What if?

"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as 

six impossible things before breakfast."

~Alice in Wonderland

If you are into personality assessments and jazz like that then you have probably heard of the Enneagram. If not, just suffice to say it's one of those tests where you answer a bajillion questions about what you "most likely" or "least likely" think, or believe, or say, or do, and then it gives you a number as to your personality type.

I'm an Enneagram 9.

I've taken various versions of the Enneagram multiple times and I am always, always a Nine.

I really don't know why I keep taking it because when I read the description of a Nine it's exactly me. I mean, like...wow, that's me. So maybe I keep taking it because I want to see if the test is fallible, or if maybe on any given day I might be less Nine-like than other days.

So far, nope.

I'm as Nine-iest as you can get.

Here is a brief description of Nines:

Nines are accepting, trusting, and stable. They are usually creative, optimistic, and supportive, but can also be too willing to go along with others to keep the peace. They want everything to go smoothly and be without conflict, but they can also tend to be complacent, simplifying problems and minimizing anything upsetting. They typically have problems with inertia and stubbornness. At their Best: indomitable and all-embracing, they are able to bring people together and heal conflicts.

Basic Fear: Of loss and separation

Basic Desire: To have inner stability "peace of mind"

Key Motivations: Want to create harmony in their environment, to avoid conflicts and tension, to preserve things as they are, to resist whatever would upset or disturb them.

"They typically have trouble with inertia..." That makes me laugh out loud every time. You know what a Nine's root sin is? SLOTH! Something I've been saying about myself long before I ever even heard of the Enneagram. In fact, I consider the sloth my spirit animal.

(And the fact that I say that with pride might mean I have leaned in a bit too much to my Nine-ness).

So, now that you know way too much about me and my peace-loving, conflict-avoidant, abundantly Nine-like ways, you may have every reason to disregard everything I'm about to say. 

You may read what comes next and think, "Well....yeah....but this is really just because you want everyone to get along, and don't like people fighting, and can't handle tension, and conflict, and hysteria."

You'd be right. 

However, it's also because I want people to be able to get along, and coexist peacefully, and allow others their dignity, and still be able to laugh together at the end of the day.

Oh, wait. That's basically the same thing.

Okay, you are still right. 

BUT....because I do know what it's like to feel all angsty and twisty and ragey inside, and because I really don't believe that is a healthy place to set up camp and hang out for too long, I have a suggestion for anyone who would like to take a break from Camp Frowny Face.

Before I share this, please know I'm really not referencing anything specific in today's world, politics, celebrity romances, or my own personal relationships. This is a technique that can be used in any number of situations and I've been known to employ it multiple times in a single day. I mean, that's kind of exhausting when that happens, but I'm just saying that while you might be inclined to think I'm writing about specific current events, I'm really not. This is just something I have been thinking about and today was the day I overcame my inertia long enough to sit down at the keyboard and write it out. 

That's how any of my blog posts happen. And why they are so infrequent.

The inertia is real, my friends.

Anywhooooo....Here is what I do when I feel myself slipping into that place where I cannot understand how anyone could possibly see this situation, or issue, or event, or person, or concept, or belief...any differently than I do. 

We've all been there. Somewhere in our heads every sentence starts with, "Who in their right minds would _______________?!" Or, "How can anyone think that ________________?!" Or, "I don't want anything to do with anyone who thinks __________________!!"

And we start mentally dividing people into camps. Of course we ourselves are sitting over here at Camp Always Right, while all of those other misguided souls are sitting at Camp Stupid People. 

Maybe you are more diplomatic and don't actually call them Stupid People. Maybe you even like or love some of those Stupid People but secretly seethe knowing they think ____________. But the bottom line is we have usually put masking tape down the center of this universal room we all live in and... lo and behold we happen to be on the side of all that is good and righteous, and everyone else is....over there.

I'm not being judgey because I do this too.

It's kinda human nature. 

Okay, enough meandering and over-explaining. Let me get to the trick.

It's great because it's only five words so it is really easy to remember. 

When you feel like you just can't deal one second longer with those people or that person who think(s) differently than you do, say these five words....

What if I am wrong?

Sit with that for a second. Or a minute. Or five minutes.

Don't start justifying or talking back to yourself or making mental counterarguments.

Just ask the question and sit with it. 

Then, take a trip down that imaginary alternate path. Envision what being wrong might look like. If you can't fathom any possible way you could be wrong in the big picture, is there something smaller you could consider? Is there one piece of the puzzle you could take out of the larger equation and study it differently?

Is there one small thing, or idea, or concept, or "truth" you could flip on its head and truly explore the idea of discovering you were wrong?

And if you were wrong, what then?

This can be painful. I've done this with some of my most deeply held beliefs. I've done this in situations where I felt wounded and irrefutably wronged (at least in my own mind). I've done this with my faith and it took days to recover from the sloth-fest that ensued as a result.

It's not easy to do it right.

But it's also the easiest thing in the world to do to get yourself unstuck.

I'm not saying that this will or even should change what you ultimately believe to be right or wrong. But what it might change is how you feel about the people or person you disagree with. When you make room for other perspectives, even just a little, you make room for the possibility of understanding...and maybe even, peace. 

For me, this is an exercise in humility. It is challenging myself to remember that I do not hold the key to all of life's truths and answers. I am not in possession of a crystal ball that allows me to see into the minds and hearts of others. I am human, and fallible, and limited, and self-absorbed, and short-sighted, and stubborn, and lazy.....and sometimes I. am. wrong.

It also reminds me how much I hope that when I am wrong, or other people think I am wrong, that those who love me will still always give me the benefit of the doubt and believe the best of me rather than the worst. 

I could be wrong right now and this is a terrible idea to suggest to someone else.

If I am, I'm sorry.

You don't have to do this.

Plan B is grab your favorite chips, adult beverage, something sweet, and a cozy blanket, and then watch Elf.

That should work, too. 

When all else fails....

Jumpin' In

Let me just start by saying, this is not a sad post.

At least it's not intended to be.

I feel like I need to start with that disclaimer since I will be mentioning loss, and sorrow, and grief, and falling into pits and stuff.

But I swear, it's not sad.

It's more of an explanation. And maybe a bit of an encouragement. If nothing else, it's something to read on Sunday afternoon instead of doing laundry and I can promise it is at least as good as that. Maybe.

You see, this week will be the 13th birthday of our two little ones who never came home.

Thirteen years is both long and short. Say, if you were talking about how long it has been since you had a really good homemade chocolate chip cookie, thirteen years would be a loooong time. (A criminally long amount of time, if you ask me.) But if you were talking about how long you'd like to spend with someone you love, we'd all agree that thirteen years is but a blink.

In terms of loss, thirteen years might seem on the outer edge of how long it is socially acceptable to speak of such things. I mean, at least out loud. Or in writing. Ahem.

And in truth, I do get that. I don't enjoy dwelling on despair or feeling as though I'm dragging anyone into a well of sad feelings they really didn't ask for. And it's a conundrum because while I might have melancholy feelings, and wistful feelings, and, yes, sometimes even weepy moments every now and then, I'm really okay. I choose to remember because I'm not really sure how I couldn't and because that's how we continue to love those whom we have lost.

We remember them.

But I could do all of that without putting it into words and making my story public. I could opt to remember privately. There is nothing wrong with that and many, many days that is what I choose to do. In fact, that might suit me better given my reclusive tendencies.

However, there is a reason that over the years I became more and more open about my experience with infertility and loss, and I can tell you why in two stories.

(If Tracy were reading this over my shoulder, and she might be, she would break in at this point and say, "Tom, I can name that song in two notes." Because she just would.)

The first involves my cousin Tracy and her legendary ability to make a friend of anyone. Waaaaay back when we were both in our 20's and early years of marriage, she became pregnant and had a baby. At the same time, I tried to become pregnant and couldn't. She was having trouble with some aches and pains related to pregnancy so she started seeing a massage therapist. I, on the other hand, was seeing a fertility doctor because of that whole not getting pregnant thing.

As was Tracy's way, she became quite friendly with her massage therapist, learning all about her life. The therapist had twin toddlers who were the happy end result of a difficult run with infertility. This lead Tracy to tepidly open up to her about my struggles and her concerns with how to offer any support. The therapist asked her lots of questions about my doctor and my treatment, none of which Tracy had good answers to since she didn't really have all of those minute details. But her massage therapist friend would not be so easily dissuaded. See, she'd been there and she'd be damned if she was going to let someone else flail around on their own.

Finally, she said to Tracy, "Do you think I could just call her?"

A total stranger to me, connected only through another friendly acquaintance, refused to stay in her own happy bubble world of a successful pregnancy and birth and motherhood because she knew there were people on the other side. She not only wanted to help, she had to help.

She did call me. We talked for an hour that one time. She gave me information I had never gotten from any doctor. She gave me encouragement to make changes I didn't know I needed to make. More than anything, she gave me hope and she made me brave. I never spoke to her again other than through Tracy who would report back to her my own happy success. But because of her, I changed doctors and was pregnant two months later. I'm not exaggerating when I say I believe she changed my life.

(And by extension, of course, Tracy also changed my life with her fantastically friendly ways. But the list of ways in which Tracy changed my life is long and deep and will require a lifetime of blog posts to capture.)

The second story is not my own and not at all original. It's a modern day parable of sorts and I'm sure you've heard it before. But it bears repeating because it speaks to my larger point of being vulnerable enough to share our stories, to the extent that we are able, for the good of those who might be standing on the outside.

A man was walking along one day when he suddenly tumbled headlong into a pit. He hadn't seen it coming. It was dark. It was lonely. And he had no idea how to get out.

He started calling up from the pit, yelling for help.

First a doctor walked by. He peered down into the pit, tossed in a prescription, and kept walking.

Then, a priest walked by. He looked down at the poor man, offered him a prayer, and then he too kept walking.

Finally, a friend happens by and hears the man's cries for help. He thinks for a moment and then without hesitation jumps into the pit with him.

The man looks at him astonished and says, "What are you doing?! Now we are both stuck down here in the pit!"

His friend answers, "I know. But I've been here before and I know the way out."

And I would add that sometimes we may not even be able to show someone the way out of the pit. But a friend jumps in and says, "This is awful. I'm so sorry. But I'll stay here with you until you can find your way out."

So, that's really it. That's the answer.

I keep telling my story and being honest about who I am and where I've been, because you never know who might be in a pit needing someone to jump in with them.

I'm grateful to every single person, whether they be close friends, family, or momentary acquaintances, who ever jumped in with me.

And because I'm always ready for a little Christmas, I'll leave you with this thought:

Happy Sunday, friends! 

Teach them well

Yesterday was Grandparent's Day at my daughter's school. If you teach in an elementary school you know that any day out of the ordinary is a recipe for craziness. Combine the change in routine with beloved grandparents, aunts, uncles and various other "special friends" coming to visit at the end of the day and you can count on the first four hours of the day being unbridled insanity.

But everyone survived. The program went off beautifully (all credit to our amazingly patient and unflappable music teacher) and the students happily reunited with their precious family members and friends to escort them to their classrooms to show off their best work.

I stood in the hallway and waited for my daughter to finish reading her Oma the short novel she had written. I knew it would take a little while and the classroom was crowded and hovering somewhere right around one thousand degrees so I positioned myself outside the door where it was a mere one hundred degrees. A friend joined me, also waiting for her kids to finish up in their classrooms. As her son raced by, recorder in hand, she shook her head and confessed to me, "I'm the worst Love and Logic mom. He actually forgot his recorder today and I brought it to him." She went on, "I mean...if it had just been an assignment or even his lunch, I wouldn't have come to his rescue. But, it's Grandparent's Day! And he would have had to sit out the performance!" She was obviously struggling over this decision and probably figured the Parenting Police were going to swoop in at any moment and tattoo "Helicopter Mom" on her forehead.

I couldn't help but laugh a little at her distress because she is truly one of the best moms I know and the farthest thing from a Helicopter Parent. Her children are all bright, self-reliant, incredibly sweet and unfailingly polite. The idea that she had violated some indefensible Mom Law and now needed to plead Guilty and send herself off to Mom Jail would mean there was little hope for the rest of us.

But I could see she really felt conflicted over her decision and so I made my own confession, which is that I don't always subscribe to the hardline Love and Logic, "natural consequences" school of parenting. (I'll pause for shocked gasps). I know, I know. The heresy. I get it.  I know it puts me at risk for the Parenting Police knocking on my door, too, but I'll take my chances.

I told her, "I think you absolutely did the right thing. We have to teach our kids consequences and responsibility, but we also have to teach them grace. Where else will they learn about grace and forgiveness and mercy, if not in their family?"

Where else will they learn about grace and forgiveness and mercy, if not in their family?

I mean, here's the thing.

(I love to say that. And it's one of those phrases that is so comical in its meaninglessness. Here's the thing? What thing? And is there only one thing? I digress...)

Seriously, here's the thing. Let's imagine you locked your keys in your car. I know, I know...today's cars make that a lot harder to do but it can be done so let's imagine it. Got it?  Have you conjured up your mental picture? You are stranded in a grocery store parking lot having locked your keys in your car. You know your husband is not far away, is available, and has in his possession a spare set of keys to your car. You call him on the phone and explain your dilemma, and he says this (Cheerfully but sympathetically, I might add, which is another pet peeve of mine of the whole L & L philosophy, the false cheery/sympathy you are advised to adopt.):

Oh, wow, honey. I am so sorry. That is such a bummer. I am so sad for you that this happened. What do you think you are going to do? Would you like to hear some ideas of what other people have done in your situation? I can't wait to find out how you solve this problem. I'm rooting for you!

Can. You. IMAGINE?!?!

Better yet, can you imagine what your response would be?

I am going to advise something completely revolutionary which will mean, again,  I am going to have to be looking over my shoulder for the PP.

I am not an expert on anything. Truth be told, I probably won't even shower today which doesn't really mean anything except to say that I do not think I am the be all and end all of anything. Zilch. In fact, I will be the first to tell you that you should take or leave my advice according to your own inner wisdom.

Disclaimers aside, I'm going to offer some advice.

When your normal, mostly responsible, decently polite, generally even-keeled kid leaves his lunch sitting on the kitchen counter for the first time, or even the second time, or even the third time-but-the-last-time-was-four-months-ago-and-he's-remembered-it-like-sixty-times-since-then....and you are able and willing...take it to him.

When your daughter, who has been struggling and striving and working so hard to master long division comes to you with tears in her eyes because she left her math assignment at school...help her find a solution. Call a friend and see if they can email it to you. Figure out if she could go in early and get it done. LOOK HER IN THE EYES AND TELL HER, "I LOVE YOU. THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE WORLD AND WE ARE IN THIS TOGETHER."

Because we are a family. And in families we help each other.

I'm not talking about entitlement. If you see your kid slipping into a pattern of irresponsibility and an attitude of 'what can the world do for me' then by all means, nip that nonsense in the bud, swiftly and efficiently.

But the idea that if you don't let your kids suffer small consequences now means they will automatically be facing BIG consequences later is silly. Taking your 2nd grader their lunch, or their recorder, or their math assignment a couple of times over the course of a school year does not mean they are on a direct route to prison.

Consequences are a reality. We all come to face to face with them all the time. Yes, kids need to feel the weight of them now and then. But I think we are playing with fire if we don't realize how many consequences kids face on a daily basis that we don't even see. The missed recesses for assignments that weren't finished, or talking in class. The friend who won't play with him now because he didn't play fair yesterday. The coach who made them all run extra laps for goofing off. The class who all got assigned extra homework because of the actions of a few. And any parent who takes their job seriously (which most parents do), knows there are plenty of consequences that happen at home, too.

Don't be afraid to teach them grace.

And when they offer you that sheepish, "thank you", or a hug, or even just a grateful smile, tell them,

We are a family. This is what we do. 

We love.

Say nothing

Say what you need to say... ~ John Mayer

Say what you wanna say and let the words fall out... ~ Sara Bareilles

Say something... ~ A Great Big World

I'm going to offer a thought here and I want to acknowledge right up front that there is more than a little irony in blogging about this...but...I'm going to say it anyway.

I think we are losing the art of saying nothing. Being still. Listening without comment. Hearing perspectives that contradict our own and opting not to voice our dissent.

The number of ways in which we are able, in fact encouraged, to share our opinions these days is staggering. We can review products we have purchased. Restaurants at which we have dined. Hotels where we have rested our weary heads. Books we have read...the plumber who fixed our pipes...the carpet cleaner...our dog groomer... There is virtually no service, product or business which we cannot publicly shame or applaud should we so choose.

It's true...those reviews can be helpful when searching for the perfect landscape artist to clip, prune and shape your ordinary shrubbery into a menagerie of circus animals, but the commentary doesn't stop there.

We can comment on news events. Editorials. Articles. We can offer our opinion in response to someone else's Opinion Piece. And we can do all of this regardless of whether or not we actually have even a smidgen of expertise in the migration patterns of the monarch butterfly. 

A few days ago, I read about a local news event that was in my mind nothing short of inspiring and heartwarming. I clicked on the link because I wanted to read more about it but in doing so left my vulnerable eyes open to the string of comments next to the piece. I tried not to look, believe me. I made it my own personal policy a long time ago not to read the comments section for any news story or article once I discovered it was the fastest way to send yourself tumbling down the rabbit hole into Crazyland. But the way these comments were positioned next to the news story, it was unavoidable that a few caught my eye. And sure enough, there they were.... The Opinionators. The people who simply must express their contrary viewpoint no matter how ridiculous or how much in opposition to the majority viewpoint. 

I get it. I know there are those "trolls" who do this just for the fun of it. But the one that really grabbed me was the comment of a "girl" (I say "girl" because her name sounded like a girl and her profile pic looked like a young woman in her early 20's, but for all I know "she" could have been a 70 year old man from Iceland), who wrote something very negative and then said, "I don't care. That's my opinion and I'm entitled to it."

Oh, sweet mother of pearl. 

Yes, Princess, you are. But I pray that someday you might learn there is a richness and a peace to be found in stepping back from your own perspective and deciding to hold it quietly. Perhaps even holding it loosely, staying open to the possibility that over time it might change. Life has a way of changing a lot of our "opinions" that we once thought unchangeable.

Recently, I had an opportunity to practice silence. I had every reason to want to have the last word. I felt I had been unjustly maligned and had been dragged into a messy situation against my will, and worst of all there were kids involved who should have never been put in that position. Many, many people would have thought me completely justified if I had taken to whatever megaphone was available to me to pronounce my innocence and trumpet the truth.

But when faced with the choice, everything in me told me to do and say nothing. I did not respond. I thanked the people who reached out to me and let them know that I appreciated their support but I said nothing more. And I felt complete peace about it.

It's the peace part that is shocking. I don't enjoy conflict so it isn't unusual for me to back away from it but generally I am left feeling unsettled and as though I should have been braver in standing up for myself. 

Not this time. 

This time the decision to let my silence be the last word felt like.... grace.

It was a way to let it end for myself and everyone else involved. 

I was choosing peace.

And it was a lesson to me that perhaps I need to start looking for other opportunities to be quiet. How many other times would I be better off to listen more and pontificate less? 

And then, just as I was pondering all of this, I read something that literally leaped off the page and grabbed me by the ears (okay, not literally....that would be super weird...but it was still so jaw droppingly awesome).

Being right is actually a very hard burden to be able to carry gracefully and humbly. That's why nobody likes to sit next to the kid in class who's right all the time. One of the hardest things in the world is to be right and not hurt other people with it. 

~ Dallas Willard 

Wow.

Amen.

I do not deny for a minute that there are principles and people worth defending boldly and loudly. There is a time to SPEAK!

But let's give silence it's due.

And if I have my way, that silence will spread to every comment section on every news source on the Internet.

That would be so awesome.

(Cue LEGO movie 'Everything is Awesome' music).

We also call him Coach

I have yet to find the man, however exalted his station,

who did not do better work and put forth greater effort

under a spirit of approval than under a spirit of criticism.

~Charles Schwab

We call him Superdad because he's, well, pretty super. He's a super hard worker, he's super patient, he's super positive, and he can make a super duper grilled cheese sandwich. But what you might not know is that among all of those other super qualities, he is also a super coach.

I don't think I always knew to appreciate the fact that my kids grew up having their dad coach the majority of their sports teams. Ben has coached 14 years of soccer (some of those were spent coaching two teams at the same time) and somewhere around 12 years of baseball. He has coached little kids and big kids, boys and girls, winning teams and not-so-winning teams. But there are still players to this day who, when bumping into him at the grocery store, or down at our neighborhood village, will see him and call out, "Hey, Coach!" 

You don't know to be grateful for all of the great coaches out there until you encounter the not-so-great coaches. Sometimes it would be the coach of our opposing team who would leave me wishing I could gather up all those other little players and bring them onto our side. Coaches who scream, who belittle, who yell profanities and encourage their players not just to play hard, but to play with the intention to harm. And then there are the coaches whose offenses are more subtle. They are disinterested and unengaged. They don't really know the sport and they don't care to learn. They are the coaches who don't really care if the kids grow as players or as people. 

Sadly, these coaches exist. Thankfully, they are in the minority.

Soccer is really Superdad's sport, but he learned to be a good baseball coach, too. He learned by watching other good coaches and offering to be their assistant when our kids were young. He never minded being the co-pilot and enjoyed the camaraderie coaching with other like-minded men whose goal was as much to model good character as it was to build a winning team.

Superdad has won some championships in his time as Coach, but more importantly he has helped to raise champions. He never allowed foul language or poor sportsmanship on his teams. He made sure all his players played and felt valued. And he modeled an appropriate competitive spirit by ending every game with a smile, pats on the back and encouraging words regardless of the outcome.

The other day we heard about a coach who, while viewing the film of the previous game, called out a single player as being solely responsible for the goal that lost the game. Not only is it rare in soccer that one player can truly be identified as the lone weak link in the string of events that lead to a goal, but my mother's heart couldn't help but lurch in response to such an overt act of humiliation by a coach. But I'll admit that in my head I thought to myself, "I don't know...it's really competitive at this level now. Maybe that's what coaches do." It wasn't what I would do but, heck, I'm not a coach.

But my heart's response was vindicated when I saw Superdad shake his head and then heard him mutter,

You praise publicly, you correct privately.

And I was reminded yet again why parents loved having their kids on his team. Because he knows what it means to be a coach. He knows how you talk to kids. He knows what motivates a kid and what just tears him down. He knows that being a coach is really about being a leader and the basic principles of good leadership apply whether you are running a business or trying to get 8 year olds to kick a ball down a field. You communicate, you affirm, you inspire, you teach, and every once in awhile you get a rousing game of Sharks and Minnows going- because you gotta have some fun.

Superdad's coaching days may be winding down. He got to coach Tim longer than we anticipated when he was asked to assist on his club team last year, but this year Tim will be moving on to a higher level and we will turn him over to a new club, a new team, and a new coach. We feel good about what we have seen from this new coach, but it still feels like an act of faith. Because like teachers, pastors, music instructors, and so many other adult mentors we bring into our kid's lives, coaches can have a dramatic impact for better or worse on the development of these young minds and spirits.

Synonyms for coach: guide, counsel, lead, mentor, shepherd, show, instruct

The best coaches are those who truly understand the power they wield and they do so consciously and carefully. Sports will not always feel fair but it should never feel unjust. Players may not always get what they want but they should always be treated with respect. And my personal belief is that when you are coaching kids below the college level, the development of the person should be as much of a priority as the development of the player. Actually, I believe that should be true at any level of sports, but that's just me.

So, this is my little tribute to our Coach. A thank you for the countless hours he has given not only to our own kids, but to the dozens and dozens and dozens of other kids he has tried to encourage and motivate along the way. I know it hasn't always been easy. I know there have been kids and parents who pushed you to the limits of your patience. I know you reach the end of every season exhausted and spent but also sad to see it end. I see how much you give and it is so very appreciated.

We call him Coach, because that's what he is. Always.

Handle with care

My daughter Annie would be the first to tell you that she is a bit on the sensitive side.

And while it's true, I often try to help her reframe that idea of herself into more positive, affirming adjectives. I tell her she is compassionate, she is empathetic, she is thoughtful, and she has a tender, open heart. And I tell her that those are all good, good things. I tell her I wouldn't change a thing about her.

And, in theory, I wouldn't. Except that I kind of want to...for her sake.

I want to temper her compassion and empathy with just a dose of apathy (just a dose, mind you). I want to water down her thoughtfulness with just a drop of selfishness. And most of all, I want to build a wall around that tender, open heart of hers. Not a very tall wall, and not an indestructible wall, just a wall high enough and strong enough that maybe not everything can get through.

I want to do all of those things in spite of my great love for all that is Annie, because I know exactly how it feels to move through the world with paper-thin-skin and a gaping wide open heart.

It's interesting to me when I hear people talk about or write about "Facebook envy" or in its more general form, "social media envy." The idea being that some people find themselves feeling deflated by what appears to be the perfect lives of others. Perfect crafty birthday parties on Pinterest, perfect photos on Instagram, perfect family vacations on Facebook. And while I can't relate to it, if I step outside of myself enough I can understand how under different circumstances I could fall prey to the same phenomenon. I don't feel that envy but I also don't judge that envy because I know it is most likely coming from a place of hurt. Back in the day when I was struggling with infertility, Facebook might not have been the right place for me, and I'm kind of glad it didn't exist.

So, when I say I don't personally feel the social media envy some people struggle with, I am not saying I think it's crazy. It's just not my battle.

My battle is with social media fighting and labeling and political posturing and the feeding frenzy that can erupt when someone says something the slightest bit controversial. And the reason this is my battle is because at the end of the day I am NOT cut out for battle.

I feel wounded when someone else feels wounded. I feel attacked when someone else is attacked. I want to speak but fear keeps me silent. I am a great big baby who doesn't know how to unravel the knot in my stomach every time I witness conflict flare up, even when I am not personally involved.

Here is the thing, I just don't DO conflict. Even perfectly sensible, civilized debate leaves me rattled. I'm not proud of that, believe me. Part of me wishes I could stand up for my convictions and then walk away without another thought about it. But that's not what happens. I worry. I stew. I fear I've offended someone. And then I just start saying sorry even when I'm not entirely clear what it is I am apologizing for.

Honestly, I think it's too late for me. I've tried to figure out how to grow a thicker skin but I'm learning that at almost 44 years old, you either have it or you don't. However, I do hold out hope when I see elderly people who have that distinctive "I could give a crap" air about them. I wonder if they were always that way or is that the final gift of age? I kind of hope so. I could look forward to getting older if I thought it meant I would stop carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and could finally unleash every controversial thought I ever had without fear of reprisal. That would be awesome.

Picture me, I'll probably be about 4' 10" by then, just going off in the nursing home on a rant that would make Richard Sherman look like he was just reading a bedtime story. And all this stupid exercise I've done my whole life is going to finally pay off then because I will still be strong and feisty and I'll single-handedly start a Senior Citizen Mock Trial group just so all of us oldies can argue and argue and argue to our heart's content. And at night, I'll sleep like a baby.

That's what I'm going to hope for.

But until then, please tread lightly. Be kind. And let's keep Facebook fun.

Peace out.

Be gentle, World. Handle with care, please.

A thousand words: Part II

Soulumination, a local non-profit and organization that I love has been getting a lot of press lately. It's exciting to see for many reasons not least of which is the hope that it might generate more financial support as greater numbers of people are exposed to their gentle mission of love and compassion. But perhaps even more so are the lessons to be learned in the work of Soulumination.

When I was on the board of Soul (our affectionate shorthand for the foundation) we always made education an underlying priority to our overall mission of providing beautiful photographs to families with either a parent or child facing life threatening illnesses. Lynette Johnson, the founder, is keenly aware of how uncomfortable our modern, Western society is around the difficult subjects of illness, death, loss and grief. The discomfort is understandable, I share it in many ways, but it becomes unacceptable when it means we leave people walking through the valley isolated and alone. None of us will escape this life untouched by the particular sorrow felt by losing someone you love, so perhaps we would do well to acquaint ourselves with how other people have coped with such grief.

If we can find it in ourselves to abide with and learn from someone else's experience of loss, or at least not turn away from it, we will be better prepared and less likely to say something stupid when someone close to us is facing unimaginable grief. Because believe me, truly insane things come out of the mouths of people who are nervous and tentative around profound sorrow. I mean jaw-drop-to-the-ground-nutso.

None of us want to be that crazy person spouting off about silver linings, and how everything happens for a reason and how someone else you know had it really bad so be grateful that at least that didn't happen to you because that would have been so much worse. Oh, and how about how all you have to do is stay positive and focus on your blessings and everything will be fine. It's like busting out a round of A Spoonful of Sugar to a person whose beloved has just died. Not. Super. Helpful.

None of us want to be that person, right?

Just weeks after our twins had died I had a well-meaning, good-hearted, truly very nice friend who I know was probably fumbling all over herself when she ran into me at the ATM, ask me excitedly, "So, gosh Lori, with both boys in school now what are you going to do with all your time?"

Ummmmm.....well, there were those two babies I thought I was going to be taking care of 24/7, but that kinda fell through...

We can do better.

We can try harder to not flinch and run away from the subjects of death, loss, illness and grief.

We can put on our big girl underpants and remind ourselves that this is part of being a real grown up, and a compassionate human being, and (if that is your thing) a child of God who believes we are not only here to love one another but that we have been commanded to love one another.

And all of this is to say why I believe the work of Soulumination and the photographs they take and the families that agree to share them with us, all matter so much.

I didn't think I wanted photographs of my babies. My mom asked several times if I wanted her to bring a camera in case we wanted photos after they were born. I said, no. I was scared and sad and I didn't know what to expect and I didn't think it was anything I was going to want to remember with something as vivid as photographs.

Our nurse took some pictures anyway. They weren't very good, nothing like a photographer from Soul would have been able to do, but I will never stop being grateful to her for knowing better than I did what I would need later.

Photographs, especially beautiful, professional photographs like the ones Soulumination provides, do so many things for families. Depending on the age of the child they might mean different things to different people. I can only speak to what it means to lose a tiny infant who never comes home.

For me, those photos are validation. They are proof. They are evidence that even if no one outside my immediate family ever saw our babies, they existed. I had a reason for my sorrow. It wasn't just my imagination and all of those well-meaning words about how it "wasn't meant to be" were irrefutably wrong. They were meant to be, I know that because they were here. Yes, something went wrong- as it does all too often in our fallen world- but they were meant to be.

I have the pictures to prove it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I encourage you to read the article about Soulumination that recently appeared in Slate Magazine.

An open letter to College Admissions

Dear College Admissions People,

Very soon (fingers crossed that it will be very soon), you will be receiving from my eldest son an application for admittance to your respective college or university. As I have assisted him in filling out the endless pages on the Common App, made sure that all pertinent details were correct, and nagged encouraged him to persist in writing his essays, I have become aware that in spite of the very comprehensive nature of your application process I cannot escape the feeling that you will not be getting a complete picture of my son.

The measures of success required on the college application are certainly valid and necessary to your assessment of his potential. I'm not quibbling with your methods, just concerned that you might overlook an excellent future college student if you look to those measures and those measures only. I can hope that his essay and teacher recommendation might help fill in the colors and nuances of the portrait that is Jack, but perhaps I can offer some helpful visuals as well. I'm sure you can agree that undoubtedly no one knows this young man better than his own mother.

1. Jack is, and has always been, 100% his own person.

I have yet to meet a child who I worried less that he would succumb to the pressure to be or do anything that he didn't want to be or do. Jack has been known to turn down invitations to parties, tickets to concerts, and a host of other requests that might appear to be socially advantageous simply because he didn't care to go. His sense of self is solid and at times maddeningly intractable, but always, admirably, true to his core.

2. Jack is a confident, unflappable public speaker. He has no fear of getting up in front of a group of 10 or a group of 500, and is known in his senior Speech class as the King of Impromptu speeches. This is particularly useful when you are the sort of kid who occasionally forgets to prepare/practice his speech in advance. (maybe I should leave that part out?)

3. Jack chooses his friends well. His friends run the gamut from being the academic stars of the school, to the athletic heroes, to the seemingly ordinary guys who are just fun to be around. But one thing they have in common is that they accept one another completely, laugh easily, and are loyal to the end.

4. Jack is a good sport. His strong sense of self prevents him from being embarrassed easily which means he's generally willing to take one for the team, so to speak. This includes willingly sitting on Santa's lap at the age of 17.

5. Jack is a terrific older brother. 'Nuff said.

6. And, finally, Jack is uniquely suited to dorm life because of his extensive experience with making the most out of small spaces. Jack has been exceptionally creative within the boundaries of his own relatively small bedroom and I know he could work his similar brand of magic within the confines of dormitory living.

First, there was the unique placement of his desk in relation to his closet. At first glance this might look like a hindrance to hanging up one's clothes, but Jack has addressed that issue as well.  He has perfected a clockwork-like system that involves living out of one hamper of clean clothes, while filling a separate hamper with the dirty clothes until it is time to do laundry again. Repeat cycle. It works seamlessly and eliminates the need to hang up one's clothes at all. The wrinkled look is in, by the way.

And if the desk-closet arrangement wasn't enough to convince you of Jack's powers of imagination and creativity...

...I give you MegaBed.

Yes, what you see there are two twin beds pushed up together vertically with two twin mattresses arranged horizontally across them. I will leave it up to you to imagine which way Jack chooses to sleep most nights but let me just say that I am setting aside money for a chiropractor, just in case.

Nevertheless, surely you can see that Jack is not bound by the limits of societal expectations, the principles of Feng Shui, or good taste. He is a young man destined to push the boundaries and to work outside of the box, all while charming the world with his easy going nature and engaging smile. What college campus wouldn't benefit from the talents and disposition of this young man?

Seriously, he's a good kid.

Could you all just get together and agree that at least one of you will send him a big "YES"?

You won't be sorry.

Sincerely,

Jack's Mom

Texting Tuesday

As I've mentioned before, I'm actually a huge fan of texting.

I'm aware there are drawbacks and reasons to be concerned where teens and texting are concerned, but so far, in our household, texting has only improved our communication. No doubt that it is not improving certain members of the family's spelling or grammar, but it is a very efficient mode of communication.

Recently, I had an older parent lamenting to me about all these newfangled gadgets while screeching the usual obviously-I'm-over-50 rant, "What did we used to do before cell phones?!? I mean, we survived!'

Of course we did. And people survived without seatbelts and fluoride toothpaste too, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't embrace innovation and change- especially when it is to our benefit (or makes our lives remarkably safer). I know that there were many times as a teenager I could have really used a cell phone, and while clearly I survived those incidents that doesn't mean that I can't be grateful my own children won't be left quite so vulnerable should a similar situation arise.

I'm not going to go into all the cautionary tales of how dangerous texting can be for kids. Don't we all know that by now? We had our own very minor foray into inappropriate texting with one of our boys (I won't say who and I emphasize the word minor, don't let your imagination run away with you) and so we are well versed on the need to set up safeguards and boundaries and how to deliver a lecture about how these-things-will-stay-with-you-for-the-rest-of-your-life that is sure to make your child believe that hidden cameras lurk on every street corner. I get it.

But my experience has been that, at least with boys, or, at least with my boys, once we got them through those tricky pre-teen, experimental years, they lost interest in using their phones for anything other than completely utilitarian purposes. Are you going? Ya. What time? Where? K. 


The other night I had reason to heart texting yet again.

Jack and I had been texting back and forth regarding his whereabouts and whether or not he was going to come home that evening or opt to spend the night at his best friend R's house. I was fine either way but I reminded him that if he was planning to come home he needed to remember his curfew and leave with enough time that he would be home on time. He assured me he would and said he would let me know if he decided to stay at R's house.

You know those really good moms who will tell you that they can't possibly fall asleep until their child has safely arrived at home? I thought I was one of those moms. I have now been kicked out of the Good Moms Who Wait Up For the Teenagers Club. I could have possibly managed to avoid such a stern penalty if my offense hadn't been documented in a string of text messages.  See, texting really can get you into trouble.

Confident that Jack would let me know if he decided to stay at his friend's house, I took my phone with me as I got ready for bed. I placed it on the nightstand next to me but when I could see that Superdad was already falling asleep I decided it would be rude for me to leave the light on and read, so I turned it off and decided to just enjoy some quiet time, resting, while I waited to hear from Jack.

I'm sure you can see where this is going...

At about 12:20am I jerked awake, looked at the clock, and when I saw the time I felt that familiar mom-feeling where your heart starts beating faster and your stomach is instantly in knots.  It's the I-don't-know-where-my-child-is feeling.

I grabbed my cell phone certain I would see a text from Jack (that I had somehow missed while I was "resting"). No text.

At this point my feet hit the floor and I started texting in the dark of night, praying for a speedy response from my son.

Me: Hey there. I didn't hear from you. Did you stay at R's?

Then, the longest 30 seconds of my life went slooooowly by (cue Jeopardy music)...

Jack: What? I'm at home. I said goodnight to you.

Me: You're home? In your room?

Jack: Yep. Would you like to stroll down the hallway and see for yourself?

Me: And did I say goodnight back to you?

Jack: Yes mother. Good night. Again.


At which point I fully emerged from my sleepy stupor, realized the hilarity of texting my son while he was 10 steps down the hallway, in his own bedroom, after midnight- and started laughing hysterically.

A half-asleep Superdad mumbled, What are you doing??

I asked him, Did you know Jack was home?

He murmured into his pillow, Of course I did. What kind of parent do you think I am? He came in and said goodnight.

Which only made me laugh harder.

But I still love texting.

Chores, personal responsibility and grace

This morning I did not feel like hitting the treadmill at the gym. Actually, to say that "I did not feel like" getting on the treadmill would be an enormous understatement.  Rather, my feet felt like lead, my head started hurting at the mere thought of any form of exercise, and I almost wanted to cry. But there was Dr. Phil again with his grating Southern drawl telling me, 

You don't have to want to do it. You just have to do it.

So I did.

When I got home, I did not feel like unloading the dishwasher. I did not feel like making the bed that I had left unmade earlier because I didn't feel like making it then either. I did not feel like taking the pup for a walk. I did not feel like gathering up a load of laundry. I did not feel like figuring out what we will have for dinner later tonight. I didn't feel like doing much of anything except burying my face in a bowl of frosting and topping that off with a nap.  All of this occurred before it was even 10am.

Some days are like that, right?

Well, the thing is, I know that some days are like that for kids, too. My kids have their good days and bad days, which is what I get for having human children. I should have looked online for some of those reliable robotic children who, once programmed, perform their chores and duties with clockwork-like precision all while wearing a happy smile. But those robotic children are also lacking in spontaneity and humor and unexpected moments of brilliance.

Yesterday, as I was running out the door I asked Jack if he could please fill the dog's water bowl. And then, for some unknown reason, I clarified that he should fill it with cold water.

He raised his eyebrows slightly and deadpanned, So I should fill it with hot water then? (all while wearing an expression that said, Duh, Mom. Do you think I'm an idiot?)

And I laughed out loud. I laughed because he is a funny kid with a quick, quirky sense of humor and I know I'm going to miss that kid all too soon. He doesn't always remember to clear his dishes, but I'll take him over a robot kid any day.

Days like today are the reason I am probably not as hard on my kids as maybe I should be. When kids complain that adults just don't remember what it was like to be a kid, I would argue that it's actually because I do remember that I extend as much latitude to my kids as I do. I fully remember how pointless household chores seemed to me when I was a kid. I remember how much a request to unload the dishwasher could fill me with utter annoyance. I remember how important all of my social demands and dilemmas felt to me and that the need for a clean room paled in comparison. I do remember and the truth is, sometimes chores and responsiblity still feel like that to me.  Not nearly so often as they did when I was a kid, but we all have those days when we wish we could just forget all of the work and spend the whole day reading, eating and sleeping (well, that would be my perfect day- yours might be a bit more active...whatever). I do remember what it felt like then, and I know how it still can feel now so....I try to offer a little grace when I can.

I try not to overreact to the occasional grumpy attitude so long as most of the time my kids respond to requests for helpfulness with a reasonably pleasant demeanor (definition: no obvious eye-rolling or loud, heavy sighs).

I try to recognize the times when my kids are already tired and/or overwhelmed by other responsiblities and keep extra requests to a minimum.

I try to make sure that the majority of our interactions do not center around all that they need to be doing, or should be doing, or could do differently or better or more efficiently. I try to make sure that most of the time, we just talk.

And, most of all, I try to remember to express appreciation for the tasks that they do handle because our household really does function best when we all pitch in and do our part. I want them to know that what we ask of them is not simply because we get some sick pleasure in watching them suffer, but because we genuinely need their help.

Don't we all need a little grace, or a lot of grace, now and then? I know I do.

When opportunity strikes and lessons in dogs

When I set out to create the Countdown list I never intended it to be an exhaustive list. How could it possibly? The number of life skills my children will require in order to successfully manage their first years out of the nest, and beyond, are too many to count. And, with the rapid-fire changes in technology and culture, who knows what other skills they will need to be proficient in within the next 10-20 years in order to be competitive and productive.  But in creating this list, and attempting to raise my own awareness as to how better to prepare my chickadees for life outside the nest, my hope was that as opportunities for growth presented themselves I would be better poised to take advantage of such "teachable moments" (I can only imagine how much teenagers must love that phrase. I'm an adult and even I kinda hate it.)

Such an off-the-list opportunity presented itself just yesterday, and I almost missed it. 

As I mentioned before, my family and I are currently divided by the full length of our fair state. Superdad and the boys are back in our primary residence, while Annie and I are enjoying extra summertime fun with cousins and extended family on the other side of the state in our secondary residence.  This means that the majority of my communications with my sons are occuring via text. You might think it would make more sense to just call them. It would not. Skilled phone conversationalists they are not, at least not with their mother. If I'm going to be fed a string of one-word responses, I'd rather see them on the screen of my phone.

Me: Hey Jack! What are you up to today? Are you being helpful to Dad?

Jack: Ya. just going to skate today. can you make me a haircut appt for tomorrow?

Me: Sure, I'll try to remember to do that. Have fun and be sure to check with Dad and see if there is anything he needs you to do before you leave.

Note of explanation: Jack is an avid skateboarder. Clarification seemed necessary so you wouldn't get a mental picture of him strapping on his walkman, tying up his roller skates and performing double axels along the boulevard in Venice Beach (which would be especially peculiar since we don't live anywhere near Venice Beach).

After this brief but deeply fulfilling text conversation I continued on with my day but occasionally my mind would jump to the thought, Oh, I need to make Jack a haircut! That is until I finally got my head on straight, remembered my recent epiphany and the purpose of this written chronicle, and had an entirely new not-so-shocking thought, Wait! Jack should make his own haircut appointment! This is exactly the sort of thing he needs to handle himself now! 

I know. I'm quick.

Me: Hey there- Making your own haircut appt is a great thing for you to handle on your own.  The number is xxx-xxxx. Just tell them you want to make a haircut appt with Holly. Go for it!

And he did. :)

Here on the other side of the state, I am continuing to learn more about the dog breeds of the world than I ever thought possible. Annie is our resident dog lover and expert. Recently, we purchased for her The Dog Breed Bible. This has given me ample opportunity to practice one of my goals from my own list, The Proverbs 31:28 Challenge: Listen with my full attention when my children speak. I am afraid to say that isn't always as easy as you'd think it should be...

Annie's very first words out of her mouth this morning were, (with the sleepy still in her eyes and her hair falling in her face)  Hey Mom, did you know that the Irish Wolfhound is actually a very good family dog even though they are so big? They aren't jumpy and they make excellent companions. Oh, and Mom? What kind of dog do you want to be today? I'm a German Shepherd puppy. You can't be a Cocker Spaniel because you were that yesterday. How about something from the Sporting Group?

Good morning, Annie...

Forgiveness and the art of long-distance harrassment

It has occurred to me that I may have chosen an inopportune time to begin making every moment count during my eldest son's last year at home since we are currently residing on opposite sides of the state. Annie and I are enjoying some extra summertime fun with cousins and extended family while the menfolk are back at home tending to soccer schedules and their busy social lives (Superdad is simply working).  It has also occurred to me that if Jack were at all aware of my little plan he would likely say I picked the perfect time to embark on my journey.

Awesome. You go, Mom. Get this all out of your system, write about it, read a couple of books and we will all pray that you will have moved on to something else by the time you come back home. No, seriously, I'm totally with you on this, Mom.  Yawn....

Exactly why it might be best if he were none the wiser about my personal challenge to myself. Better to just surprise him with spontaneous moments of fun like, Hey Jack? Let's go explore the magic of Clorox and a toilet bowl brush together! Or, I don't know what we are having for dinner. What are you making? Without a doubt, the element of surprise can only work in my favor.

This also provides me the perfect opportunity to practice the art of long distance harrassment via text.  I know people think texting was invented to provide teenagers with an underground, unmonitored form of communication (and there is something to that) but mothers would be wise to use this and all technology to their advantage.  Our rule in our household is, we pay for the cell phone therefore you must answer any and all calls or texts from mom or dad promptly and politely. I tried to insist on cheerful, grammatically correct responses, but that seemed to be pushing it.

I really am careful not to abuse the gift of parental texting, but it certainly can come in handy.  For example, right now when I am 280 miles away from home. 

Good morning boys! Hope you are enjoying the sunshine (ie. get out of the basement!) Please remember that your father will not enjoy coming home to all of your breakfast, lunch and snack dishes. In other words, clean up after yourselves. Annie and I miss you! Have a great day!

What scintillating responses can I expect from my morning greetings?

Tim: k thanks

Jack: gotcha

Parenting is nothing if not rewarding.

And while the temporary long distance relationship between myself and my boys might not be ideal it does provide other rich possibilities.  Because, of course, while I might have been inspired by my eldest son's impending departure to elevate the purposefulness of my mothering, it is by no means limited to his and my interactions.  I have two other children who need me on my A-game just as much.  So, I am trying to use this abundance of one-on-one time with my daughter to my advantage.

Last night, the fates smiled on me or, rather, they laughed and said, Ha! Here you go! You want to practice being patient, loving and kind?!? Okey doke! 

Annie had spent the better part of the afternoon carefully painting a miniature ceramic tea set. Having declared her masterpiece complete it was left to dry on the breakfast table.  Whether intrigued by the smells or just having been cooped up inside too much in the 90+ degree heat, our 7 month old puppy decided to take a look at said masterpiece.  In his admiration of her artistry he knocked one of the tiny tea cups to the tile floor below.  Ummm... it did not survive the fall.

There were tears. There were angry words about the puppy whom she otherwise loves deeply. There were declarations of never being able to sleep, eat, smile, play, laugh...again. And finally, there was the careful collection of the pieces and a mother's attempt to quietly, calmly, optimistically glue them back together.

At bedtime, after all the tears had dried and Annie had reconciled with her beloved pup, I told her that I was proud of her. I was proud that she had been able to overcome deep disappointment and find reason to smile again. I was proud that she had forgiven her puppy and let him know that he was still loved in spite of his mistakes. I was proud she was willing to still take pride in her creation even if it isn't perfect now. And I told her that I knew God was proud of her, too.

She asked why?

Because God is always happy when we find it in our hearts to forgive others for their mistakes. Even puppies.