Help Wanted

Guest post by Therese Steinhoff.  Many of us can relate to the feeling of needing help - it develops a whole new meaning when we realize that the help isn't always just for ourselves. You can find out more about her story at http://thejoysofraising3boys.blogspot.com/.  -BTH
 

 I have always been one to be quick to give help or ask for it when needed.  I feel good when I am helped or when I help someone else. Some people find it difficult to ask for help, but not me.

When help is offered I gladly take it. When I had the double wide stroller I was relieved when someone opened the door for me. When I was pregnant and someone offered me a seat I took it. When I had a newborn and someone offered to bring me a meal I gladly welcomed the sweet gesture. On the flip side I love to help others. I love connecting people with other people who can help them.  When there is a crisis I feel helpless unless someone tells me how I can help.

So why didn’t I get help for my child when he needed it?

Since he was two years old and in day care we have been told that there was a concern regarding our eldest son’s fine motor skills. He didn’t like to draw, write, or color. Then when he was in Pre-K his teacher once again broached these concerns with us. After a stern discussion with him he went from scribbling and coloring outside of the lines to drawing recognizable characters (aliens) and coloring as best he could inside the lines in his Batman coloring book. After that instance I wiped my brow off and gave a sigh of relief. He was finally getting it.

The first time I met his Kindergarten teacher I introduced myself and the first thing she said was “does your son have a dominant hand?” I learned that they were trying to get him to write with one hand and not both. Darn! The fine motor issues had reared their ugly head again. Still his teacher said we should take a wait and see approach with occupational therapy.

Then first grade came around. Finally his teacher said that it was time to get some intervention for his fine motor issues. We started with an OT and my son is so happy that he is finally getting the help he needs to as he puts it “write better.”

The kid wanted to write better. He was frustrated. My help wasn’t enough. What held me back from asking for help for him all of these years?

He is my first. He grew like a weed—always off the charts for height. He excelled verbally by speaking clearly and with the correct words. He recognized the letters of the alphabet before he turned two. I think in my mind he seemed to be doing great and hitting all of his milestones with gusto.  I just felt like this problem would eventually work itself out with age and maturity.

I fought back tears last week as I read through the reports from the occupational therapist and the school. Words like “fine motor delay since he was little” pained me. One report compared him to a kid who “stays on task most of the time.” “Kid A” did awesome, my son not so much. In my mind he had always been “Kid A.” They talked about how he was frustrated with his writing. They talked about how fatigued he was from trying to keep up. They talked about how school was hard for him. How did I miss the boat on this one?

The good news is he is getting help now and is feeling more confident. I need to let go of my guilt and move forward with eyes open. There are resources at our finger tips to help our children get through school. There is no shame in asking for help.

My second born is already struggling with his fine motor skills in preschool. If by asking for help early I can make school easier for him, then help is wanted. 

Milestones!

I finished my second marathon on 10.10.10.

11.11.11. I had my fourth baby on my 37th birthday.

Today, 12.12.12. the first piece I've submitted for publication in more than 15 years is running at Mamalode.

Check it out. Share it. Let me know what you think.

Lessons for today: Put yourself out there. Take good risks. Tell the truth. 

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Sock Confessions

My sister-in-law emailed me this morning.

"Have you ever put on your kids’ socks because you were too busy to go upstairs and find your own when they had clean ones downstairs?? A new first for me…did it this morning…wearing the 5 year-old's socks today!"

Ahh, the secret shames of parenthood.

Not only have I worn my children's socks when it seemed too much work to find my own, I have literally taken my own socks off my feet and given them to my son.

The search for socks in our house is in no way directly correlated to the amount of socks we have currently in the house.  If I come home with brand new socks from Target, place them in all appropriate sock drawers, the search for matching, clean socks still takes 10 minutes.

A wise woman I know once hypothesized that in the dryer single socks turn into T-shirts. Now that my husband and I do laundry for a family of six, I absolutely know, she was right.

The single, oddly shaped sock dominates the clean laundry pile and no matter how often I purge their clothes, shutting the kids' t-shirt drawers is an Herculean effort.

So the idea that those dirty, single socks mate in the laundry pile and turn into wrinkled, slightly stained t-shirts is not conjecture any more.  It is absolute fact.

The Great Divorce: 7 Ways to Compassionately Support a Family

Guest post by Elizabeth Eilers Sullivan. Sometimes the view from the horizon is cloudy, murky at best. This essay deals with how to reflect the best kind of light into the darkness. -BTH

I was at lunch the other week with two girlfriends I deeply admire and love, and our kids. I was feeling blissed out at my good fortune to be with them during the day while our olders were still in school. We were catching up on life between bites of macaroni and cheese, hummus, and wiping spilled water glasses that kept falling like blessings abundant and freely. When the topic turned toward a couple in our community divorcing. A disparaging remark was made about the one, and something inside of me came to a rapid boil. It was a moment where the record screeches on the turntable and things slow way down (this analogy dates me, but I lack another). For me, I froze and then spoke with conviction I did not know I harbored (frankly my strong reaction surprised me):

"First off no one knows what goes on in a marriage and that ‘crazy’ person is married to one of my sibling's childhood friends, so I would appreciate you not calling them crazy no matter the rumors. And, to speak toward the rumors, I want them stopped. It helps no one. I do not want to know their drama. The mere act of divorce is drama and trauma wrapped up in one, especially when there are kids involved. And for the kids, speaking of a kid who comes from divorced parents in this community, I know what was said about my parents when they chose to divorce after five kids and twenty-five years of marriage. It hurt. It hurt me. It hurt them. I watched it hurt them. I watched their couple friends chose sides and fracture a split situation further. I watched my parents turn inward away from us because they not only had to deal with their private pain but the public pain that came with this major event. And, the rumors, the gossip, the false concern helped no one. So I want it all stopped. And, my parents divorce was 'amicable;' an oxymoron at best." 

Broken down what appears to be a rant, but I hope was heard with deep love for myself, for her, for all of us to rise above what can be the a messy and painful horizon goes like this.

Seven steps to help a family going through a divorce:

1. Assume you know nothing of their marriage, even if you think you do, you are not living under their roof.

2. Do not pass judgment. Divorce is sad, tragic and a longitudinal life long event, it shifts the way a child lives out their life with parents and parents live out their lives with their kids at every milestone. 

3. Divorce is not a short cut, especially when kids are involved. It is a different way of handling daily problems big and small with your partner, you either do it under one roof or two.

4. Discernment is not done in a state of desolation. Sometimes even with the pain, divorce is the answer, sometimes it seems like it is the answer and it is not. Only a couple who carefully and faithfully discern whether divorce is their answer will know. It is advisable not to discern in a state of desolation—(St. Ignatius describes desolation where you are excessively anxious and cut off from others, being invited away from love for themselves, God, and others).

5. Do not gossip, swap stories, or spread rumors. They only hurt the couple trying to sort it out and their kids. This hurt prevents reconciliation on any level: remaining married or otherwise. 

6. Do not choose sides. Remain neutral. Remain friends with each spouse, and go out of your way to love up their children and them—a tall order, but worthy of the challenge. 

7. Lastly, keep your mouth shut, your heart open, and pray for guidance. Enough said.

Rise above the horizon. 

Christmas Presence

There has been a lot of talk at our house about making Christmas lists this year. It might sound nuts, but we've never really written Christmas lists with the kids in the past. 

My inquiries have had an unfortunate side effect - there has been lots more discussion about new toys, Lego books, e-readers, video games (and on and on) than any other year. I was not totally prepared to deal with this. I should consider myself lucky; I've avoided it for a lot of years. But I have to admit, I brought this on myself.

Some might think that I'm a Scrooge, but since we first had kids, we've followed the same basic strategy. Santa brings ONE toy for each child. They have fun, small and practical items in their stocking (underwear, toothbrushes, Pez, Chapstick, gum, etc). Mom and Dad buy ONE item for each kid as well (this year they're getting new winter outerwear).  Between these gifts and presents from godparents, grandparents and special friends, the kids end up with more than enough. They have never complained theirs was a less special, joyful or precious Christmas because Santa's sleigh wasn't loaded entirely for them. 

Don't get me wrong: I love Christmas. I love buying and giving presents. I love the whole season. The Friday night after Thanksgiving, we bundle up the kids, walk to our church with the big stroller, and pick out a tree with hot coca and adult beverages. The Athlete always sets up the Christmas music, the tree stand and fireplace, so we come home to a moment of Norman Rockwell each year. Once a year, we all deserve a little Rockwell.

But this year might be the first year that my older boys don't believe in Santa.  They haven't asked or said anything, but in my heart I know that the mystery is changing. 

While this makes me sad, I also see my chance to show them the mystery and magic of Christmas isn't lost or gone - that entering the age of Christmas reason is no less precious than looking for the sleigh on Christmas Eve. But still, misguided Christmas parenting echoed through the last week:  

"What do you want?  What do you want? What do you want?" 

I had no idea why I was suddenly and repeatedly asking. 

I finally realized that I was worried that they'd be disappointed in the Christmas morning presents. Grandma bought some big, special presents this year that will dwarf what Santa will leave under the tree. Santa cannot compete with an American Girl doll. Or a robot arm. Or Ninjago Legos. I mentioned my concern to the husband. He said: 

"So it would be a problem that the kids think Grandma is more generous than Santa Claus?"

Cleared my head right out. He was totally right and reminded me what I already know. Grandma is Santa, and so am I, and so are they. It isn't about who gives what. Love isn't a competition.

If I listen to my heart, I already know what they want.  And it falls perfectly in line with what they need.  

They need me. And their dad. And their extended family.

They need more story time.  More family dinners.  More game nights. More thoughtful conversation about their days, their concerns, their small joys. 

They want to play football and hang Christmas lights with their dad.  They want to bake Christmas cookies (which is a problem because their parents don't bake). They want to hear the stories of all the ornaments on the trees. They want to look at Christmas cards from our college friends, many of whom they've never met.

They need joyful examples of generosity. They need to see their parents having fun during the holidays. They need to see us holding hands in prayer and peace - giving full time and attention to our marriage. 

They need to see that the advent season brings peace and joy and hope - not stress and sadness and disbelief.

We might think they want the Lego Death Star, and sure, they'd enjoy it. But what they really want is meaningful experience and inspiring example. 

So today, I vow to be Christmas for my children. To let go of the worry about buying exactly the right thing, and to find joy in being the right thing.

For the first time, I'm going to bake cookies and build gingerbread houses. They won't be perfect - or maybe not even edible. (I don't promise miracles; I only promise effort.) We're going to take the kids caroling, with our bad voices and big smiles. Christmas will be different this year. I hope for more magic, more faith.

The kids are going to get one big special present this year and it will come from Grandma, and that will make it even more precious than if it had come from that right jolly old elf.

I can let go of the presents and focus on the presence.

Racing through the day-to-day, especially during the holidays, where the additional pressure of parties and presents adds to an already busy load, we often miss the point. In the rush of the mundane we forget to see the sublime. We forget the Christmas origin had no tinsel or white lights, no greeting cards or cocktail parties, no handmade stockings or collectible Santas. The first Christmas was about one, small family making room for more God and more love in their meager lives. And of course, it made all the difference. 

A Say Yes Day

Balance is a tricky thing. I often sound like I'm talking out of both sides of my mouth.  I tell myself "Do Less, Enjoy More" and then I have days like today. Today's message to me was all together something different.  I know it will sound conflicting.  I apologize in advance.  But that's the thing, there is no strait path, there is no map or GPS for finding the way to a happy life. Sometimes there are curves in the road. Today was the exception to the rule.

I also have to admit, I'm in a happy place right now.  I feel rested. Confident. Peaceful. My husband, "The Athlete" will tell you that my happiness is evident in all our kids.  When I'm peaceful, the kids are peaceful.

I promise I will admit when I struggle, but for the most part, right now I feel well placed in my life and balanced (although as I just wrote that I can't help but think about the long list of to-dos I have somewhere lurking - I'm pushing that to the background for now).

The first "yes"
An old friend of mine is finishing her 20th advanced degree (or so it seems). And she needed to interview people of faith who had purchased life insurance.  She'd sent out a mass e-mail to people who might be good fits.  So yesterday, I set up 30 minutes this morning to catch up with her and do the interview. Typically the morning is my favorite quiet time, read the paper, drink my coffee. My youngest plays the best first thing in the morning and the older kids are already out the door. But I hadn't talked to her in a few months and so it was lovely to hear her voice and chat about life. It was a weird sort of gift that we had an excuse to catch up. So as I wrapped up the call, the front door opened.

The second "yes"
Also yesterday, a close friend called in the after school hours sounding fried.  Her husband is traveling, she's got four busy young boys, and a good friend of hers from high school had suddenly passed away. The wake was last night and the funeral was this morning at our church. She needed help. I don't think she was calling to ask for help - I think she just wanted a few minutes of adult conversation.  But it became clear to both of us that she'd appreciate an extended hand.  We all need that sometimes as people, as parents. The extended hand - not only when we're in crisis - but just when we're fried.  A simple bit of kindness carries a heavy load with no effort. I told her I'd watch her two youngest boys the next day so she could sit peacefully through the funeral.

She arrived with snacks and coffee this morning and the happy boys in tow. So my morning continued with dollhouses, story time and grilled cheese sandwiches. I sat near the fireplace and read Shell Silversteen, Dr. Suess and my favorites, Don and Audry Wood to the eager trio of toddlers. It was peaceful.  And lovely. And I enjoyed it. And without the simple, unencumbered "yes" I would have missed it.

The third "yes"
My middle sister's, middle son is an artist who is autistic. He's 19 and expresses himself best through his vibrant paintings of landscapes, people and animals.  Verbal communication is a challenge for him to say the least. I've participated on the sidelines of his life since the beginning and we've watch the family ride the roller-coaster that is living with a loved one who struggles to communicate and relate.

For the last two years, he's made a new sort of life out of his art experience and my sister and her family have worked incredibly hard to foster this talent because they see how it has helped him find a place in the world. I think it has also helped his parents and siblings see a new place, a positive future for him. Art has dramatically improved his quality of life.

That being said, they had one of the frustratingly, sad set backs last weekend at a family party. My sister had gotten used to a certain ease of taking her son out in public, he was typically being compliant and enjoyed getting out.  Long gone seemed the days when he might bolt out into a street or refuse to comply with basic requests. 

The family party was incredibly loud and packed with about 40 members of my family all watching an intense football game. My nephew expected to retreat to a quiet basement room with a TV and VCR. He loves the sound and the process associated with VCR.  And who still has one? Well almost nobody, except thought my sister, our brother's family.

My sister told her son repeatedly how much fun this would be, what a treat to go to the party.  Well, of course the arrangement of the basement room has been altered since the last time he was there.  No TV, no VCR. But two boxes filled with hundreds of movies, literally hundreds of VHS movies, that he couldn't watch.

This was too much to bare.  He melted down. After about an hour of my sister, her husband and three of their kids trying to calm him down and getting him safely out. I went down stairs and discovered the situation. Everyone was on the edge of panic. Worried about how to get him calmed down and safely into the car.  Worried that this was a big set back. Disappointed that this wasn't how they thought the night was going to go. I asked what I could do to help and my sister shrugged and said sarcastically:

"You don't happen to have a VCR on you, do you?

I laughed with her for a minute because sometimes that's all there is to do.  And then it dawned on me that when my mother-in-law sold her house, we received boxes of old family VHS movies and a VCR to watch them.

"Yes. I think I actually do."

It was packed up somewhere in my basement. We arranged that if my nephew could calm down and follow directions, he could come to my house next week and watch my VCR. After a bit of explaining, he seemed relieved and agreed to go out to the car. Catastrophe averted.

Phew.

So this afternoon was the scheduled VCR day.  My husband dug it out and set it up with an old TV. I set aside this time to have a quiet household so my nephew would know that I keep my promises. He spent a few hours checking out our movie selection, enjoying the functioning VCR, and having some lunch . Hugs, smiles and no meltdowns. Success on every level.

The fourth "yes"
The Arch Mother is having a party, which is shocking to absolutely no one. She needed help drafting and printing invitations.  She knows I can do this in my sleep and so she called and asked if I could stop over and help her. The best part, is that because I talk to her ten times a day, she knew what kind of day I was going to have, and she offered to let me off the hook. I do love being needed by my parents. I love that they call me because they know I'll do whatever I can to help. I also enjoy listening to my dad talk to the kids while I'm working on the computer or charging the kindle.  I love that my mom makes them treats and asks them about school while I'm typing letters or fixing printers. Being needed by people who love you is the simplest, the great gift in the world.

When I arrived I had 44 minutes before I needed to leave to pick up my oldest son from swimming. I discovered a post-it note with about 5 items that they'd set aside for me to tackle. In that 44 minutes my three youngest kids got ice-cream cake before dinner, I

1. Drafted and printed 30 invitations to a holiday party. 
2. Created a Christmas playlist of my parents holiday music and transferred it to their i-Pod.
3. Reminded them how to use their i-Pod.
4. Fixed their Kindle
5. Outlined a plan for the holiday card (of which they send more than 500).

Bam. 44 minutes. It may not have been artfully done.  I would prefer to have more time to talk and relax, but we do the best we can.

Just enough "yes"
I'd like to go back to the beginning. I believe that we all would benefit by slowing down, doing less with better effort. But every once in awhile you climb a mountain like today.  Besides all the other activities of the day I ran school drop off and pick up, chess club, swim team, homework and of course fed the kids dinner.

My heart felt light and happy today, so it all clicked along pretty well.  I can't do this everyday. I couldn't even do this once a week. But there is something to be said about discovering moments when we realize we can do more and be more than we often give ourselves credit for.  We are inherently bigger, grander people than the faces looking back from the vanity mirror. Sometimes its just hard to see, hard to believe.

Sometimes "No" is the most important word you can say. But, if I'm totally honest, sometimes "Yes" saves the day.  I think about all the times that some one's "yes" saved me from a meltdown, a bad decision or just gave me a few minutes peace of mind. The trick is knowing what the answer is for you in that moment.

My husband has helped me find the balance - I try and think of all the things my hands and arms can hold and when faced with that "one more thing." I ask myself can I really carry this without dropping something else? Because those somethings are my kids, my husband, my family responsibilities. I am in charge of a lot of breakable items. It defeats the point of saying yes if you ruin something else that is precious. I'm learning to see more quickly what is possible and impossible. If I can't help, I empathize. Sometimes that's just as good.

Yes can be a lifeboat. Yes can be a bridge. Yes can be the difference.

Sitting at a quiet dinner, talking though work, kids, the weekend, The Athlete and I capped the day with a quick date night that included Indian food and very cheap wine. It's never tasted so good. 

Small Moments, Big Life

A friend wrote me last week that she and her husband had abruptly arrived at a new stage of parenting.  Suddenly parenting was about behaviors more than care giving, more about discipline than bedtime routines.  She felt like the ground was shifting under her feet, without her permission.

That's the thing about parenting, every day you wake up not knowing what the world is going to look like that day. For example, my 5 year old daughter who is usually the epitome of sunshine and light decided THAT morning was going to be the day she decided she didn't want to wear her snowsuit.

The next morning, as she was struggling (but with no complaints) to get that same coat on, I realized that the tab on the zipper pull was actually broken off. Good grief!  How many times had I said the day before:

"It is a perfectly good coat.  It's silly to crab about a warm, working jacket."

Classic parenting. Just when you're sure about one thing, the rules change. Now, I didn't go out and get a new coat, but it did force me to reconsider the rest of the winter. It is important that she can zip the coat on her own - these small acts of independence matter. What I was so recently sure of - I had to pause and reevaluate.

One of my guiding principles of parenting is about life resiliency. The happiest, healthiest people seem to have an aptitude for bouncing back - sometimes even quicker and often even stronger.

So when the world is shifting, I try and think:

Rebound. Reconsider. React.  

In that order.

Maybe these are good guild lines for any relationship. I also find it to be true when thinking about my relationship with my siblings and parents. A few days ago, The Arch Mother, who has been bragging about how great her knees have been feeling, fell while getting out of the tub. She was fine, but hyper extended her knee and bruised her ego.  My first reaction was panic "You fell!?!" but I gave myself enough time to not make her feel worse about the situation.

"Calgon Take Me Away" could have been inspired by her proclivity to disappear into the bathtub sometimes twice a day.  As awful, as fearful as I felt about her slipping while getting out of the tub (where she would happily spend half her life - she loves baths and they are a peaceful part of her daily routine), I knew this was a jarring experience for her. I could hear her inner monologue.

"Old people slip in the tub - not me." 

So I knew this had to really bug her - the thought that she could be vulnerable in one of her safest places.

Instead of marching upstairs and installing railings on the shower walls (which she would hate), I gave us a minute to let the experience rest. Sometimes inaction is the best action. And the truth is, a few days have past and she's no worse for the wear, and so a big reaction would have been hurtful and unnecessary. As much as I hate to think about my mother getting hurt, an overreaction would have been a bigger injury. 

I try hard to not react first - but to collect myself and consider the circumstances. Life is best lived thoughtfully - and some of the most important moments emerge during every day, the seemingly insignificant small crisis, the action we take without thinking.

How many times a day do we allow our kids to interrupt us during conversation or in the middle of a complicated job? What are we teaching at this moment? The child learns to put his/her needs above the parents, and since that parent is the most important mentor in their lives, it creates an inflated sense of self importance. How do we think they'll react on the play ground when they need to take turns with a ball or on the slide or on the swing when their own parents can't differentiate between urgent need and standard issue?

Kids need attention.  They need love.  But sometimes, often times, love looks a lot more structured than cuddles and story time. Calmly making a child wait to interrupt or telling them you'll look at their project in a few minutes is often the kindest thing you can do for your child.  The trick is making sure you take the time to circle back, to spend a few minutes giving that right kind of attention.

Kids can adapt to this pretty quickly, for parents it's much harder. I recently had a conversation with a woman I admire.  We were talking about screen time and Wii. Our rules at the house mean no TV or Wii during the weekday. It's not a hard rule.  It's not written anywhere. In fact, I've never said it out loud.  It's just what I expect. On the weekends, the kids often watch cartoons on Saturday morning, and sometimes in the evening we play family games of Wii. We love the family movie night. She commented that

"I'm afraid of Wii.  I don't want the hassle the comes with technology." 

I totally understand this - in fact I felt exactly this way.  We bought our system a million years ago now, but it was after we'd suddenly lost my brother-in-law at 32.  The whole family was going to be under one roof for an extended time at the holiday and my husband and I thought that this would be something fun that would be active and a good distraction from the thick fog of grief of which we were still in the middle.  But I wasn't sure.  I worried about it getting out of hand.

Now several years later, we enjoy it.  We play it periodically, but certainly not every day, not even every week. Why isn't it an issue? I think, because at some point in my parenting, I discovered that I am bigger than any object, that I am stronger than any fear. We don't fight about the Wii because we don't let a whiny child win. We reward good behavior, not bad.

The kids know that if they want to play a game or watch a movie, that's reserved for good behavior. It seems impossible but it is so simple, so true.

So every time we give in because we're tired or busy or whatever, we're are creating future chaos. We think these small moments don't matter - that screen time for a kid who is falling apart is OK this one time - that buying the treats at the grocery store when everyone is melting down won't matter - or that turning the TV on when you don't have time to deal with the kids won't count.  But I hate to say that it does, it really does.

Life is built on these small moments. We have to ask ourselves with what kind of bricks are we building? Do we parent courageously? Do we parent with exhaustion? If we don't like the answer, we're the only ones who can change the situation. I hate to say that the answer to a lot of problems we face today is: Get more sleep. Schedule less stuff.

I fail at these things a lot, but not all of the time. We do the best we can. But the truth is we often could do better, we can always do better.  Hold your kids to high standards, but we would do well by our kids to hold ourselves to higher standards.

Nothing Is Lost

Submitted by another parent of all boys.  Makes me think having sons makes you introspective.  I love the Irish notion of "Thin Places" - where we pass through both the ethereal and the corporeal aspects of the world.  -BTH

I have a friend whose father was in his early 50s when she was born. We were in college at the time when she said “my greatest fear is losing him since he is older.” I am happy to say that her father is now in his late 80s and very spry. He has watched her get married and held her two children who miraculously came into the world after 8 years of attempts. Her greatest fear back then hasn’t come to pass thank God. When my dear friend told me about her fear nearly 20 years ago my heart sank as I said “Lyn, you never know what will happen. My father was 42 when he died. Just take every day with him as the blessing that it is.”

I think of my dad and miss him every day. I was “Daddy’s girl” and his only girl with three brothers behind me. The other day I mourned something different.  It hit me that my husband of 10 years is a son in law without a father in law. My three beautiful boys are grandsons of a grandfather who never got to hold them. And even though this thought brings me to tears, I am somehow comforted by something that happened years before the first signs of the illness that would take him away from all of us.

In 1987 a movie starring Timothy Hutton and Kelly McGillis was released. It wasn't a big hit. I don't even remember it being in the theaters. A few years later my father recorded it on our blank VHS tape when it was on Cinemax. It was called "Made in Heaven" and it was a story about a man named Mike who dies in his twenties and finds himself in heaven only to fall in love with a new soul named Annie. Unfortunately, being a new soul, Annie was sent down to earth to become a baby. Mike decides that he wants to find her so he goes back to earth, but of course only remembers bits and pieces of his time with Annie. In the end these clues bring the two souls back together.

I know, it sounds pretty cheesy and predictable doesn't it? After watching it I just wanted to have hair like Kelly McGillis. My dad, who watched the movie a few times, fell in love with the picture of heaven that the movie painted. When Mike first entered heaven he found a long lost aunt. He asked her how you got around in heaven and she said "You just think about where you want to go and you're there." Annie's bedroom was a bed floating on a lake in the middle of a forest during autumn. Mike built the perfect little house with his mind for Annie. People were genuinely happy.

I once found a paper where my dad wrote his favorite quote from the movie "Anything you can imagine is and anything that is in heaven will eventually find its way back to earth--nothing is lost."

I remember it was a weekend in the Fall when we watched the movie for the first time. It was warm in our green carpeted sun room, but cold outside. I think we have just pulled the boat in for the winter. I am sure we were starting to stack up firewood for the fireplace. I could smell the heater kicking in. It was cozy. We were together.

It wasn't long after that Fall that my father was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, a rare heart virus, and then a little over two years later on September 29, 1992 he was the one who went to heaven.

It's been 20 years. It seems like a lifetime ago, but it still stings as if it happened yesterday.

During nap time the other day I was able to find "Made in Heaven" in its entirety on YouTube. How far we have come from those scratchy video tapes! I wasn't sad when I watched it. In fact, it gave me great comfort. I realized that my dad loved life so much that the thought that you could come back even after you died appealed to him.

I know in my heart he has been back to visit several times. He comes back to me in music he loved and played over and over again on his mixed cassette tapes. On September 26^th I heard Paul McCartney’s “Simply having a wonderful Christmastime” on a popular Twin Cities’ radio station. I believe that was more than a weird coincidence.

When I met Pat I heard a voice inside of me say “get that guy’s address, you need to stay in touch with him.” I felt his presence at every one of my children's births. There were the times I should have gotten into an accident. There were the friends I have met that I have thought were truly heaven sent. And the conversation I had with him in the car that day where I agonized about moving my family back to New York in order to help my mother care for my grandmother and I felt him say “your mom will be OK, you need to do what’s best for your family.” Or the time when ten doctors and nurses rushed into my newborn’s room in order to help him breathe and all I heard in the commotion was a soft whisper “he is going to be OK.”

My grandmother says he visits her almost daily now and I believe her. She doesn't say much about his visits, but I know she is happy to see him again.

Sometimes I wonder if his namesake, my middle child, has a bit of my father’s soul in him. He sure has the “life of the party, live every day to the fullest” personality that my father had.

So if heaven is like the movie "Made in Heaven" on the 20th anniversary of his death my dad is probably on a boat in the middle of a lake with our beloved Dalmatian Napoleon, his father, and his dear friends who have also left this earth. There is good Italian food and wine. He is telling cheesy jokes and smiling and laughing. Maybe he is planning his next visit down to earth. Maybe he has discovered some great new music which he is mixing with his old favorites.

Wherever he is, I feel he is happy. And because I feel his presence--nothing is lost.

Traveling; Carry On

From the sounds of it, there was a lot of melting down happening in my circle of parenting friends. One parenting truth: if you're having a tough time, you're not the only one. This essay arrived last night from one of my favorite and hardest working mother-mentors. I love the idea that parenting wisdom is often hard earned. We are all coffee drinking, carpooling, multitasking Phoenixes rising from the dust of yesterday's lessons. - BTH   

I am totally tapped out tonight and it is only 8:30 p.m. If I am honest I was tapped out when I woke up at 4 am this morning to help a little go to the bathroom. But at 4 am I vowed to myself that I would not wake up tired. I would steal more sleep and when 7 rolled around I would be spry. I am a firm believer in being aware of my thoughts and how they affect my reality. So I tossed away that voice that said, "Wow are you tired," and replaced it with the voice I still have three more hours of sleep if I am lucky and that equates itself to a glorious nap. I am mostly an advocate of listening to what our bodies are telling us and honoring them, but I knew this might not serve me best today so I relished the idea that I was taking a three hour nap, after going to bed extremely late the night before and solo parenting because my sweet is out of town traveling for work.

I am coming off my first time of being away from my kids since I started having them over 8 years ago. I have traveled a ton, but always with them, or one, or one inside of me and another on a hip. I love traveling. I love traveling with my family. If I could I would do so every six weeks or so. I have traveling with them down to a science, one bag, pack only necessities, and plan to do a load of laundry when the need arises. When I travel solo, I bring just a carry on, I love traveling light. I love keeping the weight I bring with me simple. I admit I am the type of parent that loves having my pawprints all over my boys, and this being said, I also resist the temptation of helicopter parenting. (Pre babes I worked at colleges and universities from the east coast to the west and witnessed first hand the damage a hovering parent can do. Not to mention the need for a new position to evolve called Dean of Parents, yep, it's true, it exists, but that is a post for another time.) 

No, I am the type of parent who after an early miscarriage, and then two years of not being able to get pregnant, feel astoundingly grateful for the abundant blessings four boys in less than six years brings to my life. But the week away from all of them, where I immersed myself in learning more about energetic medicine and healing while being with close girlfriends in the mountains we once called home feed my soul in ways I hadn't known it needed. I was able to do this because I have an incredible husband, who is my dearest friend and a loving hands on father. He stayed home. He simplified his work week. He stuck to the schedule and did not add to it, even when I offered to arrange play dates and such for him, guised as an effort to help him. I was also able to do it because I am blessed with amazing girlfriends who reached out to us and offered help if need be, a buoyed safety net beneath us and our family. 

I am also someone who believes fiercely that we need to live to be our best selves and if I want my boys to do this, I need to do so as well. And so becoming the grander versions of ourselves that God calls us to I feel is a lifelong commitment, much like marriage and raising kids. So when dream jobs come along like building wind and solar farms, and I see my husband yearn to do this, I encourage it, even if it means moving for us (not always easy, but amazing), a lot of travel for him, and by default us either without him at times, or going with him (which I love). This week he had an unexpected trip, and I began to have a moment today where I was outside of myself watching how I fill my hours. Since it was an unexpected trip, instead of rethinking my week I persisted onward. I did not let go of the things I could have let go of, because I just wasn't aware enough to do so until it was too late. In short, I did not keep life simple when Peter was away, and have paid the price for it tonight. I was the traveler that bought all the "just in cases" and had to pay for my bag being over the weight limit: I accommodated my parents, I served hot lunch, I ran out to get the needed snow boots--I hadn't anticipated needing until I awoke to snow. None of these individual things is a lot, but together they add up when your solo. I heard my ECFE teacher in my head saying, "Do what is best for the family unit, not the individual." And then thought back to two weeks ago when I was gone and heard how Peter was happy to just be with the boys, and how he turned down any of the extras only doing the necessities: school, meals, naps, and play. Wow, such wisdom. Keeping it simple. He did not add play dates, or undo errands, he did not add volunteer activities, or guests for dinner even if they are extended family. He just pulled in the reigns tight and slowed his pace making being together fun and manageable. 

Sometimes insight has to be hard earned. And, mine while I realized Peter had kept it simple and the beauty in that simplicity when I returned to a happy house of boys. I did not know I had complicated my week until I did not keep it simple and ended up yelling at the kids as bedtime twisted and turned into a multi hour affair. I was that passenger on the plane trying to stuff her grossly over stuffed suitcase into the overhead compartment with beads of sweat on her brow cursing under my breath convinced I could make it all fit. I hate when I yell. I hate losing my temper. It does not happen often, but I grew up with boiling tempers all around me, and I despise the old haggard pattern. I wish to eradicate it. I hate thinking about the trauma it imprints on littles and I hate the exhaustion I feel afterward. I hate the self loathing that happens because I did not rise to overcome my frustration, and just take a time out to regain my focus and calm in the moment. This all being said is I am putting myself to bed early because I need the rest, and the fresh mind and heart in the morning. And, tomorrow I vow to keep life simpler, especially going forth when Peter travels, only doing our schedule and not adding to it. There is beauty in simplicity and I am embracing it, packing only the essentials and carrying on. 

And as my dear mother friend, Brigid, reminded me tonight, "It's a new day tomorrow." And she is in good company As Ralph Waldo Emerson implores: "Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is anew day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This day is all that is good and fair. It is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on yesterdays."

OR

New Every Morning

Every day is a fresh beginning,

Listen my soul to the glad refrain.

And, spite of old sorrows

And older sinning,

Troubles forecasted

And possible pain,

Take heart with the day and begin again.

-Susan Coolidge

Thank God.

Facing the Monsters

This morning I faced off with a three-horned monster. As you can tell by my living to write about it, I believe I won. It was fierce and I'm quite sure I'll have to face it again (please not today - or at least not again before I've had coffee).

This morning's monster was a hand-me-down snowsuit and was fortified with a bit of my own exhaustion and self-doubt. The weather has taken an unexpected turn in the last 48 hours and we were greeted yesterday with a stiff breeze and about an inch of snow. Yesterday morning was a little rushed and I didn't fully realize how cold it was - so the kids all got off to school wearing an odd mismatch of cold weather gear (*full disclosure - I had been dancing at a Bruce Springsteen concert until midnight the night before and so the fact that the children got out the door at all seemed like a victory*).

When I walked up to meet them after school, I realized what a motley crew they looked like - nothing matched - nothing quite put together - but they seemed no worse for wear.

This morning, after we had all had a good night sleep, the monster unexpectedly emerged.

The older boys made their way out the door with a neighbor for the ride to school. What started out as a bit of whining over being told to wear her full snowsuit, turned into a full-out pitched fit. She doesn't scream and holler, she just wept. And wept. And wept.  Sigh. The neighbor's car needed to leave so I sent them on their way with the older kids.

"What is the problem?" I asked, exasperated.

"I don't like the sleeves. I think the kids will tease me. It doesn't fit right. I want to wear my old coat," she moaned.

At first I was firm. Then I was impatient. And then I yelled (I hate when I yell). I tried to send her back to bed.  But through it all, she just looked at me with the big swollen, red eyes, tears continuing to roll down her face, pleading to not wear the coat. Turns out that the main objection was that it was a hand me down from her brother (who received it from a girl cousin - it's purple and gender neutral).

I took a deep breath and a few minutes to myself to make my bed and think through what I needed to do. I am faced with these sorts of small monster almost every day - every parent is. Life is built on these tiny tests.  Sometimes we fail and sometimes we pass. Often we don't know until much later.

I know a snowsuit battle doesn't seem like much. It would have been easier to just let her have her way. But these seemingly simple conflicts lay the perfect groundwork for helping kids deal with harder, bigger issues.

A few weeks ago, my son went to a birthday party. The parents had said not to bring presents (God Bless them). But their child is a special friend of my sons (I know the mother well) and while we were already out shopping he spotted something that he knew the child really wanted. He explained to me that they had been talking about these special guys and that he knew this boy and his brother didn't have them. It amounted to about $6 and I said that sure, he could get it.

I like the idea of fostering generosity - especially when it is sincere and unnecessary. The party came a few days later and I told my son that none of the other kids has brought presents so he had to share it privately with his friend and his mother.  I could see the idea that maybe instead of giving the present away he might be able to keep it if the friend's mother said no. I watched him holding the bag tighter and tighter.

Well, the mother consented and he gave the boy and his brother these two guys  - and they were delighted.  As we left I could tell my son was feeling mixed emotions. For as fun as the party was, he became suddenly jealous. He didn't have to say anything for it to be clear that he was fighting a serious case of the "I wants". To be fair, we don't buy a lot of presents; Santa brings one toy for each child in our house.  So giving away something precious, knowing that mom is unlikely to buy them for him, was hard and uncomfortable.

Yet he was gracious and didn't complain or even mention it. He got quietly into the car, looking out the window longingly as we drove away. He said the party was great.

"I'm glad you know how to be a good friend, Buddy," I told him. "You made Caleb and his brother really happy today."

I told him I'd read to him when we got home. A lot goes unsaid when we parent. He smiled at me and sighed. I watched him in the rear view mirror and I wanted to drive to Target to go buy another set of the figurines.

But I didn't.

Because I love him

Because it is hard when people get things or have success that we don't have.  It’s hard to be uncomfortable.  I know it would have thrilled him.  And I love giving unexpected treats - but we have to choose our times and places very carefully.

It's hard to be patient.  It's hard to embrace that not everything is about us.  In fact when I got home, I had to call my sister and tell her the story and acknowledge I was NOT going to Target to buy the toys.  I felt like if I said it out loud, I'd be more likely to stick to my guns.

Some day a special friend will get a part in a play or a spot on a team that he wanted.  Someday he'll have to watch a good friend get into a college or get a better job than he will. And driving away I realized this was my chance to help pave a smooth road for him. And so while I didn't get him the Lego guys, I hope that I did give him something else. My hope was that in these small moments I'm helping him see that we can be bigger than our jealousy, bigger than our "I wants." We can rise to our higher self, we'll bring other people with us.

So back to this morning and facing my monster. I parent better when I'm well rested. It is easier to see the small moments when I'm not rushed or exhausted. I was in a better place when I face the birthday present situation than I was this morning, before my breakfast or cup of coffee.

I had to think to myself - what are we really fighting about here? My daughter was afraid that the kids might make fun of her.  I knew this to be extremely unlikely.  Largely because she is a rare kindergartner who can tie her own shoes, zip her own coat and pretty much be self-reliant.  Most of her classmates are still learning these skills, so if she were wearing a rainbow colored snowsuit I doubt anyone would notice.

She also wants something new. She doesn't want the hand me down. As she is our only daughter, she gets the least hand me downs of any of the kids. And the truth is the snowsuit is in great shape and is very high quality.  There is no need for a new one.  If I face those facts, I realize I have to hold my ground.

"I will come to school with you. Are the kids in your class mean? Do they often tease you?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"Well, if you have a problem, tell your teacher and she can call me. But, honey, I'm sure no one is going to be mean about your clothes." 

I know that bullying exists, and I don't want to down play that here.  But, I was 99% confident that this was not the issue we were facing.

"I don't want to wear it," she said.

"Well, that's the thing.  Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do. And today is unfortunately going to be one of those days for you."

So we went to school and in the blank for "why is the child late" I wrote "snowsuit meltdown." She went into her classroom with swollen eyes but no tears. And I ran a few errands.  I stopped in just after morning recess to make sure that I hadn't read the situation wrong.  And she was all hugs and smiles. The teacher told me she laughed with her aid about my explanation of tardiness.  She said that my daughter had done just fine.

So here is the thing. I wasn't sure that powering through was the right idea. I was tired and it would have been easier to let her wear the old spring jacket she wanted to wear.  Or to promise her a new coat. Honestly, my first consideration was to keep her home for the day to read stories and nap with me and her little brother.  But I thought that this might be one of those times where by helping her power through, I was again paving that road for her.

Monster 0

Mom 1