Ode to Sam on Your 18th Birthday

 My Dearest Sam,

Happy, Happy 18th Birthday! 

How is it possible that you're soaking in the final few months of senior year, waiting to hear from colleges, preparing for your first trip abroad, spending every free moment with friends, and enjoying the last Prep traditions of leading Freshman Retreat, enjoying Mother/Father/Son masses, competing at Quiz Bowl tournaments, finalizing art portfolios, and sinking into your new favorite Philosophy and AP Government classes?!

Sometimes, when I think of you, I remember this little guy...

 

Only to reflect, in this picture on who I know you to be now...

 both photos taken at Elmwood Park across from our home, but seemingly, a lifetime apart.

 

So much growth happens in 18-years.  It really is remarkable.  And while everyone says to enjoy it because it's fleeting, I haven't fully realized, maybe gratefully, that you've been becoming an incredible young man along the journey.

 

This past year alone has been filled with so much change.  You were home far less working to save money to go on a WWII history trip which dad and I are so incredibly excited for.  When your passport arrived, we all looked at each other and knew that the little blue book symbolized freedom.  

 

The year has also been consumed with a crazy amount of college application writing, creation of fine arts portfolios, scholarship essays, busy AP courses...and back and forth, and back and forth...weighing of the pro's and con's of differing school options.  When I think back to my senior year, I really don't remember it being this hard.  I don't recall college costing five million dollars or feeling like I had as many viable options as you do.  And while we sit and wait for God's plan to unfold, I'm trusting that whether your next adventure takes you to the Chicago land area, the coast of Maine, the beauty of Minnesota, or maybe even close by in Nebraska, that you'll grow right where you're planted.  And this is where you and I are stepping out on a leap of faith praying that all the stars will align, benevolent influences will emerge, money trees will flourish, and guardian angels will watch over as you step into adulthood.

And as you do, I want to say thank you.  Thank you for letting us cheer you on like crazy people at four years of Cross Country meets.  It was a thrill to see your mind and heart push you all the way to the finish line.

 

Thank you for surrounding yourself with an incredible group of rock solid friends that have enriched your life and our families.  It has been a gift to watch your friendship unfold.

 

Thank you for pushing your creativity and serving in a leadership role for Prep's Film/Photography Club trying with each project to learn, stretch, grow and practice honing your skills. 

 Thank you for continuing to cultivate your faith--serving at the Rosebud Reservation, volunteering to lead retreats, sharing your rose at the dinner table, considering God's plan for your future, and for attending mass and sharing what it means to live a life of service.

 

Thank you for putting your family first and helping to look out for your sisters through rides to and from everything and giving good advice along the way.

 

 

 

There's a million spaces of gratitude that I feel for all that you've brought to my life, to our family, and to the world during your 18-years on the planet, but you know me, I have to leave you with a few words as you register to vote, get ready to walk across the commencement stage, sign your acceptance letter to your future college, maybe meet the one just for you, and carve a life of your choosing...

• Wherever you go and whomever you meet, remember who you are.  You have an incredible compass--trust it--you will know when to capitalize on a situation or to run like Hell, and when you don't, call home--we'll talk it through.
• Say yes more than you say no.  It's easy to think that something won't work and that you're not the kind of person who does this or works there or says that---but the truth is, you don't know until you try.  The great illusion is permanence.  Nothing remains the same.  You can always course correct.  And if you take the risk, you will learn something about yourself.  Nothing is wasted.  
• You are worthy. Period.  If anyone tries to convince you otherwise, politely excuse yourself.  You have one precious life.  Live it, fully.  No one gets to make you small or diminish your possibilities in this big world that has room for everyone.
• Nothing that is worth it is easy.  Put the time in.  Commit.  Stretch yourself.  You won't be disappointed.
  
• Live life with a servant heart.  Everyone in this world is valuable.  Give much more than you take.
• Remember to say please and thank you, always.  No excuses.
• Trust that God is with you in every encounter and that when it feels hard, all you have to do is reach out and ask for guidance, and sooner, rather than later, you realize that no matter where you go and or what has happened, you're never really alone.
• It's okay to miss home.  It's always okay to come home.  But before you do, have an adventure first.  Good things happen to those who get out of the house and off their phones.
• If I text you too much, it's because I love you and I'm practicing boundaries.  Thanks in advance for the grace and love.

I think this is the beginning of the list.  I'm sure I'll have many more before we pack the van and drop you off at school, but until then, wow, just wow, 18-years!  I can hardly believe it.  Happy Birthday to my first born, one and only son---I could not love you more.

 

Love, Mama

 

 

 

 

 

Ode to 43

Today, I turn 43.

I remember when we moved into our house, I heard that the sellers were in their 40's and I thought, "God, that's old.  I can't even imagine who I'll be in my 40's."

Now, with the benefit of a few decades of hard knocks, I feel like I'm just getting started.

And to that end, I'm learning to:

Make peace with the risings and the fallings.  

It never fails that when I'm on the mountain top--a string of good parenting days, meaningful time with friends and family, a welcome change in weather, forward movement in my mediation practice, an engaged class of students--the other shoe drops--my kid tells me (not verbatim, but I get the drift) that I suck, I get insanely overwhelmed by my work load, someone gets sick, a financial set back occurs, bad news arrives-- uncertainty kicks in, and I find myself remembering that this is what it means to be human.  There is no such thing as living infinitely in a place of joy or pain.  It's an extraordinary mixture of both, that is largely unpredictable and many times unexplainable.

Never underestimate the power of the hustle.

I used to think that giving up my career made me a fool.  How would I ever dive back into my field?  What would the loss of a double income mean for our family?  What was the point in amassing all of that education?  A decade later, after spending all of my 30's at home, and now teaching at a university and being back at the mediation table, I can wholeheartedly say that the best people I know are the scrappy ones.  They don't measure their worth in one long continuous line.  They take chances.  They trust their gut.  They believe in their value and they morph and shape their skill sets to prioritize the people and experiences that matter most.  They're the most interesting story tellers and the truest companions.  And for my own experience, I have to say that they bring a level of empathy, adaptability and resiliency to the table that is second to none.

Relish the paradox of living.

There was a time when I believed that having the answers defined a good life.  Now, I know differently.  Living in the uncertainty of the questions, with a willingness to course correct when your heart and intuition tell you otherwise is what it means to be present.  Non-judgemental, operating out of a space of love, not fear means that faith and trust are guiding, not a false sense of control.  Trusting that it's okay not to know...and that someday, this time of wonderment, fork in the road, will pass and eventually, you'll understand why you are, where you are, is the only way to do this life thing.

Gratitude makes life purposeful.

I used to stress over ensuring that I mailed a thank-you card within a proper window of time when someone had given a gift or done something kind.  Three kids later, I know that what matters isn't overt gestures...it's the little things...sending a text when someone comes to mind, telling them that you're thinking about the upcoming thing and that you're rooting for them and that you love them.  It's noticing the unbelievable abundance of blessings that show up in buds on the trees now that it's spring time, a really strong cup of coffee before the house wakes up, the fact that your legs take you places and somehow, your heart decided to beat for you all night long while you were sleeping and that God gave you another shot at today.  Saying thank you, nearly every moment, keeps you appreciating the bounty that surrounds you.

Comparison steals joy.

I've always yearned to be someone else.  When I was younger, it was the girls who were cheerleaders or the ones who were Merit scholars.  In my twenties, it was the girls who were married.  In my thirties, it was the ones who bounced back to their pre-baby weight and lived on certain tree-lined streets and vacationed at all the right places.  Now, in my forties, I'm too tired for that.  I have a really good life.  People who love me that I get to love back.  A body that moves.  A brain that thinks interesting stuff and friends who I can lean on and laugh with.  On most days, that's enough.  On the days when I look in the mirror and see extra jiggle, I have to remind myself that it's okay and this is the price of admission to the beauty of mid-life.

Change is the only constant.

God do I hate the devil I don't know.  If it were up to me, we'd main line coffee all day, only stopping to eat sushi, drink stout, read the NY Times, listen to podcasts while we did yoga and solved the problems of the world.  I get very antsy when it comes to doing new things...but the truth is, the birthplace of creativity, hope, opportunity and true engagement happen in the spaces where we are vulnerable, with hands outstretched saying, "I don't know, but I'm willing to try." 

So, as I approach this new space...this 43rd year...I say...

Ode to 

laughter and pain

hope and despair

worry and belief

adventure and momentum.

Ode to me

and the bounty of  life,

and the change that will bring me to forks in the road.

May I rise to meet them, even in the falling.

May I live in the present, without the guarantees,

embracing the dichotomies and uncertainty.

And may I know, deep within that being me,

the real me

the 43 me

is  enough.

Ode to Sam on Your 13th Birthday

Dear Sam,

The day came.

And now, you are a teenager.

You tell me, that you don't feel older, that it's just another day, but not for me.

Today, is the day that I look at you with so much love, extraordinary amounts of admiration and a heart bursting with hope...that you won't be able to imagine, until you have a child of your own.

You are my first.  Which means that you're the first kid to become a teen in our abode.

Look at you...

I mean, seriously, look at you.  You're incredible.

You and I are now officially, the same height: five feet, eight inches tall.  You have perfectly white, straight teeth (not without some gnashing of them during the braces phase), a gorgeous smile, big bright, curious, blue eyes (that refuse to wear contacts, glasses for you until the end), and a heart that is always, always looking out for the underdog.

And a brain.  Holy cow, Sam.  You're wicked smart.  This year alone in seventh grade saw you placing in the school Spelling Bee to take you to the big Catholic schools one on Saturday.  You made it to the Geography Bee.  You got an Honorable Mention at the Science Fair.  And even though it's not your favorite, and kills you to wake up at o'dark thirty, you're soaring through advanced math.

You are still a voracious reader, in love with science fiction...so much so, that you created your own Dramatic Interpretation speech piece, focused on the pros and perils of a world ruled by immortality.

And years later, you are still a boy scout.  So much so, that you have some kind of sub degree mummy sleeping bag, camping stove, hiking boots, geared up back pack craziness for winter outings, and hopes of completing your Eagle Scout (which is really freaking hard).

You take your faith seriously.  You are an altar server and even though it can be nerve wracking or scary to serve mass in front of the whole school, at a wedding, or even on Christmas, you do so with grace, and ask me how I liked the homily.

You know me, from time to time, I drop the f-bomb and say, it's okay, you can say it if you want.  To which you reply, "That's not why you send me to a good Catholic school," and then, you tell me that you're known among the middle school boys as the kid who doesn't cuss or make fun of others.  That fills me with a level of love that I can't describe.

On most days, if given the choice, you'd be at home or with friends playing Magic the Gathering or Dungeons and Dragons.  You like strategy games and fun that includes other people, no matter who they are or their ability.

And even though your sisters bug you, and you know that you'll never have a brother, you are good to them, in between the interrogation/beat-up sessions.  You help Kate (10) with her homework, when she's feeling overwhelmed, and you let Claire (7) win at your video game or play the piano with you.

Aw man, Sam.  You're growing up and I don't have words for it, because I've never done this before.

I've never been a mom to a teenager. And so, part of me wants you to stop, so that we can just keep playing board games and eating ice cream and joking around...while another part of me wants you out of the house so I don't have to keep reminding you to brush your teeth, put on deodorant, flush the toilet, hang up the wet towels in the bathroom, throw away the candy wrappers off your bed and put your shoes in the bucket.

They said it would happen.  The days would be long and the years would be short.  We're half way done with seventh grade, only one more year of middle school and then, you're off to more independence than you can imagine in high school and college.

So, before you go, here's what I want you to know.

I am so unbelievably, wildly, insanely, off-the-charts proud of who you are as a person.  You are kind.  Period.  And that is how I know that Jesus is alive in the world.  You have unequivocally decided that it is more important to sit with the kid who doesn't have a friend than it is to be popular.  You're not interested in making a million friends.  You just want to be one, to the one, who doesn't have one.  Thank you for teaching me the value of that.

You are strong.  I am certain that you inherited this moral fortitude from your father.  You know who you are and what you stand for.  Keep that near and dear to your heart.  When the chips are down, don't cave.  Stand firm in what you know to be true.  Your belief in God.  What is right.  And, the high road.  You can't go wrong.

You're learning this, as I think every teenager is...but here it is...take the time to put in the work.  When you commit to a person, a team or a project, make your name count for something.  Even if you don't want to or you don't know what you're doing, keep trying until you do.  Don't be afraid to roll up your sleeves.  In the end, it will be worth it.

Never stop trusting in the power of your faith when times and people are uncertain.  When in doubt, fall to your knees.  Thank God for what you've been given (which, man alive, is so much, my son) and thank God for what you can not see today, but trust will bear fruit tomorrow.  Gratitude and hope.  Two powerful gifts.

Finally, when you are in doubt, and you will be, if I am not with you, re-read this.  And if I am, call me and I will remind you of your worth and your capability and the promise of your life.

You are extraordinary, Sam.  I am so, so blessed to call you my son.

Happy 13th Birthday,

Love, Mama

Kelly's Hot Mess Celebrates 5-Years!

Five years ago, this week, I sat down with my computer and a strong Americano at a midtown Starbucks and wrote this:

****

Here I am... 

 

 

So the other morning, I walked by the mirror and realized, I'm a 36-year old wife and mother of three little ones.  I live in a white house with black shutters and a red door.  I make oatmeal and wash dishes and read lots and lots of stories and change lots and lots of diapers.  I drive kiddos to school, church, ballet, music, basketball, and their friends' houses.  I admire art work, dance moves, kind words, and gooey brownie fingers.  I shun hitting, eye-rolling, cruel words, and video games.  And late at night, when I have disposable energy, I wonder, how did I get here?

Yesterday or 14 years ago, I was reading philosophy texts, drinking beer, chatting it up with girl friends, wondering if I would get married, hoping I would get a really good job offer and firmly believing that I would never move back to Omaha, Nebraska.

I used to make fun of the women that I babysat for...they wore sweater sets from Talbots, faded pleated pants, the same pearl earrings, and drove station wagons or mini vans.  Most needed a highlight at best and some needed significant work like a lip wax or a personal trainer.  Everyone of them were so thankful to see me pull up in the driveway and after a few brief reminders encouraged me to eat anything I wanted in the house...I think they just really wanted me to come back.  They all seemed so old.  I used to giggle with my girlfriends about who had cute husbands and who had fat ones.  Which ones seemed really in love and which ones got the short-end of the stick.  Either way, I couldn't imagine that one day, someone would call me, "Mrs. so and so" and tell me that the kids would be just fine while I pulled out of the driveway.

I think it's funny that I got my master's degree in Conflict Resolution.  When I was actively practicing, I used to mediate other people's differences...i.e. Landlord/Tenant cases, Neighbor barking dog issues, Divorcing couples, Employer/Employee tensions...etc.  Now, I just seem to mediate my own internal conflict...how do I evolve in this new season of my life and also retain that which I claim to be vital to my soul?

And because I've been writing in my head for the last fours year (ever since I became a full-time stay-at-home mom), I've decided to create this blog...primarily, as an outlet for me to reclaim my voice (outside of "use your inside voice") and also as an opportunity for me to connect with others who may relate.  The truth is that the dynamic between like-minded individuals is what I missed the most about writing in my journal.  And sometimes, the facebook fragments are just not enough.    So, here I am.

I'm not sure how often I'll write.  I'm not terribly concerned about being offensive or liked.  I just want to hear my voice again as I hit the key strokes.  I want to be reminded that I am here...all parts of me, not just those that care take for others.

I'm grateful for the hot mess that I find myself in most days because it reminds me that I am alive.  I may be covered in puke, exhausted from an all-night marathon with a baby, or wearing a size that I  reserved for a middle-aged woman...but I'm here.  I'm doing it.  And, honoring the journey...

 *****

I had no idea, really no idea, what it meant to author a blog.  Since that decision, I've published 617 posts--most of which revolve around the crazy making of being a stay-at-home wife, mother, runner, writer, conflict resolutioner, f-bomb dropper, inappropriate content lover, coffee and wine drinker, podcast listener who is just trying to do the next right thing.

I've shared the deaths of my grandfather and taken much too soon cousin.  I've hinted at masturbation in the sauna of a local gym.  I've chronicled my 40-pound weight loss journey and transformation into a marathoner.   I've plastered nearly every insane act that all three of my children have subjected me to from the time my oldest was six years old and my baby was 9-months old...she just went off to kindergarten.

I've talked about my deepest desire to become an author and shared pieces of my poetry and prose.  I've centered quotes on inspiration, motivation, hope, power, triumphing over the unknown, fear, and belief in the impossible.  I've showered pictures of my family, friends all while talking about the craziness of managing it all and trying to stay awake while having sex--the struggle is real.

I've shared painful posts about drunk driving, making peace with your body, learning to surrender and remembering that you're never alone.

And through all of it...you have been there.

Listening.

Reading.

Commenting.

Encouraging.

Cheering.

Laughing.

Co-creating.

Believing that sharing your voice and heart with the world matters.

At a time when I've wondered whether I should continue publishing the blog, my 41-year old self says to you, if I thanked you daily, it would not be enough.

Thank you for believing in me, for inspiring me, for teaching and stretching me...for disagreeing with me and for supporting me...for encouraging me to speak about the elephant in the room...for loving my family and for watching us grow...for calling me out when I haven't posted in a while...for letting me know that even though we may never see each other, that you're still there...in the ether, reading and connecting from afar.

Here's to five years of Kelly's Hot Mess...what a beautiful journey it's been.

Exhaustion and Gratitude

'Tis the season...

For all of it, baking pies, decorating cookies, carving turkeys, gathering around tables, breaks from the office or the classroom, travel, families, late nights, bottles of wine, mugs of hot cocoa, screaming, laughing, remembering, waiting for your family member to remind you of that one time that you did that one thing that you wished had just never happened...it's the holidays.

This weird amalgamation of the almost passed over Thanksgiving, Chanuakah, Christmas tree/lights, New Years parties, resolutions and then boom...your ultimate dedication to turn a new leaf and make 2016 your absolute best year ever...just as soon as you get the God damn tree down to the curb along with the fucking Lego boxes that these ungrateful ingrates have left all over the house and your in-laws hit the road and the office lets you have a real vacation without 2,500 emails from John who apparently could give two shits about family time and goes in to "catch-up" over the weekend.

And today, for me, was the start of the madness.  The day before Thanksgiving.

Like a dip shit, I went to Trader Joes along with a bazillion of my closest friends and my three children.  I've frequently lamented how my kids whip around the aisles with those miniature red carts and make minced meat out of the innocent shoppers who are simply trying to make a discerning purchase.  With the volume of traffic today, it left very little room to go crazy.  Instead, the last minute shoppers made stink eyes at my littles and mentally told them to fuck off while they pilfered the shelves searching for organic pumpkin puree.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I thought, before the pies, wouldn't it be fun to let the kids take their hand at making chocolate chip cookies from scratch.  And then the measuring cup filled to the brim with brown sugar got thrown into the Kitchen Aid standing mixer and little bits of chocolate sugar cane affixed themselves to every crevice of my kitchen and the inside of my jeans and bra.

I screamed.  I doled out mean words.  And then, like usual, I felt guilty.  Son of a bitch!  Why can't I just let everything go to Hell in a hand basket and be okay with it?  They're only little for a short time.

Every year, I vow to do better...to spend time being grateful in the moment instead of distracted by the to-do's and the continual being behind the eight ball in the eleventh hour of everything in my life.

And so today, I focus on the serenity prayer and this quote by Marianne Williamson, whom I love...

"The only way to gain power in a world that is moving too fast is to learn to slow down.  And the only way to spread one's influence wide is to learn to go deep.  The world we want for ourselves and for our children will not emerge from electronic speed but rather from the spiritual stillness that takes root in our souls. Then and only then, will we create a world that reflects the heart instead of shattering it."

'Tis the season to make yourself and the world the way that you want to be focused only on harboring the blessings and not the minutia of the to-do's.  No one will remember everything you didn't do...they'll only remember that you showed up, imperfect and real.  

Autumn-The Years Last, Loveliest Smile

I woke up this morning freezing.

Fumbling toward my night stand, I grabbed my phone and saw that the temperature was 34 degrees.

Wandering down to the kitchen, I lit a candle and dutifully clicked the coffee pot while I grabbed a fleece sweater and curled up in a chair waiting for the liquid gold to brew.

Because it's pitch black outside at 7am, no one wants to get out of bed, including me.  But the reality is that fall is slowly saying goodbye and with only a few days left of October, the craze of the holiday season and winter will soon be upon us.

I have such a love hate relationship with this time of year.  I always beg for an Indian Summer...one that will last with 65-70 degree days far into November and snow that will only come lightly with big puffy flakes just in time for Christmas, while only leaving a dusting on the drive.

I want weather that warrants cups of tea, cider, chai and coffee, but not the kind that has me chilled to the bone, finding my way to the tub on a daily basis.

I yearn for red, orange and yellow leaves that stay well past Halloween and crunch as I walk my kids bundled to and from school...but not the wet ones that sink into the cracks of my drive and make it impossible and gross to gather into yard waste bags.

I beg for pause.  An opportunity to be slower, to reflect, to be more mindful...but not so much so that I find myself lazy, apathetic and filled with consternation about all of the projects I should have gotten done but now have no energy or interest in accomplishing.

I pray for renewal.  As the end of the year winds down, I seek the time to be grateful for all that was and hopeful for all that is to come.

I guess, I want for a lot in a rather complicated, particular way.

Staring down Daylight Savings Time on Sunday morning...I say, thank you for sunshine earlier in the day but boo to 5:30pm dark drives home.

And as Autumn stands in the corner singing his song of farewell, I say, I'll miss you.  I think I can bear the winter months as long as you promise to return again in the not so distant future.

"Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile."  William Bryant

Paying Attention to Mary Oliver

Do you know Mary Oliver?

The American, Pulitzer prize winning poet from Provincetown who has written some of the most beloved poems our planet has seen.  She's recently come out with a new book of poetry called "Felicity," but one of my all-time favorites, which seems odd to share in the dead of Autumn is "The Summer Day."

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Maybe it's because I went on a long run yesterday that felt more like summer than fall infused.  Or maybe it's that I've spent my morning buried in laundry and dishes listening to Mary Oliver being interviewed by Krista Tippett, the host of "On Being."  Or maybe, it's because as of late, I've been acutely aware of what it means to be attentive to the little, particular things that abound in my life.

Like the grasshopper.

The trail was flooded with them yesterday and I kept feeling compelled to look down for fear that I'd be the culprit who smooshed one of them as they seemed to be bounding out of every crevice.  But they didn't seem afraid, they kept jumping and hopping on each other and eventually, onto my leg which had me squealing as I motored by. 

After a weekend of single parenting while my better half and oldest kiddo were on a camping trip, it hit me.  Paying attention to the particular is the key to moving through general malaise.  It's being intentional with the world instead of taking it all for granted.

Which led me to another of Mary Oliver's brilliant pieces.  It's the third part to "The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac" installation written after she was diagnosed with cancer.

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you're in it all the same.
so why not get started immediately.
I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.
And to write music or poems about.
Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.
You could live a hundred years, it's happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.

According to Mary Oliver, intentional living begins when we choose to give our full attention to the moment which spins and molds and morphs and flows into our devotion which ultimately, creates a life.

So often, we keep waiting for the big, revolutionary experience...the vacation, the trip of a lifetime, the promotion, the renovation of a kitchen, a bathroom, the new lease on the shinier car, the countdown to a 30-day extreme body challenge, the pinnacle, the summit, the peak. 

Meanwhile, a million grasshoppers have jumped, leaves have changed, children have grown by inches, the temperature has shifted, the sun has come up and gone down day over day.

All for you and all for me.

But have we noticed?  Did we pay it attention?  Honor it?  Express gratitude?  Linger in it for a little longer?

For me, I can say no.  It's just so much easier to be consumed in the distractions and the minutia of the living part, until I stop and give myself permission to put those tasks on hold and take in the utter mystery of everything from a grasshopper to a red leaf to the color of my children's eyes.  And when I do, I am astounded.  Truly.

Bittersweet

Spring has sprung.

It's 75 degrees and I'm watching the gloriousness from my window...all of it.  The sunshine, the blue sky, the bikers, the runners, the kids walking home with their backpacks, the birds chirping and the tiny green plants forcing their way up to greet the world.

That's with one eye.

With the other, I'm watching my 4-year old daughter snuggled up with her blanket, eyes closed, fever managed, finally sleeping.  She's been sick for the last five days.  Prior to that, her older brother and sister missed three days of school last week (unheard of in our home) because of similarly high fevers, yucky coughs, and general fatigue.

I've made lots of trips to Target.  Cart filled with ibuprofen, acetaminophen, bananas, popsicles, bleach, Lysol and Clorox wipes.

I haven't made many trips out the door with my running shoes on or to greet the sunshine.  And so, it's been a rough start to spring for our clan.  Praise God for friends who bring iced coffees, sweet sunshine balloons, Dove chocolates and kind texts that remind me that I'm not alone.

But through this Lenten season, I stumbled upon a book that I've fallen in love with called "Savor," written by a mother who knows how hard it is to savor the moments when you're trying to simply survive them. In this daily devotional, she writes about the power of the bittersweet.  Here are her words...

"Bittersweet is the idea that in all things there is something beautiful and something broken, that there is a sliver of lightness on even the darkest of nights and a slice of hope with every heartbreak.  Bittersweet is the practice of believing that we really do need both the bitter and the sweet and that a life of nothing but sweetness rots both your teeth and your soul.  Bitter is what makes us strong, what forces us to push through, what helps us to earn the lines on our faces and the callouses on our hands. Sweet is nice enough but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity.  Bittersweet is courageous, gutsy and earthy."


Boom.  Tears in my eyes.  This has purpose.  All of it.

For a type A, crazy-ass control freak mama like myself who really at the end of the day has absolutely nothing to bitch about, this resonated.  We have no idea what will come in this beautiful, messy, unpredictable life we've been given...so why not savor it, all of it?  Why not take everything it has to offer, especially the hard and the unfair...it makes the sweetness, that much juicier.  It feeds the soul in ways that we could have never felt with the same abundance before we knew the hurt.

So, as she's sleeping and I'm realizing that it's 3pm and I'm still in my pajamas, I say thank you for the bittersweet.  It's making me the mother and the woman that I am today.

Ode to Sam on Your 10th Birthday

Dear Sam,

I remember as if it was yesterday, the moment that I learned I was going to be a mother.  I know, because I had been waiting for it my whole life.  While I knew from a young age that I wanted to make a difference in the world, I had no idea that the greatest transformation of my life would come through you.

You were the first...the one that I researched and agonized over every choice from breast to bottle feeding, organic versus DIY baby food, setting a schedule or letting you set your own, childcare versus staying at home, reading, American Sign Language, micro-soccer, t-ball, preschool curriculum, Catholic school versus public, non-toxic, GMO free finger paint...you name it, your papa and I scrutinized every choice wanting the absolute best for you at every turn.  Not that we don't for your sisters, we just don't have time anymore and well, they seem to be doing just fine.

And on this day, that you turn double digits, you are still our Guinea pig with parenting decisions about friends, sports, homework, bedtimes, sleepovers, music and literary choices.  We're still learning with you.

So thank you.  Thank you for hanging in there with us.  Forgiving us when we expect too much, because we really do set the bar very high.  Smiling when I repeat myself over and over, not for fear that you won't double check your responses on a Social Studies test, but because I feel better saying it four times instead of just once.  Thank you for being an extraordinary big brother...the kind of role model to Kate and Claire that really takes my breath away.  Thank you for reading with them and not always hitting as hard as you could when engaging in Nerf gun wars and dragon battles.

Thank you for being interesting.  I know that sounds weird, but you really are.  You're curious and engaged and you want to know about the world and the people who are in it.  And you really have no idea how cool that is in a person.  Thank you for loving to read and to write and for challenging papa and I to read the material that you are.

But most importantly, thank you for being both courageous and kind almost always in the same moment.  Thank you showing up comfortable in your own skin, to be your own person, to do your own thing and to respect the kid next to you who is doing his, but to also stand up for the one who needs an extra hand.

I can hardly believe that God has gifted you to us for entire decade.  And that, in six years you'll be driving and in eight years, you'll be gone to school in a far off land changing the world, just like I had dreamed of.

But while you're here for just a little longer, I'll say thank you for making me a mother.  It is the greatest gift of both courage and kindness that I have ever known.

Here's to an amazing tenth year...may you rise to meet it in all that it offers...knowing that I'll be here every step of the way.

I love you,

Mama

Praise for the Sun & Abundance

Ahhh...thank you.

Gratitude. That's really the theme of my day.

With the sun shining upon my face, days like today remind me that the cold, dark stretches of winter take their toll.  Judging by the volume of supplements and essential oils that adorn my medicine cabinet, I either struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder or am the mastermind of a flourishing drug cartel. 

Either way, the sun and its' warmth make me hopeful and grateful.  Hopeful that spring will come early and that marathon training in February, March and April might be less grueling in warmer temps and minimal snow and ice.  Grateful that it's a new year, a new beginning, and a new opportunity for positive change.

Talking to a friend the other day, I shared that every time I approach my life from a place of abundance versus deficit, I always end up in a stronger spot ripe with joy instead of fear.  When I tell myself that I am enough, I have enough and it will be enough instead of assuming that it won't, my perspective, my energy output and my attitude shift and life is full and blessed, even if certain outcomes are unknown.

But I will say that it's easier to trust in the half full cup when the sun is shining upon it and the water is glistening.  The sun seems to make it all better.  There's nothing worse than when winter has chilled you to the bone and it's all you can do not to pull the covers over your head and hibernate the day away.

So, for now, in this small space where I find myself stealing a 54 degree day in the middle of January in the heartland, I'll stay perched in a corner basking in the warmth believing that abundance, like the sun abounds.

A Grateful Heart

One of my favorite times of year is the season of Advent.

It's the perfect mix of excitement putting up the Christmas tree, stringing the lights, guessing what's wrapped inside the packages, opening cards from friends and family, drinking copious amounts of cocoa and anticipating Santa's arrival on Christmas morning. 

In the same breath, particularly when everyone is in bed and I have a cup of tea in hand, it's a beautiful, solemn time to look at the white lights of the tree and to be grateful.

Grateful for so, so much.

My middle daughter, Kate (7) came bounding home from school the other day and proclaimed, "Just remember, mama, a grateful heart is a full heart and there's so much to be thankful for."

To which I responded, "You're so right, what are you thankful for today?"

"No question, pickles.  I am over the moon for pickles.  Perfect food."  And then, she was off.

I think that's how it goes for kids. 

Most of the time, they are in the moment experiencing the now letting it come into their purview and out as all seasons of life do.  They rarely hold grudges or live in the land of fear or fret about this or that.  They just live and in the moment, they're grateful for pickles.

And so instead of worrying about the big mountains, most of which I have little control of, I started thinking about the parts of my life that I feel infinite amounts of gratitude for.

I love my legs and my lungs.  When my courage and discipline show up, they are right there to take my body miles and miles into parks, neighborhoods, race routes and undiscovered territory.

I love my heart.  It's big and heavy and never afraid to be shared literally right on my sleeve for the world to see.  I pray that part of me never goes away. 

Thank the Lord for my mind.  It never stops.  I live in it a good chunk of the time.  It's big and vast and imaginative and on good days, it meets my fingers and taps out thoughts and ideas that I'm lucky enough to share with others who help me to know that I am not alone.

And it goes without saying that I'm blessed beyond measure to have a partner who gets me and encourages my growth and crazy exploration.  Simultaneously, I stare out at the parts of my heart living in my three children and tears well because I know that they are my greatest gift.  A legacy of gratitude in the deepest respect. 

Whether you find gratitude in a moment that is all yours not beholden to your employer, your to-do list or your wandering thoughts....or in the perfect burger or bottle of wine...or the breaths your child takes when they're sleeping and you're quietly watching from the side of the doorway or your own breaths as your feet stomp the ground in a good, long, hard run...or from the perfect juicy pickle...a full heart, a joyous heart is a grateful one.

2012...Thank You

Not every year is a banner one.

They can't all be, right? 

But this year was for me.

If I could place myself in a movie, I would be that girl who came out of her shell....who morphed from the caterpillar into the butterfly...and soared to find her true self...you know, the one that had been hidden for sometime.

After deciding by sheer will that 2012 would be the "Year of Kelly," I found running or, it found me.  Either way, the love and discipline of putting one foot in front of the other saw me through three half marathons, one Hellacious trail run, a 5K mini race, countless early morning short runs, and many, many long Saturday morning training jaunts.

Running helped me to regain my self confidence, to garner time dedicated to breathing in and out and taught me to let go of my past transgressions and simply to trust.

Undoubtedly, I was transformed.

And so, I sit staring down a new year...2013....and it feels a bit ostentatious and entitlement-driven to dub this next year, my year again...but why not?  Shouldn't every day of our lives be for the living?  Shouldn't we yearn to soak it all in and to not be afraid of what lies waiting around the corner?

So, here's my proposed 2013 bucket list.

•  5 Half Marathons
• Cheering the hell out of my good friend while she kills it in her first FULL Iron Man race
• Yoga and lots of it
• Writing....more of it and more unabashed accounts of what lies inside of me
• Swimming, Dancing, Singing, and in general Enjoying the hell out of my Family
• Dreaming...clinging to the hope that one day I will find myself in Tuscany
• Thanking God daily for my blessings

And so, here we go.  Here's to you and me doing this New Year together.  Let's make it our year to soar ferociously and fearlessly...I can already feel it...it's going to be good.

Blessed to be Doing what I'm Doing

Most of you know that my parents divorced when I was little.

Four to be exact and my brother was two weeks old.

My mom was hard pressed to make sure that we had dinner on the table, parent permission slips signed, and a ride home from school.

So, activities like Daisy Scouts, ballet, and gymnastics really were not on her purview or remotely in the budget.

It was last night in the middle of kicking off a Daisy Scout parent meeting that it hit me, I am extraordinarily blessed.

I am grateful for the opportunity to be able to provide this gift to my daughter.  I am thankful that it is me that picks up my children each day from school and walks them through their homework in the afternoons.  

I am mindful that our time together in this way is limited and unique to the ages that they are.  And so for the time being, we live in a small house, drive older vehicles, and make it work on one income.

My hope is that as we look back and as they remember their childhoods that they will know that we were there.  Mama helped them to earn their badges (as did my husband who is the Cubscout Leader), walked them through their spelling tests, crunched leaves with them, and snorted chocolate milk out our noses as we made bubbles in our cups.

Life is short.  No matter how hard it is, I'm thankful that I get to spend my hours and days making these memories.

Kelly's Hot Mess Celebrates First Year Anniversary!

One year ago today, I was in need.

Feeling stifled, a bit isolated and bubbling with so many thoughts that couldn't be contained any longer in the form of a journal...I decided to create and share my blog.

I titled it "Kelly's Hot Mess," primarily because on any given day that's really how I view my life...a compilation of craziness that takes the shape of raising three wacky kiddos, banging my head around being the most authentic and available wife I can be, running so I can feel my body in motion, and playing around with what it means to be alive in the most "real" way that I can document.

Since my inaugural, introductory blip, I've written 276 posts that revolve around the stories of my life and the crazy thoughts in my head.

I have been abundantly grateful for all of the commentary that the blog has elicited...some constructive, some controversial...but all helpful.  Private messages from readers have encouraged me that I'm not alone in my journey and collectively, that we're all trying to do the best we can.

My hope is to continue writing in this medium and maybe, maybe just one day expanding it into a collection of short stories or an essay submission to my favorite column, "Modern Love" in the Sunday New York Times.

Until then, know that I appreciate your readership, but more importantly, I treasure your friendship and the many ways that we've reconnected through "Kelly's Hot Mess."

Happy Anniversary!

Rocking the Chicago Half Marathon with a Grateful Heart

I don't even know where to begin.

Four months ago, immediately after completing my first half marathon, I felt over-the-moon about the accomplishment and anxious wondering what was on the horizon.

I impulsively registered two days later to run the Chicago Half Marathon.  I assumed that one of my runner friends would join me and that we'd have a wild and crazy time taking the windy city on.

One by one, something came up for everyone and I soon discovered that if I really wanted to do this, I'd be going alone.

Scared and deflated, I told my husband that it probably wasn't meant to be and that I should just write off the registration costs.

And then, out of the wood work...one by one...my friends emerged and made my trip a reality.

One friend (and I'm crying at O'Hare airport as I write this) offered up her family member's condo in a fantastic neighborhood.  Knowing that I was petrified to take public transportation, she mapped out my itinerary and gave me step by step directions and emergency contacts of all of her friends in the city.

The condo was steps away from Wrigley Field and both nights, I heard Springsteen singing to a packed stadium and felt like I was at the concert without paying a dime.

College friends that I haven't seen in over a decade, called, wrote, and insisted that we get together.  One by one, they traveled to me, took me to fabulous restaurants, listened to me talk about my family, my running journey, and gave me heart felt encouragement, hugs, laughter and tears as I prepared.

My husband graciously took time off of work and planned fun activities for he and our three kids to do while I was away...and then tucked a note into my shoe letting me know that I was an amazing woman.

My family and very dear friends sent me text messages, letters, emails, cards, and notes all reminding me of why I was going and letting me know that I was already a winner.

And now, I'm moments away from flying home and all I can remember is this:

• Waking up to a 68 degree day
• Running along a breathtaking lake front with sunshine sparkling off the water
• Feeling a body that was strong, steady, and trained
• Having a heart filled with joy while bands played and people cheered
• Eyes that wanted to cry, but an ear-to-ear smile that wouldn't let them
• Feet that never stopped running and never let me down
• A watch that showed me a time I've never seen before...how did I run that fast?
• And a belief that I was meant to be in Chicago on this day doing this by myself

There is no question that I am a changed person.  I am inspired.  I am motivated.  I am passionate.  And I am extraordinarily grateful.  There are no words to express that throughout all of this process, I was never alone.  This journey was a collective effort.  I just got to selfishly wear the medal at the end.

If I thanked God, my family, friends, and Chicago daily...it would not be enough.

Gratitude for the Fall

Even though I was born in the spring and have always held a soft spot in my heart for the season of renewal and rebirth...I've got to admit, I am enamored by the fall.

Like many, there's something about the change of the leaves, the rustle of the wind, the smell of the air and the ushering of the quiet that makes me pause.

The other morning, Kate (4), Claire (baby) and I took a walk to enjoy the beautiful autumnal day.  We're blessed to live across the street from a really beautiful park with gorgeous, mature trees and breathtaking ravines.  While collecting pieces of bark, pine cone, and leaves, we noticed a huge crane in the process of cutting down a mammoth tree.

And just like that, the tree made a huge thud as it hit the earth.  You could feel it in your belly, the rumble and reverberation were immense.

I looked over at Kate and she started to cry. "Mama, why did they do that?"  To which, I unexpectedly became emotional and said, "Well, I think the tree was dying."  And she said, "Did the tree know?" and I said, "I'm sure he suspected."

It's strange, but I've been having these kinds of cool, philosophical conversations with my kids a lot lately.  We've been aware of mortality and the seasons of life.  We've been praying for friends who are sick and for those who are dying.  We've been grateful for our health and trying not to take it for granted.

However, the reality is that life is comprised of seasons...a time to be born, a time to live and a time to die.  Fall reminds me that it is time to hibernate, to cling to those I love and to "settle in" a bit.  I am mindful that the colder temperatures and the shorter days give way to reflection and quiet.  It's not so much of a time to go-go-go as it is an opportunity to stay, to pause, and to be grateful for that which we are and that which we have been given.