Ode to 21-Years of Marriage

April 17, 2025

My Dearest Ray,

Happy, Happy 21st Anniversary!

On this beautiful, sunshiny Thursday, I am so grateful to be standing next to you.  

It's just incredible to me that in this moment of multiple crossroads, we're embarking upon so much transition.  

In two weeks, I'll turn 50.  A few weeks later, we'll move Sam out of his dorm as he completes his sophomore year of college.  The following day, Claire will graduate from 8th grade.  And the following week, Kate will graduate from high school.

Most of the time, we're running ragged keeping up with school and extracurricular events for the kids, maintaining careers, volunteering in the community, making sure the laundry gets done, the trash gets taken out, and somebody goes to Costco-usually you.

We text each other constantly-connecting on who's doing what, expressing apologies for being short or thanks for picking up Claire, asking for prayers for a challenging day, and strewn in between the to and fro's are a million I love you, I love you, I love you's.

When I reflect on 21-years of marriage it feels spectacular-not because of the big things, but because of the million little moments of support and partnership that add up to a beautiful, messy, complicated, crazy life.

It's the times when I say--I don't think I can do this/I'm so overwhelmed or what's going to happen when she graduates or how can we all travel there when he studies abroad or can you believe our baby will be driving or what if my business tanks or I never fall back asleep at night--and you say, it's okay, we're okay, you're okay...we're right where we're supposed to be.

Every year, you take the annual material (willow, linen, iron, etc.) and you find a way to carve or weave in the vows that you wrote and committed to me on our wedding day.  I love all of the words-but one stanza I cling to:

"I vow to hold your hand if you are frightened, 

Stand firm if you are unsure,

Protect you from any harm I can, 

And stand together with you against any adversity."

You know that most of the time I'm anxious and worried, and while it can feel burdensome, you never seem to tire from listening to my, "Oh no, what if this happens" version of a story.  You walk me through what I can control and you remind me that I'm a good person and that our kids, my clients, and our family/friends are lucky to have me.  You encourage me to believe in myself and give me the foundation to manifest the dreams/hopes and vision I have for my life.

Last fall, we made a dream trip to Lake Como and spent time in Italy and Switzerland-just you and I.  Sharing espresso, gelato, and lots of walking, we remembered what it was like to be just the two of us and what it felt like to dream side by side.  Next year, we'll be in Copenhagen visiting Sam while he studies abroad and I can hardly wait for our whole family to be together in Europe watching another dream come true.

So, as we age and grow old together, I say thank you for picking me.  Thank you for nurturing us.  Thank you for sacrificing and believing in our union.  Thank you for taking so much time big and small to show me and our now adult/growing children that you meant what you said all those years ago-that a vow is more than a word--it's an action, a continual choice, a decision to do something even when it's inconvenient or exhausting, a reliable/dependable/loyal/committed doing and being in the world.

Here's to a new year and the gift of aging together.  I can't wait to see what it feels like to have two kids in college, one in high school, and you and me, holding each other's hands, laughing, crying, wondering, believing in what can be.

I love you--I love you more--I love you most--You do?--I do, always,

Kelly

Ode to Kate on Your 10th Birthday

My Dearest Kate,

How can it be?

We woke up this morning and all of a sudden, you were double digits.  The most beautiful, generous, brilliant 10-year old in the world.

A decade ago yesterday, I quit my full-time job to stay home and be a full-time mother to you and your brother.  I didn't know how to parent a newborn and a toddler, but I was hell bent to try.

From the beginning and still to this day, you make it easy. 

You, the middle child, the peacemaker...the kind one.  The not-so-little girl with Pippi Longstocking braids who finds the little girl that no one is playing with at the park, the roller skating rink, the book store, the pool and you say, "Hello, my name is Katherine.  Everyone calls me Kate, even though I want them to call me Katherine.  That's a pretty shirt.  What can I call you?"  And instantly, you have a new friend.  Within minutes, you know how old they are, what school they go to, and what they want to be when they grow up. 

Smack dab in the present, wholly available to the moment, you are alive with creativity, curiosity and full-fledged love.  When someone talks to you, you listen.  When someone offers you something that you're not interested in, you profusely say,  "no thank you--but thank you so much for asking," give them a full-bodied smile and ask them how their day's going.

A stunning ballerina, a dedicated piano player, wrapped up in a voracious reader, carved into a re-purposer of every imaginable object...you embody the arts and imagination at its finest.  Your room is teeming with sculptures, sewing projects, canvases, Lego creations, chalk renderings, and bottles of homemade lip balm and slime.  And, if it were available, you would fill a studio with color, design, and love.

I've really never met anyone like you and while many say that we are quite alike, I am certain that you are the one that I seek to emulate.  Always stopping to say a "Hail Mary" when an ambulance passes, filling your belly with veggies before meat, meticulously brushing your teeth and folding your jammies just so, praying for those in need and offering a compliment when no one else seems to remember...you are rare.

At the end of the summer, you will embark upon fifth grade.  Soon, you will have a lot more homework, ballet will fill up several hours a week, time with friends will take priority and my teaching load will get heavier.  Inevitably, we will spend less time together.  But as I watch you flourish from afar, know that I am your fiercest advocate.  I want the world for you. 

But, when I stop to think about it, I'm mindful that really and truly, the world is in love with you.

Here's to a new decade, a new year, new memories and new adventures.

I love you to the moon and back, always,

Mama

The Good Girl

Say please and thank you.

Don't make a fuss.

Be on your best behavior.

Go with the flow.

Do what you're told, when you're told to do it.

Speak when spoken to. 

Be a good little girl.

For as long as I can remember, there's always been a prize for being the good girl.  The one who doesn't ruffle tail feathers, who makes due, obeys and in general, makes life easy for those around her, particularly, those in control.

Don't get me wrong, being kind, abiding by good manners and not being a jack ass just because you can are important attributes and ones we should applaud.

The problem is when bit by bit, gradually, before you know it's even happening, you trade your voice, opinions, hopes, desires for the good of the cause, eventually, at any cost.

It's too easy, really. 

It starts to happen with the little things.  Like, when you really don't want to do something but it would make it so much easier if you just sucked it up and did it.  And that's life, right?  The constant negotiation of when you're going to put your foot down and fight for your rights versus when after some exasperation, you just decide to take one for the team.

But what happens when you've been taking one for the team long enough that you forget to ask yourself if you want to be on the team anymore or if you like your position or if you want your role to change or be modified?

I think these are worthy questions that need to be asked in relationships at home, work, with our family and friends and in general...

When does it behoove you not to accommodate or play nice?  What would it look like if they didn't immediately think of you as the nice girl or the one who can always be counted on?  At the end of the day, I'm slowly becoming more comfortable with the idea that respect for another as far more admirable than liking them.  And the people I admire most are those who've decided that this is their one and only life and that maybe it's time to speak up, not tow the line and honor their truth, even if it doesn't groove with the dominant voice.

And to that, I say it's okay not to be the good girl.  It doesn't immediately imply that you have to be the bitch...although, sometimes, that's called for.

Rather, it means that your voice matters, always.

My Big Wish

The other night accompanied by brilliant women, I had the opportunity to dream. 

Not to create a mission statement or to strategize or to document goals or the initiatives and timelines associated with them.

Rather, to sit with a cup of tea in hand and to offer up an intention, a big one, to the divine.

The problem is that we're so good at the pragmatic and all of the second guessing that comes with being practical that we rarely, if ever, let ourselves dream...whimsically, boldly, enthusiastically greeting the universe with a...deep breath...and closing our eyes announce...this....this is what I really want.  I have no idea how to manifest it, but if I could wave a magic wand, in this moment, for this year, I choose ________.

And for most of us, we would fill our dream buckets full...probably include health, wealth, resources, maybe fame, forgiveness, possibly a sabbatical from the grind, maybe a release from a toxic partner, maybe a re-engagement with one we let go and shouldn't have, maybe a big, crazy, no way it could ever work business that's always in the back of our mind, and maybe it's all of these things.

Either way, it's good.

Dreaming is like checking your bags before you get on a plane.  Freeing you to buy a coffee, walk around the book store, listen to the conversations around you and think...if I could get on a plane going anywhere in the world...where would I go and why?

Dreaming is like leaving all of the weight of the details and the hypotheticals to someone else...that right hand person who has a knack for it because your only job is to dare to see what it could be.

Dreaming is like saying, I'm worth it.  My one life is worth seeing it through and asking who am I and what does my best self look like in this time and space.

Dreaming is believing, even if for a moment or two, that maybe, just maybe, it could happen and God, what that would feel like.

Dreaming is something that should be carved into everyday as the reward for being born with an imagination, a hopeful heart, a will that trusts that if you can think it, you can do it.

And so, what is my big wish?  What is my daring dream?

I want to know who I am outside of wife and mother.  I want to see a piece of me in the written form in a substantial way greet the world.  For today, I'm not worried about how I'm going to get there, I'm just going to throw it up and say, here's my dream.

What is Real?

I'm really good with names and faces.

If we've met, I'll most likely remember who you are, smile, reintroduce myself and tell you that it's nice to see you again.

If we've engaged in a professional or volunteer capacity, I'll ask you how your kids are doing and if you're still working with such and such agency.

I don't know why, but peoples' faces and details of their lives stick with me.

So, you would think that I'd have an iron clad memory when it came to recalling 'me' in my own memories.  But I don't.

Often, my recollections are significantly more positive than how they actually went down.  I know this because when I'm sitting around the dining room table over the holidays reflecting with my siblings, they'll laugh at me when I tell a story of the past and claim, "That's not at all how that happened.  So and so was an asshole or you had no idea what you were getting yourself into."

For some reason, I wear rose-colored glasses when remembering people, places, times, and experiences.  Most often, I look fondly back at the past and think that all was well and good, when maybe, well, most certainly, all of it was not.

This morning at the breakfast table, my children were recalling their dreams.  Whenever they wake up, I ask them how their snooze was and if they remember their dreams.  Most often, they don't.  But this morning, they did.  Kate (7) gave a roaring rendition of something that happened in music class with a few of her friends.  And then she said, "What's so weird is that it feels like the dream actually happened even though when I woke up, I knew that it really happened in real life a different way."  And then Sam (9) said, "How can our dreams be different than our life and how do we know what's real?  And is a dream make believe especially when it feels so real?"

All of their pondering about dreams, reality, reflections, memories, recollection and recantation of one single truth sent me into a philosophical diatribe about my belief that there is no one real truth...that ultimately, we all create what is truth for us moment by moment.  Which of course, made no sense to my children.

We talked about how weird it was to go to bed not afraid to fall asleep and live a life through your dreams that may be completely different than what you just experienced while you were conscious.  And how we all just trusted that eventually, we would wake up and come back to reality.

But then, will we remember 'reality' the way that it really happened?  Will it be happier or sadder when it's burned into our memories?  Will we need someone to remind us of what really transpired?

The mind and the memory are powerful entities.  And this morning's breakfast banter has me convinced that the kid questions are only going to get harder particularly as we all try to distinguish what exactly happened in real life versus in a dream state or in our recollection of the past.

Either way, I'm glad that the majority of it for me still remains beautifully rose colored.

Happy First Day of School

We woke up this morning and all of the sudden, our family had a 4th grader, a 2nd grader a soon-to-be preschooler. 

Here you are...

As we ate our bowls of cereal, brushed our teeth, braided your hair, put the finishing touches on your lunches and gave you a blessing...I thought, please, please let this be a sacred, beautiful year for all three of you.

Let this be a time where you break through with something significant...where you learn another side of compassion, where your heart grows larger and your brain expands beyond all measure and your faith deepens and you feel both your roots and wings.

You're all getting bigger and well, I think I'm staying the same.  So, while I smooth back your hair, smell your breath, check for straggling toothpaste marks and do a double check of your backpacks...I thank you for letting me fuss over you and for being your over protective, hopeful mama for yet another school year.

Fourth grade, Second grade and Preschool are powerful times.  Here's to all of the smiles, the tears, the laughs, the let-downs, the dreams, the disappointments and the vast amount of effort and pain that will go into making this year exactly what it's meant to be.

I'm so glad that I get to share in it with all of you.  Happy First Day of School!

The Gift of a Marathon Moments Before a 39th Birthday

Today is my birthday.  I turned 39.

But right before this day, two days ago to be exact, I ran my first marathon and it was, well, outside of my wedding and the births of my three children, probably one of the single best experiences of my life.

This is me as I was getting in line to run the big race...

If you follow my blog, you know that I was petrified out of my mind to run a marathon.  Scared that I wouldn't be able to endure for 26.2 miles.  Afraid that I would let my friends and family down...those who had been supportive for so long.  Anxious about the pieces I had struggled with in my training, namely nutrition and the fact that the longest run is 20 miles...how would I do the other 6.2?

So, I decided to run with a pace group at a pace that I thought I could manage.  My goal was simply to finish and to cross the finish line with joy in my heart and peace in my soul.  I didn't want to hate the experience.  Secretly, I wanted to want to do it again.

And just like that after four and a half months of preparation, I lucked out in every way imaginable.  God truly blessed me beyond measure.  It was a Chamber of Commerce weather day...beautifully sunshiny with a high of 70-degrees.  My pacers were my age, with children of their own, who told funny jokes like...."Would you rather cross the finish line naked or start the race having pooped your pants?"  And then, as luck would have it, my group was just me and another super nice man, so we were taken care of the whole time.  Below is a picture of me and my pacer,  Liz (an incredible machine of positivity and encouragement) rocking it at mile 18...

So many friends and family came out to cheer me on.  It brought tears to my eyes.  They held signs, they high-fived me, they screamed my name, they sang, they danced, they took pictures with me and my 6-year old daughter Kate even ran with me.  It was so awesome to turn the corner and see someone there who loved me.

And then, just like that I found myself at mile 22. I had yet to hit a wall.  My nutrition was doing it's job.  My body was achy, but definitely not fatigued.  Crazily, I always run with music...like cranked up, ridiculously loud music, and I never once listened to my headphones the entire time.  I've never had a running partner or attempted to talk to anyone while I am huffing and puffing...this time, I talked the whole time and for a good chunk of it, it was just me and Liz.

 I just felt really good and couldn't stop giving fellow runners a big thumbs up!

And then it happened, I hit mile 25 and Liz said, "If you feel good, take off."  And so I did.  I ran the last 1.2 miles by myself into the University of Nebraska at Lincoln's stadium, waved and smiled to my family and friends and crossed the finish line.

I thought I would cry, but I couldn't stop beaming.  I never thought I would be so happy.

And what I realized is that this race was never mine alone.  I was never on a solo mission.  My husband, my children, my friends, my family were always there praying for me, loving me, believing in me, hoping for me, rooting that I could do it.

My favorite sign said, "Dreams aren't for free...go get yours!"  And that's what I did...that's really what we all do.  At some point, we decide how badly that we want it.  And if you want it more than you can imagine not having it, you will put the time, the effort, the blood, the hurt, the fear, the hope into it.  And at the end of it all, you will be better.  You will be changed.  You will be transformed.  Because dreams are for the taking.  I'm so happy that on this day, at this time, in this 39th year, this bucket list dream is mine. 

Book Writing in My Dreams

He had been watching her for months.

But how much can you really know...when all you randomly see is the back of her ponytail bob as she runs by.

That's all she ever seems to do.  That and push kids in a stroller and trash down the hill to the curb and New York Times papers to the recycle bin.

And when she's not wearing sunglasses, her eyes are blue...extraordinarily so.  And she's beaming...not necessarily from her smile, but more so from her soul.  A soul that beams.  A rare deal.

The truth is that we'll never know each other, because a neighbor, or rather a guy that lives blocks away, that happens to frequent hers from time to time, can't be friends with a married woman who doesn't know he exists.

It's too weird and too suspicious...even if I'm widowed and just celebrated my 74th birthday. Just doesn't happen in today's day and age.  I'd probably be arrested or something.  But I wish it could be.  I think we could be friends.

This is the start to the book that I was writing in the dream I was dreaming last night.  Does that make any sense?  I've been struck with this desire to write a short story or the beginning chapters of a novel, but the sheer daunting task of it all overwhelms me and then, I end up paralyzed and with nothing to show for it.

That's the power of dreams.  The subconscious takes over and starts wittling away at the thoughts that no matter how hard we try to compartmentalize them, won't seem to go away.  And then writer's block is overcome and well, you just have to remember what the Sandman brought you to chew on.

Since the thoughts of inferiority don't seem to subside, I guess I'll have to just start writing and let go of the premise that no one cares or that it will never get published.  It doesn't matter, right.  It's just the process that counts.

Here's to more dreaming...I need to find out what happens next.

Schizophrenic Living and Dreaming

It was really quiet. 

And, I, well, I was soaking wet.

That's what happens when you forget to bring clean towels from the laundry room and you've turned off the shower and you're exposed with no protection in sight, literally.

And I was cold.  And tired.  And then, crunch.  My toes smooshed a cheerio.  Perfect.

And then, looking in the mirror, I heard her voice.

"It's all normal...all of it...this schizophrenic life that is yours.  You can't imagine not being there for your kids' everything.  And then when you are, you just want to run away and start a new life in...I don't know...Zimbabwe.  And then you feel guilty because your Catholic, a mother, and trying to be all things to all people, always.  Knock that shit off.  It doesn't do anybody any good."

And then last night at a party, I heard his voice.

He was sharing his travels to Tuscany and his love for all things Italian.  I was hanging on to his every word and sharing that my dream is to one day get there.  "Then you will, if it's your dream.  No one can take that away from you."

So, my plan is to keep doing the towel folding, cheerio pouring, diaper changing, stroller pushing, "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" singing mama thing now...so that one day, I'll find myself in Italy writing with a glass of something bubbly on a veranda overlooking the countryside.

Hopefully, I'll be in my 40's...I hear that's when life begins anyway and according to my mom, her 40's were her sexiest years...here's hoping.

Here's to Sleep & Indulgent Behavior

Today was the first morning in ages that I woke up and thought, I can't run.  I'm too exhausted.

Lacing up my shoes, it all started playing like a movie in my head.

For probably two weeks leading up to the Chicago Half Marathon, I didn't sleep.  Or if I did, it was fitful and fraught with weirdo nightmares of getting lost.

Compounding my lack of sleep, my whole family, and many families around us are sick with some yuck deal that is either a virus or a severe case of allergies.

Consequently, I've been pounding Emergency drink, Airborne, Zinc, Vitamin C and water.

Then my calendar smacked me in the ass when I realized that I've volunteered for a shit load of roles/events at my kiddos' school and church.

And, another half marathon in 8 weeks.

And, a jewelry business that I'm resurrecting.

And, I'm crazy.  Certifiably so.

So, at the risk of sounding immature...lazy...or sophomoric....here's what I want to do.

I want to run my long run on Saturday morning, drink a ginormous glass of vitamin D chocolate milk, take a steaming hot shower, fall asleep to a great play list, wake up and start drinking.  You name it.  Martinis, Mimosas, Champagne....it doesn't much matter.  I just want to drink.  Then sleep again.  Then sleep some more.  Take some ibuprofen.  Regain consciousness.  Resume the routine.  And be happy.

It's okay if it's only a fantasy.  It's a beautiful one that may someday become actualized.  Until then, here's to sleep and dreams of indulgent behavior.

Power of Dreams

I awoke like a shot in the dark at 4:12am from a dream.

It was frightening and beautiful all in the same breath.

My 7-year old son, Sam and I were in a prison cell.

There were two beds.  He and I were facing one another aware that this night would be our last on earth.

We were talking about all of the things that we would do together in Heaven...dance, sing, run, ride bikes, swim, play...and all of the people that we'd be so happy to see.

It was painful.  I vividly remember trying desperately not to cry or to seem alarmed or anxious...but only to be in the moment with him...grateful for our time together.

And then the guard came in and turned the lights off.

I woke up instantly scrambling to find him.  Stumbling downstairs, I opened up his door to see him sawing logs...sleeping blissfully.

Turning on the coffee pot, I thought, "Am I enjoying my children or am I surviving these very needy moments of childhood?  Am I seeing them as temporary gifts from God or am I feeling them as burdens?"

The truth is that it is a gift to have as much time as I do with them and before I know it, they will be in school all day, participating in activities in the afternoon, and spending time with their friends at night. And, our story book reading, puzzle making, swimming days will be limited.

Dreams.  They can be powerful and thought provoking especially if you find yourself in a prison cell.

Strong, Beautiful, Fearless

Tomorrow I run my first race.  It's a five-mile trail run in the middle of January.

I've been running, but have yet to do five miles straight without walking, so I'm nervous.  Like, really nervous.

And when I get anxious, I dream...technicolor style.  Last night, I was running, running, and running and I was lost beyond belief.  Alone and lost.  Freaked out, I woke up and thought, "What the hell have I gotten myself into to?"  And then I thought, "I can do this."  "I can absolutely do this."

For good measure, I got some decent wool running socks, a good pair of gloves, and my hair colored this morning.  Because, if I die and am found, I want to look good trying.  Every woman knows exactly what I'm talking about.  No one wants to be corpse-like with shitty roots.

Throughout this journey, I've adopted the mantra....Strong, Beautiful, Fearless....as my theme for 2012.  The ball is rolling.  The weight is coming off.  My muscles are getting stronger.  And, the fear is still there, but I'm slowly learning to leverage it to my benefit.  And the stronger I get, the sexier, more beautiful that I feel, especially in the face of fear.

So, here's to the race tomorrow.  You and I are doing this...one step at a time.