Ode to Kate on Your 17th Birthday

 July 8, 2024

My Dearest Kate:

Happy, Happy 17th Birthday!

You woke up this morning, and while the world changed for me (how can you really be 17?!!), you ate a bagel, grabbed your clothes, and headed out the door to your job as a barista.  Time to make the doughnuts.

You have always been a person that gets the job done-quietly, intentionally and consistently.

This past year has been such a marvel to watch your choices.  You made the hard but good decision to release dance to make time for costume design for Duchesne's productions of Annie and a Midsummer Nights Dream along with Kent Bellow's mentorship program.  Seeing your creations come to life in fashion, Cosplay, 3-D art, painting, embroidery, and even in Madrid as you created ceramic art is so inspiring.

Speaking of Spain, it was so much fun when you came home to listen to your stories of castles, museums, food, fashion, art, history....and...to receive all of your texts in Spanish.  It seems as though this will be the first of many stamps on your passport and that you found the hunger to see more of the world.

And, of course, this has been an amazingly liberating year of driving--to school, to work, to have dinner with friends, to grab late night Sonic and to feel the freedom of going where you want to go with the ability to do so.  Thank you for carpooling your little sister around, grabbing stuff for us at the grocery store and for taking your time on the road. 

And now, here we are, inches away from senior year.  A final year at Duchesne with lots of hard, good classes, a final semester to build your portfolio, the last musical and play costume curations, and of course, big decisions about where to apply to college and what makes good sense.  And, as you embark upon all of this, and the seemingly endless conversations we've had as a family about them, I want you to remember a few things...you've always been a maker...

And a reader...

And a dancer...

And a sewer...

And because all of these amazing parts are inside of you, you don't have to worry about losing them or accentuating one over the other.  Instead, trust that you will always be a maker--no matter what you study in college, or where you go, or who you meet, or which classes you take, or what your degree says.  You were born to make beauty.

So, as we do this senior year/college thing together, I promise to stand by your side, and love you as it all unfolds--no matter how it unfolds.  And when you're unsure, I'll be here with really good coffee and a bear hug--because in the end, it's not what you major in, what your business card says, the street you live on, or the amount of money you make-it's about how you treat others, the ways you remain curious and interested in the world, and the opportunities you take, imperfectly, to manifest your joy, your color, your idea, your hope into the world.  And knowing that, I'm not worried one bit. 

You are the greatest gift, and our family is so blessed to have your humor, your wit, your love, and your light.  Keep shining in your weird, unique, beautiful, only you way, and we'll keep basking in the beauty.

All my love, always,

Mom

 

Ode to 49 Birthday Candles

May 6, 2024

Ode to 49 Birthday Candles!

To age in America, particularly as a woman is a weird deal.  For so many years, your worth is predicated on being noticed and even with all of the mantras and grounding, it's hard not to get sucked into the culture.  So, when your children start to fly the coop, and you're left with all of the laugh/cry lines, the soft belly and the void, it gets real.  Who are you?  What matters?  How do you want the next chapter to look?

I've been thinking a lot about this as I process picking up our first born from his first year at college, preparing for our middle daughter's senior year of high school, and our baby's graduation from 8th grade. How do you measure a life?  And, how do you evolve in a life?  And, more importantly, how do you sink deeply into a life when you realize, if you're lucky, your life is halfway done?

I've read multiple times that the measure of a good life is the connection and relationships with those we love-that is what sustains us and what we will miss when we go.  And so, I think that's what I want in this new year, in this last year of the 40's.  

• I want deep presence in my life with those I love.  I think that looks like saying yes to more wine, coffee/tea, walks, laughing, last minute gatherings, and letting my to-do list go to make space for my loved ones.
  
• I don't want to measure my worth in my body weight or my small business hustle. I am beautiful and good at what I do. Period.
• I want to ground myself in myself by taking the time to listen to what my body needs--lately, that's been a lot of walks in the park and hot yoga with my husband.  And reminding myself that a lot of times breathing, a glass of water, and time heal many ailments.
  
• I want to write again.  I remember when it was part of my day-just like brushing my teeth or drinking coffee, I did it because it was me.  I am better when I write, I need to make it a habit.
  
• I want to walk the streets of Italy with my husband and share our dreams, our gratitude for what is and what will be and trust that all is really well.
• I want to believe that I am a good mother, and that the evolution of my relationship with my children will come organically; and that I can trust that I've laid fertile roots that will help us both to know we can return to each other as we work through our next chapters in life.
• I want to do a better job of staying connected to my parents and my siblings.  Life is fragile.  Unspeakable, unexplainable things happen for no good reason.  Today is a good day to call and to connect imperfectly.
• I don't want to worry--really anymore.  But, knowing who I am, I guess I just want to catch myself faster in the downward spiral to recover and to believe that I have myself, no matter what.
• I want to cultivate joy.  This means letting myself laugh, curse, dance, sing, and grow.
• I want to believe that I am enough and that life is for the living.
  

I feel like this is a good start for the things I want; but I'd also like to pay homage and gratitude to what I have learned in my almost half century of life.

• It's okay to not know.  Sitting in silence with a friend who is sad/unsure, holding space for what is, is often better than trying to drum up platitudes that may or may not be true.
• I am better because I've been tested.  It's impossible to know who you are or what you're capable of until you've been gobsmacked by what you couldn't have predicted, and see what you do.
• Trust the process.  Life is a tricky bastard.  Just when you think it's going to go one way, it doesn't, and then, it does, and then, it doesn't--and then...somehow, someway, you get to where you're supposed to be; and you appreciate it more because it was crooked and fucked up at times.
  
• Go with the willing.  Find like-minded people and hold on to them.  Check in.  Love them well.
• Get back up.  I've fucked up a lot in my life.  In the aftermath, I've tried to allow myself a small pity party, and then, to get up imperfectly again.
  
• Figure out how to have difficult conversations, and learn how to say I'm sorry and to mean it.  I hesitate to say this, because I'm largely employed because people can't do this--but it's the heart of every conflict I encounter, including my own.
• Love, love, love--the only reason we are here is to be in service of the other--without judgement. 

I pray that in this final decade of the 40's that I can remember the lessons I've learned, while keeping a clear vision for what I want/don't want in this new year of life.

Aging is a privilege.  Thank you for the gift of 49 Birthday Candles.

 

 

Ode to 20-Years of Marriage

 

April 17, 2024

My Dearest Ray,

We did it!  Here we stand holding two decades of marriage.

So much life has transpired in these years together.  So much goodness...so much hard...so much beautiful...and so much sorrow.

We woke up this morning and after getting the girls to school, went on a long walk.  Traipsing through our local college campus, we shared how crazy it was that five-hours away on another college campus, our oldest was walking by people who could be his parents' age.

How did we get here?  How are we inches away from 50?  How do we have a college freshman, a junior in high school and a 7th-grader?  How do we own a business and have life insurance?  And how have we graduated to a space where we schedule annual skin checks, colonoscopies, mammograms, and get labs drawn for hormone imbalance?

In so many ways, life has shifted and in so many ways, it has not.  You're still you.  Steady. Kind. Funny. Super smart.  Incredibly available, and always loving.  And in other ways, you're not.  You're less defensive, slower to anger, quicker to say I'm sorry, and more willing to extend compassion than in our early years.

Every morning, you still do 100 push-ups, pray on your knees, head to the gym, listen to the bible while unloading the dishwasher and making Claire's lunch, volunteer for activities at the school, and text regularly throughout the day.  You're the first to share your NY Times game scores in the family chat, the first to remind me of a cool concert or play we should take the kids to, and the first to read me an article in the paper or to tell me about a new trend that is bonkers.

You're also the first to support my doubts and imposter syndrome fears and the only one I want to get to when I feel out of my depth.  You are my biggest cheerleader, my fiercest champion, and the one who reminds me that I can climb the next hill and that I'm doing a damn good job.  You are insanely loyal and know that a strong cup of Bialetti coupled with mounds of sushi and infinite milk chocolate is the portal to my heart.  You never make me feel badly when I fall asleep by 10pm and when I wake up replaying the same anxieties that I went to sleep sharing.  

And when it comes to being the father of our children--there are really no words.  You are their person.  Between movies, music, driving, board and video games, concerts, baking, sewing, drawing, designing, and loving unconditionally--you are the person they want to spend their time with, always.

I've had pictures of Italy on my vision board since college--a dream of drinking espresso, sipping wine, hiking, riding trains, experiencing art, writing in cafes, indulging in gelato, and falling in love all over again in canals--and it looks like (through your persistence and hope) that my dream will come true this fall.  I can't wait to celebrate our love in another country honoring how far we've come--because one day, 20-years ago, we said, I do to all of it.  We couldn't have known then, and we can't know now all that God has in store, but I pray that through all of it, that we will endure in the joy and the pain together.  I can't imagine any of it without you.

I love you...I love you more...I love you most...You do?...I do.

Love, Kelly

Ode to Sam on Your 19th Birthday

February 8, 2024

My Dearest Sam,

Happy, Happy 19th Birthday!

Congratulations--you've officially reached the age of majority in the state of Nebraska!

How did it happen?  How did you become an adult--complete with a beard, a credit card, a job, college classes, the ability to vote and to engage in the way you wish to in the world?!  It's so remarkable to me.

Every time you come home from college and we talk about philosophers, the economy, relationships, career paths, extracurricular choices, money in the bank and what fosters a good life--I am blown away that I get to be your mom.

You are one of my favorite people in the world.  And while I didn't think I could bear being away from you when we dropped you off at school, now, five months later, I realize how beautiful the journey of growing up truly is.

There are so many things that I love about who you are in the world.  I love that the only criteria you were firm about regarding college was leaving the state of Nebraska and having an adventure somewhere else.  I love that you dove head first into meeting new people, trying new courses, washing your duvet cover with regularity, and communicating with me--while simultaneously helping me to honor the boundary of that frequency.

I love that you are still so kind.  Independence, freedom and a life away from home has not made you a jerk.  If anything, you seem to really appreciate Omaha and the goodness that emanates from your home town.

I love that you still have such a hunger for learning and creating.  Watching you dive into religious and philosophical texts that I read in undergrad coupled with taking a stab at collegiate studio art has been so amazing.  

I love that you ask your sisters about student council, theater, costume design, speech club, and crocheting.  I love that you engage our extended family and share stories about your experiences away, and thank them regularly for their support and encouragement.

I love that you are so gosh darn frugal.  I try to give you new things and you always say, save your money, I'm just fine.  You'd rather thrift, repurpose, and wait until a film comes to a streaming service before spending unnecessarily.   I think you got that from your dad and not from me.

I love that you're choosing really good, interesting people to share your time with, and that you ask good questions about their families, interests, and what makes them tick.

I love that you're humble and simple and loving.

And as you keep making your way in this world, trying to figure out what job you think you'll have, or who you're gonna love, or where you should live, or what you should major in, or who to invest time in--remember that every answer you need lives inside of you.  Continue to trust your gut.  Believe that who you are is enough.

If there's anything I've learned in almost 50 years it is that happiness has very little to do with your street address or paycheck.  It has everything to do with how comfortable you feel in your own skin when nobody's looking, who you love, and who helps to support you, and the ways you serve and lift others up in the world.  And with that, there are a million possibilities for how it can all unfold.

Man, how lucky I am to be on this journey watching you from afar.  Thank you for the gift of being your mom.  May you know everyday, always, how much you are deeply loved.

 I love you, Mom