messed it up.”
Nice.
Really nice.
Such a classy little lady I am raising.
Thankfully for the Finnegans, Grace was under the weather this weekend so they didn’t get the full Grace experience live and in person.
And don’t worry, I pointed out every piece of mess that was hers. Then had her look around and tell me where the Finnegans’ mess was. She came up empty. 😉
Hooray for out of town visitors – without them, Grace would have no one to blame her mess on. What a pistol!
Jul 22, 2015 | moments & memories
Phew. The past few weeks have been quite a whirlwind – mostly emotional, sometimes physical – but finally, FINALLY!, I think I see the light at the end of the tunnel.
But today, in a rare moment of quiet reflection (at least recently!), I realized that light at the end of the tunnel wouldn’t be in sight if not for the gentle breeze of kindness at my back, its soft whispers urging me along, reminding me that it takes a village. Not just to raise kids. But to get through life in general. Getting through life, generally, takes a village. It’s not meant for folks to fly through solo. It’s meant to be experienced with a village. And that’s what makes it worth living.
Over the past few weeks those soft whispers of my village – immediate and extended – were a near constant murmur of love, support and encouragement. Just when we needed it most. And I now know that this – these connections, this village – is what make a life a good one.
You see, my dear mom (whom I lovingly call Sarge for her distinct role as the little Sergeant of our family), decided to give us a little health scare. A few hours on an operating room table, a chest saw, a couple percocets and a few nights in the ICU later, and she’s well on the road to recovery. (I *may* have skipped a few details in there – but that’s the general gist of it – haha!). Thank GOD.
But if not for this little scare, I would never have stopped to look around and realized just how special our village really is. So, for that, I am thankful. I mean, sure, it sucks and all that my mom has to sport a 12-inch scar on her chest for the rest of her life, but, really, isn’t knowing what a wonderful coast-to-coast community you are a part of worth that? Hahaha. Totally kidding. I know there are many, many easier ways to understand the importance of your village. My point, however, stands: it is truly an incredible moment when you realize that people are rooting for you – so much so that they extend a little bit of themselves to help support you.
I am overwhelmed. Honestly. In so many ways. Mostly good. (haha! Listen – I can’t lie. It was stressful, too!) But let’s focus on the good.
My husband has it together. When I told him my mom needed “serious heart surgery”, he stood there with his arm around me for a minute as I cried and then said, “You need to be with her.” And that was that. (Then I raced out of the house to catch a plane for a work trip. On Mother’s Day. But that’s a story for another time.) Point is, I was able to spend four weeks back east with my parents to help out post-surgery. He didn’t miss a beat. And he never once complained. Camp coordination (pick-up, drop-off, lunches), ponytails for Grace, fresh sideburn lines for Gavin, soccer practice, food shopping, dinner, laundry. The works. The guy has it all together. In fact – scarily so. He’d probably be just fine without me. Hahaha. I am truly in awe of him. And incredibly thankful for such an amazing partner.
Family. There’s nothing like a little health scare to re-orient your perspective. Family matters. Every member. Every time. Someone in your family – even extended family – is going through something? Do a little something for them. I am so appreciative of the care and concern for my mom expressed by so many members of our family. This outreach (and some shared DNA?) truly makes you realize that THIS is what matters most.
People care. From all points of our lives. I had so many friends – old and new – drop a line, reach out, send a card. I have to say – this stuff really meant a lot. And I realized that a) I grew up in a kick-ass village in Philadelphia where good people grow and b) I moved to a kick-ass village in Portland where good people live. I am so thankful for both. Furthermore, it tickled me to watch my very quiet, reserved father interact with his friends via text and phone. And further still, having amazing colleagues is a true gift. It’s so nice to have supportive team members at work to take the weight on your shoulders as their own to help push you through. People are there when you need them – and that’s an amazing thing.
Never under-estimate the value of a gesture. My neighbors organized a dinner train for Kenny and the kids – and brought him a few home-cooked meals while I was away. While he was mortified, I was so incredibly grateful that I have such a nice group of gals to back me up in times when I might need it. Despite living here for almost four years now, there are times where I still get very homesick, but seeing our neighborhood rally to support our family so I could be home with my parents when they needed me…well, let’s just say I cried. Happy tears. Grateful tears. Not sure what to do? Sometimes the offer to do something is just enough to lift someone’s spirits for the day.
Social media is powerful. Sure, sure. We’ve all experienced eye-roll-inducing posts, over-shares, and ‘I really didn’t need to know that.’ moments on Facebook and the like. But I will say – as a professional communicator – social media is an amazingly powerful and efficient way to stay connected to your village – past and present, close or distant, friend or acquaintance. We did small updates about my mom so we could reach the most people with the least amount of smart phone keyboard typing and, I have to say, in addition to the incredible efficiency to get to our extended village, it was nice for her to see all the “likes” and read the encouraging and supportive comments once she was back on her feet. She didn’t sanction any of that, by the way – haha! 🙂
Be Kind. Always. I can’t count how many folks reached out to me on Facebook for my mom’s address or other contact information because they wanted to do something nice for her because she’d done something for them over the years – even if it was something small like making them laugh or treating them kindly. Pay it forward. Refund it backwards. Whatever. Just be kind – and it will come back to you some day!
Always reach out. Even if you aren’t sure what to say. One of my favorite things was eavesdropping on my mom telling my dad about a card she got from so-and-so or a Facebook message she got, or whatever. She beamed. What you say doesn’t matter – but taking action does. Even if you think it won’t matter – do it anyway. It will mean something to somebody.
It’s OK to worry. But not too much. Don’t lose your sense of humor. Or your sense of self. We didn’t, as you can tell in the pic accompanying this post. 😉 Yes, that’s my family – the day before my mom’s surgery. Posing for a ‘day before Mom’s heart surgery’ pic – with props from my uncle’s garden. Admit it. It’s funny. And irreverent, of course. But that’s us. Haha!
Overall, this post is just a giant thank you. Thank you, village, for making scary hurdles seem like a few grains of sand in the road. Thank you for enveloping our family in your collective arms, and for contributing your voice to the coast-to-coast murmur that’s surging me (and the rest of my family) toward the bright light at the end of this tunnel.
*****
P.S. One my favorite things in life is the nickname I gave my mom – Sarge. It’s really taken off. To the point where many of my friends – and some of her friends – now call her this as well. I look forward to Karma’s impending visit when Grace is a sassy 20-something who speaks her mind freely. I should start planting seeds now so I end up with something flattering. Or, at the very least, truthful.
Jun 10, 2015 | trying to raise humans
Yep, already.
I am already mortifying my kids. It only gets better from here, right?
Today’s cause?
Those little gems right up at the top there.
And, no, they are not embarrassing because they don’t rub in well and leave a pale white pallor on the kids’ skin once applied. (We love both of these products – they work really well. Trust me – this means a lot coming from a mom of two kids with Irish blood, one of whom is a red-head. Which is good, because they are not cheap. Haha.)
It’s because I forgot to apply them on our dear gal Grace before she left for a very sunny field trip today.
Which means I effectively had to run into her classroom like a loon – wielding the sunscreen while proclaiming what a moron of a mom I was this morning for forgetting to apply it.
Just kidding. That actually would have been embarrassing. Mostly for me. Sort of for Grace.
She didn’t even notice my arrival.
Her friends did, however, and pointed me out to her.
She whipped her head around and smiled…for a second. Until she saw I was carrying the sunscreen.
She got up in a huff.
Turned her back to the class and rolled her eyes at me so hard I thought they’d never return to normal. I am sure this was quite special for the chaperone parents standing behind me to watch. I am guessing they all simultaneously crossed their fingers and hoped this little sweetheart of a gal was assigned to another parent. Haha!
She then swished her little hand back and forth while directing me to put the sunscreen in her backpack for later.
I softly reminded her that we forgot to put it on and I need to do it.
She was trying not to cause a scene in front of her teacher – I could tell. But she wanted to FREAK OUT. She gently tapped her foot flatly on the ground. If it was home, she would have stomped it. (It’s one of her more endearing behaviors.) She said in a hushed tone, “I am FINE. Just leave it in my backpack and I will do it on the bus.” Basically, she was saying, “Get the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of here! My friends are watching!”
I said, “Let’s go into the hall and I will quickly put it on. Then you are done. And not at risk for being a red-and-white zebra.”
She sort of smiled as she brushed past me to get to the hall.
Once in the hall, she said, “Oh my gosh, Mom. That is so embarrassing! You can’t put sunscreen on me in front of the whole class.”
I enjoy that she thinks I would actually do that instead of pulling her into the hallway or bathroom. Hahaha. Apparently, kids are pre-programmed to think your number one goal in life is to embarrass them in front of their friends – any time after they turn seven years old.
I applied the sunscreen while telling her she will thank me when she’s my age and doesn’t have brown spots all over her skin. And she said, “Oh – like these?” and proceeded to point out some of my much-loved and hard-earned skin flaws. They were actually eye wrinkles vs. sun damage but who’s keeping track? I nodded and she totally redeemed herself with a soft kiss on my forehead and a quick “thanks!” as she told me she had to go because they were picking field trip / chaperone groups.
