Risk Joy

I'm raising three very different children.

My son, Sam is not necessarily a happy-go-lucky tween.  He's relatively serious and when he wants something done, it happens.  His humor is dry and witty and forward thinking. He is polite and very aware of how his actions are affecting others.  A typical type A, achieving, first-born through and through.

My oldest daughter, Kate, the 10-year old is smack dab in the moment.  When she's sewing or playing piano or dancing in ballet or cracking an egg, she's feeling the experience.  Rarely worried about what others think, she's fully connected to the present.

My youngest daughter, Claire, the 6-year old has been dancing in the nude since she could stand.  She laughs openly and loudly with and at anyone.  Her motto is that it's a good thing to like her.  I'm not sure that she could be more comfortable in her own skin.

As a result of their world views, they each experience and embrace joy differently.  Sam is cautious. He believes like me, that what goes up, must come down...and that the world is filled with a lot of suffering, so we should temper our joy to reflect our responsibility to the people who are wounded or marginalized.

Kate thinks it's extraordinary that baking powder helps to make pancakes rise and that you can make your own dragon costumes at home instead of buying them at the store.  She embraces a "tickled pink" world view--similar to a "wow, who would have thought that this could happen?" mindset.

Claire never fails to share that her classmate farts at recess and pretends like it wasn't him.  "I mean, come on, he has a smell, everyone knows it's him.  And it has a sound too. It sounds like this...." And then she makes the sound and Kate bursts out laughing.  And Sam says, "Claire what about the people in Texas and Hurricane Harvey?"

And part of me feels similarly, how can we carry on at the dinner table, talking about our day, sharing fart stories, while many, many people have lost their homes, their loved ones, their memories and are refugees trying to pick up the pieces?

The world is filled with so much heartache and unexplainable hurt.

And then, it struck me that in the midst of sorrow and the unknown, our responsibility is to live.  This is why people laugh at funerals and laugh while they're crying in the doctor's office and laugh after a scream fest with their spouses or their kids or laugh when they've behaved ridiculously.

Because stress, fear, trauma, uncertainty and angst can only be sustained and endured for so long.  The real task is to live and to live fully....fully in the pain and fully in the joy.

So, at the dinner table, I turned to my son and said, "You're right.  It's terrible what has happened to the families in Texas.  We must pray and donate money.  But we must also risk joy.  It's okay to laugh at silly things even though heaviness is happening in the world.  It's okay to tell jokes and funny stories, even when there are no answers for the greater burdens.  Our job is to live.  So, Claire, let another one rip..."

As the beautifully, brilliant poet, Jack Gilbert once said,

This is the Life We've Chosen

I miss you.

Really, I do.

I miss writing for fun or for conducting cerebral acrobatics or for just having a spot to relegate my thoughts when it all gets too bunched up and cluttered on the inside.

I miss the freedom of listening to random nothingness.

I thought that life was busy before.  And I suppose that everyone was right when they said, "It's not so bad when your kids are really little.  Sure, you miss the sleep and the quiet.  But when they get older, well, that's when the bigger worries come."

My kids aren't old.  Sam is turning 12 in two days.  Kate is 9.  And, Claire is 6.  But they're not babies or toddlers or preschoolers.  They can pour their own bowl of cereal and make their own bed.  Kate is becoming quite the master laundry expert of the house and Sam is pretty good about doing anything you want him to, if given a list.  Claire, well, she's a work in progress.

Two days a week, I have thirty-one 7 and 8 year-olds in a classroom.  One night a week, I have graduate students.  And luckily, I have another graduate class to teach on the docket as well.

But between the shuttling of piano, ballet, speech, Boy Scouts, Daisies, school, and soon to be football, soccer and gymnastics...I'm often tired. 

And so, I don't run like I did before.  I don't write like I did before.  I don't often post on Facebook or share my opinions about the fucking debacle that has become our political reality.  I've often wondered if the reason that my life has shifted so much in the last few months is that I'm officially living in the Zombie Apocalypse and no one asked me whether I wanted to be here.  The only thing that seems to make me laugh are really good SNL episodes and sometimes, humoring myself with the ridiculous banter that ensues between people who will intrinsically never change the "other's" mind.

That said, I feel badly....that I don't do more to demonstrate my opposition to the current political climate...that I don't write articles highlighting the very real catastrophic calamities that are on the horizon, if we keep heading down this undeniably, unGodly, fucked up path.

I feel badly that my house is often a wreck and that many times, I squeeze everything that needs to get done in the 11.5th hour.  And that I'm not meditating or talking to my children about the ills of the kind or lack there of leadership that we're witnessing. 

But in the very quiet moments when there is a second to breathe and no expectation of me, except for my thoughts, here is what I know to be true.

This is the life we have chosen.

We are married.  We are parents.  We have jobs with responsibilities.  We have bills.  We have people getting test results back that scream of uncertain futures.  We have science projects that are due and oil that needs to be changed in the car.  Groceries that need to be bought.  People that we need to text and meet for coffee because it's been too long.  We need to say I'm sorry and have sex, even when we're tired.  We need to review English assignments and time speeches and get lunches ready.  We have presentations for clients on a short turnaround.  And, tax appointments.  And pain.  And hope.  And anger.  And love.

And in these ways, we are all simply living the lives that we have chosen.  Trying to do our best with where we are and what we know to be true or palatable today, until tomorrow brings a different chapter in the story.

So, if it's okay, I'll keep writing and sharing my mundane stories.  They're not necessary or even helpful.  They're just a slice of life that maybe you can relate to. 

Because I miss you.

And all of the ugliness that I feel surrounded by particularly in the early morning hours when I check my phone and view a new executive order.

I like sharing my kids with you and hearing about yours.

I like knowing that you are there and that as people, we are not so far apart, all just trying to live the lives we have chosen.

A Walking Contradiction

I've always known that I'm a bit strange.  A hard nut to crack.

At the heart of my personality lies a people pleaser and an eminent rule-follower.  I like knowing what is expected and strive to exceed what people want or ask of me.

I'm a stickler for good behavior and impeccable manners.  To be flippant, dismissive, or down right rude to others is beyond unacceptable in pretty much any situation.  Just ask my children, they've experienced my wrath when they choose not to be kind.

Physically, I've been told that my mother and I have a sugary voice and eyes that listen.  And, I think on most occasions, people would say that I'm a nice person.

But when we start to get to know one another and we go out for wine or coffee or take a random yoga class and then grab margaritas, you'll realize that there's more than meets those kind eyes.

I like rebellion.  I'm a fan of people being comfortable in their own skin and expressing their truth. 

I like to cuss a lot.

I like to talk about sex and religion and politics and all of the cans of worms that you're not supposed to speak of in polite company.

I like telling irreverent jokes and comparing notes on douche bags and folks that are intolerable...and many times at Bunco, Book Club, or my jewelry parties, girls will tell me that they never guessed 'those' things would come from my mouth.

So, it was hard yesterday after I left mass.

We heard a homily that our priest said was more than challenging for him to deliver.  It was essentially, a listing of sins, some of them mortal, that keep us from the closest possible relationship with God and fully experiencing Holy Communion.

It was tough.

Because I don't agree with all of them.  And yes, I send my children to Catholic school.

I literally felt like a walking contradiction as I walked out the door.

Do I pray for my perspectives or opinions to change and to be more aligned with the church?

Or, do I recognize that much like the person I am, not everything is black and white and that people are complex and that's okay?  Or is it not?

Am I an a la carte Catholic and is that like being a fraud?

At the end of it, I liken it a bit to parenting.  Two parents can raise kind, giving, curious, loving children who contribute their talents to the world...and those parents do not have to align politically, philosophically or even spiritually.  Their home can serve as a safe haven where their children are free to dialogue about all of the circumstances, life situations, fears, hopes that come their way free of judgement.  And in the end, the children are empowered to choose the path that makes the most sense for their lives.

I know that as a person and most certainly as a parent that I'm evolving...so, maybe my stances on certain social issues will change, but until then, I'll walk the world a walking contradiction, trying to find some harmony and peace in the gray praying to be in communion with a loving God.

The Three Most Important Questions

Almost always during breakfast and lunchtime, I read to my children.

They each grab a book from the library bag or one off their bedroom shelves and gnosh while I tell the story.

One of my favorite author/illustrators is Jon J. Muth and one of his most profound pieces of children's literature landed in my hands today while the kids devoured pasta and plums.

The tale is called, "The Three Questions," and is based on a book with the same title by Leo Tolstoy...the famous Russian novelist who wrote "War and Peace" and "Anna Karenina."

Muth's version is about a young boy named Nikolai who is on a quest to find the answers to the following:

• When is the best time to do things?
• Who is the most important one?
• What is the right thing to do?

Along the way, he meets a heron, a monkey, a dog, a tortoise and a panda who help to teach him that ultimately, there is only one important time and that is now......the most important one is always the one that you are with....and the most important thing is to do good for the one who is standing at your side.  For in the end, this is the reason why we are here.

The beautiful part of the story which my children know all too well and through their actions teach me...is that Tolstoy's lesson is that of the obvious.  Something happens when we grow older and suddenly, our experience has a tendency to turn into baggage and we make the simple complicated. 

We're all on a path.  The people that we engage along the way are purposeful.  The circumstances we encounter are the right ones at the right time, even if they are painful.  The most important players in our story vary as does the timing.  The greatest challenge is being open to doing the right thing in that moment knowing that it may change tomorrow.

For now, I was comforted by the fact that my children seem to get it, even if I'm a bit thick headed.  They understand that it's not that hard and that you don't have to decide about tomorrow today.  You just have to be here in this moment, now, and the rest will unfold exactly as it's supposed to.

Dreams for Our Children

Watching the parents of Olympic athletes has me ruminating on my own parents and children.

Imagining the countless sacrifices, hours of intense practice, and monumental hopes Olympic parents  have for their children is overwhelming.

And it's not.

My mother and father went to college.

And then they both dropped out to get married and eventually, to have me.

So, when it came time for academic achievement, they were incredibly encouraging.  My mom taught me to read when I was four years old.  They sent me to academic camps and supported advanced placement courses and sat in the front row when I delivered the commencement address in high school.

They wanted the best for me and maybe lived a bit vicariously through the achievement.

It's no different than what I do with my own three children.  I want everything for them...love, happiness, success, passion and opportunity.  And, most days, I'm willing to sacrifice what it takes to help them to discover and to harness that passion. 

But after watching the USA Women's Gymnastics team compete last night and witnessing Jordyn Wieber's elimination from the all-around finals by a fraction of a second, I was heart broken...and immediately thought about her parents.

I know what it feels like to want the world for your child, to know how hard that they've worked for something, and to realize that their dream will not be actualized.

Devastation.

And yet, we, as parents continue to be the greatest advocates and sometimes containers for our children's dreams...continuing to encourage when they are tired, frustrated, hurt, worn out.  Because we know that dreams are what fuel us.  They are the reason that we live.

And tomorrow will bring a new opportunity.  New hope.  No matter the sacrifice of the past or the outcome, the true test is to keep dreaming...even if the dream evolves.  No one can take away the ability to dream. The role of parents is to keep our children hungry for finding their passion, their love, their Olympic dream.

The Beauty of Difference

Lately, I've been mindful of how my children are similar and not-so-similar to me and to my husband.

This week was Parent-Teacher conference time at Sam's school.  As a first-grader, this is the first year that Sam has been in school all day and ultimately, spends the majority of his time with his classmates and his teachers.  And, Sam is indeed (like me) a classic first born.  He is very mindful of how he appears to others.  It is important to him to know that he's achieving and excelling academically.  He is incredibly future-focused and serious about what the agenda is, the plan of attack, and the expectation for outcome.  He is passionate about a handful of topics and can teach you more about those subjects than you could imagine coming from a six-year old.

Kate, our four-year old is a horse of another color.  She's not interested in impressing the world.  She's beautiful and confidently aware of herself. She's the most artistically gifted child I know and lives smack dab in the world of the present.  She seeks to amerce herself in the colors, smells, tastes, and experiences of that which is in front of her.  She has little use for time or appointments or rules.

Claire, our ten-month old is just plain crazy.  She's verbal, fearless, and in general, all about being right in the mix of her siblings.  She's also the most affectionate little one on the planet.

It's hard to believe that these three little beings all came from the same two people.  They are vastly different and beautiful all in one breath.  The challenge for Ray and I has been to honor their differences especially when they conflict with our personality types.

I'll give you an example.  Many people say that Kate and I resemble one another....that I looked a lot like Kate when I was a little girl.  It's sweet and fun to feel like I have a mini-me walking around this world.  However, while my daughter stops to smell the roses at every turn, I'm exhausted and often frustrated by her desire to constantly be in the present.  With little to no sense of urgency, she's not guided by anyone's time table and the more you rush her, the slower she goes.  Drives me up a wall.  Until she shows me the number of spots on a lady bug, a tree in the park or the perfect shade of orange...and then, I remember why God gave her to me...to help me pause, to teach me to breathe and to remind me that all we have is the here and now.  Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one.

I can't wait to see how they grow up, who they become, and ultimately, how they create the beautiful dynamic that is our crazy family.