Clenching Mercy

Pivoting in short, choppy--often, incomplete motions.

Back and forth.

Left and right.

Can't forget this and that.

All of it matters.

Whatever you do, don't stop.

These snap shots have been my life for the better part of several weeks.

Some of it is has been expected and is a remembered part of this season, but a good chunk of it is new.

Managing deadlines both at home and work.  Looking down to see that both my belly and my ass have grown a little too comfortable making my jeans a little uncomfortable.  Realizing that my kid has a project due that isn't just his but involves three others and supplies and it's Sunday night.  Watching my five-year old daughter count down the days until Christmas, swearing that I'll order that thing this afternoon or carve out time to really decide what in the hell Santa is going to put under the tree.  Wondering why I took on that volunteer "opportunity" and how it is that I will have all three children in different spots at the same time? Trying to plan a meaningful graduate course terrified that the students will call me out as a fraud.

While I was doing the dishes and editing the grocery list and grabbing the towels...I heard the extraordinary writer, Mark Nepo define poetry as the unexpected utterance of the soul and the frailty of the human condition as:

And I was reminded, yet again that this deal we do is hard.  Let's not mince words.  From time to time, it fucking sucks.  A good chunk of it is spent enduring instead of standing open to the possibility of what the day brings.

So in that moment, I just stood

still.

And breathed, a sigh of relief.

A really, really big breath.

And I closed my eyes and un-closed my fists and tried to receive whatever it is that the world had for me.

And while in the moment, I had to grin thinking that I extrapolate ad nauseam about the power of possibility and standing open to the availability of the extraordinary in the daily mundane....until it comes to me....and my life slowly turns into..."well, everything will be better once I make it to Thursday night or Sunday morning."  Meanwhile, a million moments go by and my teeth are clenched, my stomach is in knots, my mental to-do lists are cycled through repetitively and I'm just making it.  Most of the time, it's not a bad making it...it's just a dulled engagement of what could be.

Mercy is trusting that you don't have to know.

It's the indomitable fact that you can't possibly be in control all of the time and that surrendering to what could be is the greatest form of inhabiting the moment as imperfectly and beautifully as one can.

And so this morning on my run, I released. little by little...unsure but hopeful...which I think is my mantra for the new year.

I'm done with knowing.

I'm in need of mercy and grace and the divine and the blessed possibility that comes with the great unknown.

the becoming

Crack.

The white iPad falls to the floor and the screen shatters.

***

Bang.  The bedroom door slams. Hard.

Kate yells, "Just LEAVE me alone and get out of my room!!"

***

The refrigerator door suffers an undeserved beating as Claire hangs on it yelling,

"MOOOOOMMMM....you said you were gonna buy yogurt?  WHERE is it?  And, why isn't my ballet leotard in the closet?"

***

And then the high-pitched knife murdering yelp by Sam who cries out,

"WHAT happened to MY iPad?  Kate, did you do this????"

***

I'm upstairs waiting for Sam to kill Kate, trying to decide if I can physically get up from my bed to actually give her a fighting chance.  It's 5pm after a day of working with 31 seven and eight year olds, ushering after school car pools, brainstorming dinner options and my feet really hurt, but not as bad as my head.

This is the reel going through my mind..."I hate them.  I love them.  I want to kill them too.  I would do anything for them.  I don't want to be a mom tonight.  I'm so blessed to be their mother.  I think if I close my eyes really, really tightly, I'll fall asleep and they will figure it out.  Rise up and make it happen."  God, it's all so exhausting.

Not long after that night, I had coffee with a friend.  I asked her if we made a mistake.  Remember when we didn't know if we'd get married or have kids or create the family we sort of desperately wanted?  What would have happened if we hadn't?  Would we be enjoying endless spa weekends, luxurious sugar scrubs, fabulous shoes, brilliant downtown condos, cashmere, sleep-in Saturdays, extraordinary careers?  I don't know, she said.  Who can know what could have been had we veered away from this path and chosen another?  It's really neither here nor there.  This is the path.

And then, I found this.

And I remembered-- because it's so easy to forget.

There are no real answers, just lots of little twists, turns and deviations along the path.

What works for one woman, one mother, one family is infinitely different from what makes sense to another.  And if we were smart, as women, we would videotape or journal or find some tangible way to chronicle where we were and where we are.  A picture or song or poem to capture the woman in our 20's, so certain and yet so yearning.  The woman in our 30's, softer, rounder, a little more tired, a little less certain of how it will all shake out.  The woman in our 40's, slowly, but surely releasing the expectations of the world and maybe even her own, ready to watch the magic of what emerges when you stop trying to force it.  Who knows what the remainder of the decades have to offer...

But what I do know is that it's hard.  It's tiring.  Sometimes, it's all consuming and drowning.  And sometimes, it's thrilling and glorious and you can't believe that you've been given all of it.  Every ounce of it.

I suppose, this is the beauty and anguish of the becoming.




 

Ode to Kate on Your Ninth Birthday

My Dearest Kate,

Oh my goodness!  You're nine! 

A bonafide ballet twirling, piano playing, Roald Dahl reading, canvas painting, fruit and veggie eating, bird admiring, advocate for every soul under the sun.

There are no words to say how much I love you and how excited I am for where you are, smack dab in the middle of such a beautiful life.

I can't quite explain it, but from the moment of your birth, you have been elated with the world.  Happy to greet everyone you meet with a sense of wonder, purpose, hope, and giddyness for the possibilities that abound.  You have served as the inspiration for our family to live in the center of the moment, and to gobble up all of the beauty and joy that God has blessed upon us.

A few weeks ago, we took a family vacation to northern California and you took your iPad primarily to take pictures of everything that made your heart sing.  I watched you focus in on seagulls in San Francisco, Redwoods outside of Eureka, ruins in Alcatraz and interesting smiles of passer-byers. You are a natural observer, documenter and lover of the beauty in the world.

It is extraordinary to watch you read voraciously and fall in love with the characters and language as much as I did when I was your age.  Consumed in tales like The BFG, Matilda, Harry Potter, Story Thieves, The War that Saved My Life and so many others, it is a delight to compare notes and to watch you write and illustrate your own rags about dragons, heroes and girls who save the day (always, the heroines).  And now, you've embarked upon building and painting your own Free Little Library with your dad so that you can share your love of literacy with our neighborhood. 

One of my favorite projects you crafted was during the Lenten season when you decided to paint "Rocks for the Poor."  You and your sister spent hours finding the perfect stones and then carefully adorning them with color and symbols in the hopes that people would buy them as desk decoration.  In turn, you took the money and gave it to those in need because according to you, "We have so much and it's not right that others have so little."

In the fall, you are headed into fourth grade, a time that I vividly remember.  So, as you embark upon your ninth year, I want to leave you with this... the greatest gift that you can give to another is kindness and you are filled to the brim with it.  Let it pour out of you and shower upon the new girl you meet in class, the one who stumbles on the street, the friend who's not quite sure that they're doing it right, the stranger in the store or on the playground.  Because while we live in a country that seems to be monetarily wealthy, we are vastly deficient in our ability to love one another for exactly who we are without judgement or fear.

Try not to be afraid.  Be wild, free and alive.  Every moment is a new opportunity to feel, to believe, to try again, to experience all that this crazy time and space has to offer.  Never doubt that you are both able and extraordinary beyond all measure.  You have the power and the fortitude to do so, so very much.  But it's more fun and vastly more enjoyable when you take a friend along the journey.  Share your success.  Be humble in your winnings.  And know that all goodness and grace comes from God.

Forgive me if this is how I see you...

I'm not sure how we got to here...

But I do know that I'll always be right here, cheering you on as you explore, wonder, hope, imagine
and create a more beautiful and loving world.

To the moon and back, sunshine...

Happy Birthday, Kate....

Love always, Mama

Guilty No More

Not long ago, I wrote a creative non-fiction essay focused on my love affair with guilt.

The opening lines went something like this...

"Other than my mother, nothing has loved me more than guilt.  Its stuck by me in all seasons. The very moment that I try to let it go even for a brief sabbatical is the instant that it calls me home, reminding me that we are partners for life."

I continued the essay trying to get my bearings, hell-bent on determining the origin of my obsession. Was it my Catholic upbringing, my parents' divorce, my need to please others, who knows?

And then, in traditional Kelly form, I went for a run and this song came blaring through my headphones:

And it struck me, to live ones' life under the guise of guilt is not to live at all.  It is to be frozen in the past or to reel forward to an unknown future, fearing that you'll mess something up there as well.  It is to constantly question, to doubt, to play it safe, to wonder, to worry and to not walk on the cracks in the sidewalk. And it is exhausting.

The greatest source of guilt I contend with is whether or not I'm fucking up my children.  I think most mothers walk around with this daily source of concern.  We worry that we're not around enough or that we're hovering too closely.  We caution that we're being too hard on them or that they're becoming entitled, spoiled brats who will be living in our basement at 30.  We are quick to anger and judgement and slow to patience and grace.  We also know that this day will not come again and sometimes, you just can't take back what you said or didn't say when you should.  And God damn it, the stakes are high.  I can't think of anything I care about more.

But today, on my run, I decided that it's better for me to fuck them up and get really good at apologizing over and over again than to live in a constant state of paralysis.  Every meaningful relationship is based on saying "I'm sorry" again and again and again.  So, modeling that I'm human and that I'm trying to do the best in the moment, seems better than trying to feign perfection, falling short, digging myself into a deeper hole daily.

I'm not sure that I'll ever be completely free of guilt...it just seems to be in my blood.  But knowing what I know about the human condition, it's better to operate from a place of recognition as opposed to a permanent residence.  It's better to be alive, free of the bars of guilt.

Navigating the Waters of September

I don't know what September looks like at your house...but here's what's been going on at mine.

From the moment that we round the bend on our walk home from school, my fifth grader, third grader and preschooler, kick off their shoes, grab a snack and immediately start prioritizing which homework needs to be tackled first; assessing which tests have to be studied for; analyzing the best window to sneak time in on that Social Studies project in the midst of shuffling off to football practice, ballet, swim team and music.

And we're all tired.

Because the truth is, it takes a while to get adjusted to a new homework regimen, teacher expectations, extra curricular involvement and what it means to stay focused on school work long after you've left the building.  And with each new grade comes a progression of information that requires all of us to try and breathe and trust that with time, routines will morph, the brain will absorb, the will power will rise up and the yelling will dissipate.

But I forget and so do they...

And so in the midst of the management or lack there of, we get short with each other, we say things we don't mean, we project our stress and we fizzle out.

If I had to guess, I'd predict that the whole deal has been the hardest with Sam because as the oldest, he and we, right or wrong, hold him to a really high standard.

He is hard working, extremely bright, bears the weight of the world on his shoulders and is as interested in pleasing his parents as he is in learning the material and having a general curiosity about the what the hell is going on in fifth grade.

And man, the boy has a shit ton of homework.

So when I watched him walk out of the doors of school this afternoon, I could see so much of me in his eyes and in the back pack strap he clipped around his waist for extra support.  It's just a lot.

And I'm conflicted because academics have always been extraordinarily important to me.  A love of learning and a strong work ethic is honestly, a bare minimum.  But in the same breath, I'm also trying to remember that he's 10.

As we continue to navigate this push pull relationship of working harder than we have in the past and letting go of the reigns to teach him how to be more accountable for his success as a student, I say, here's to time on our knees as parents.  I've prayed so much in these last few weeks for grace, for peace, for trust that he won't need extensive therapy because I've jacked him up.

And here's to our little ones just trying to do the best they can while maybe getting time to throw the football or the frisbee or to build in Minecraft or to ride their bike or to lay in the grass and stare up at the sun before it's dark by 5:30pm.

Here's to all of us making it through September.

Finding Grace in the Last Days

They couldn't be more different.

She, the eternal optimist.  He, the unfailing pragmatist.

And yet, they came from the same two people.

My mother and uncle are watching their father die.  After countless hours at his bedside...some of the most poignant being a midnight bedside prayer with cousins and parents holding hands...we realize that this is it...or is it?

My mother's cup has always been half full.  No matter the trial or tribulation, she truly believes in her heart that there is a way out and that we only need believe.  It's a powerful gift when you're feeling like your life is literally over after a boyfriend dumps you or a job just wasn't the right fit.  It's a little harder when you're looking at heart failure.

My uncle has always been a realist.  He does not bull shit.  He tells it like it is and respects those who are direct and to the point.  And sometimes, his anger gets the best of him.

Watching these two manage decisions regarding my grandfather has been a bit tenuous to say the least.  He confronts and she placates.

So, I've been praying for them.  I've been praying that God would use this time to help them find grace and peace in these final moments with their dad...that He would find ways to help them remember the beautiful parts of their childhood...that He would encourage them to see that they have more common ground then they realize...and ultimately to know that when all is said and done, they will be left with each other.  The legacy of our grandparents.

I don't envy them.  Making critical decisions like whether or not to sign a DNR are paralyzing.  They're doing the best they can given their own pain.  It's a powerful lesson that grace can find its way into our hearts if we just let it.