Build Back Better

This weekend, I took my children to the lake.  But instead of taking all kiddos at the same time, I asked a friend to bring each child to me for a special day/night alone with me.  So, Ava had a whole day/night with Mommy....Clara had a whole day/night with mommy, etc. etc.  

It was very special.  As it came time for "changing of the guards," as I would call it, when Merle would bring the next kiddo to me and take the former home, the children had this very sweet way of greeting each other and showing the new child in the house all of the fun things in the rental (the bathroom, the washing machine..just amazing stuff, you know).  

On Millie's day, we went down to the dock and built sandcastles on the little beach. As the lake water lapped at our heels, we created an entire village.  Tiny castles (for the tiny princesses, of course), huge, intricate sandcastles (from a mold) with windows, decorations, and details galore.  We made a moat.  We made a swimming pool for the imaginary children.  We were so proud of all that we had built--together.

But then, a huge speed boat far in the distance passed by the house.  Neither Millie nor I saw it.   We only saw the aftermath.  As the waves crashed on the beach, we realized all of our hard work was about to be washed away and there was absolutely nothing we could do stop it.

We watched in silence as the big waves crashed into our little village.

Everything was decimated.  Our little pool filled with sand.  The moat offered no more protection than a loose, floppy bandaid.  Everything for which we had worked so hard was gone in an instant.

Faster than we could take a shallow breath.  Faster than we could build a fence of plastic cups around the village.  Faster than we could hold onto each other and wait for another wave to hit.

It was gone.

You may be thinking, "So what.  It's a sandcastle...you knew you were building on the side of a lake."  And that's true, but to this little girl, this was all of her hard work with one of the people she values most in this world. 

And now her village was nothing more than a few wet lumps in the sand.

I held her tightly to me.  The crashing of the waves quieted to a slow ebb.  We took a deep breath as we held each other.  Then she said to me, "You know, Mommy, we'll just build it back--but better."  And off she went, gathering sand for her next village.

Wow, Millie.  What a truly resilient thing to say. Most kids would have cried, stomped off, or even just given up with nothing else said.  And I wouldn't have questioned that response.  That sort of unexpected ruin is not something that is pleasant in any form (understatement of the century).  

But yes, we would build back better--and we would do it together.  "Come on, Mom, she said.  Let's get started."

Millie didn't realize how much she taught me yesterday.  I, too, have experienced a series of life events in which things that I thought I'd built on steady ground have washed away--or at least changed shape in a way that I never expected.

I've struggled with this in the absence of my father, who was the fixer of all.  I could call him any day, any time, and he would say, "Hello, darlin."  He would let me spill my guts on what I thought was "broken" or "washed away," and he would come up with a plan.  It might have been a wacky plan, mind you, but he always had a plan to get me back on my feet.

But now, Daddy's not here and as my little sand village has washed away (in some ways), I find myself missing Daddy more than ever.  I listen to the only voicemail I have left of him.  He's, of course, giving me business advice, but his kick ass, compassionate kind of way (you had to know him to understand that).  

At the end of the voicemail, he says, "God forbid something is to happen to me, but spending last week at Lake Anna with you and those babies was worth everything.  I love you all and I'd do anything to help you."

He died less than three weeks later.  

Now, as I look out at a new week--and even a new season of life--I realize that, like Millie said, we will build back better.  And we'll do it together.  Not all in one day.  Not all in one year.  Some things that we hoped for will get slid to the back burner.  Something that we planned for will have to be reimagined.

But, we'll do it together.  We'll build it back better.  And some things, you know, never wash away.  Things like love, commitment, and kindness.

So today, if you're looking out at the week--or even at your life--and feeling like some of the things you hoped for have washed away, I'll encourage you to do as Millie does.  Hug someone you love, take a deep breath, and hop down on the sand and build back better.

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts

 Good Morning,

I hope you had a restful Labor Day.  

It's been a season of challenges for me.  We all go through seasons of life, don't we?  Calm seasons (well, relatively), exciting seasons, seasons of change, and seasons of challenge.  Welp, it's been my turn at a season of challenge.

Don't misunderstand...I'm not done with this season, but today I have more clarity than most, so I thought I would write.

Hopefully, if we're friends (or even if you're just a human (or dog--Ellie loves this show) who likes good TV), you've seen Friday Night Lights.  If not, please book some time on Netflix and fill your soul.  Soon.  Like--this weekend.  Soon.

The phrase that Coach Taylor teaches his football players is "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts.....Can't Lose."  They repeat this phrase before games, practices, or just before anything important happens.  If you haven't see it, or just want a jolt of inspiration at the beginning of the week, please enjoy.

Whew, feel better already, right?  This morning is the first time in a very long time that I feel as if I have clear eyes and a full heart.  

Anyhoo, I haven't been sleeping well lately (stress, anxiety, planning Christmas in my head, and well, you know...a baby (or two or three) sharing my pillow when they are afraid or just bored).   I think I've started to underrate sleep because I haven't gotten alot of it in say what....the past six years?  But, I digress.

I barely slept at all Sunday night.  As in, I slept 9 pm to 1 am and then I was awake the rest of the night. I worked, I did spreadsheets, I organized my shopping lists, waited for emails on a holiday (which don't happen), I watched some weird Polish show on Netflix, and then eventually I decided it was time for coffee. 

So, as you would expect, yesterday I was all over the place with feelings, stressors, list-making, etc.  

Last night (one night later), I made sure to prepare myself for bed properly and I slept like a baby.  10 pm to 7 am.  Oh my gracious.  My soul is lifted.  My eyes are wide.  The trees seem greener and I'm ready to face the week (maybe.....I think).

But all of this has gotten me thinking about clarity.  Some people pray for clarity.  Some people buy glasses for clarity.  Some people wash windows for clarity.   In thinking about clarity, I remember a story one of my religious studies professors at UVA shared with me.  

When John Kavanaugh, the noted and famous ethicist, visited Calcutta, he was seeking Mother Teresa … and more. He went for three months to work at “the house of the dying” to find out how best he could spend the rest of his life.

When he met Mother Teresa, he asked her to pray for him. “What do you want me to pray for?” she replied. He then uttered the request he had carried thousands of miles: “Clarity. Pray that I have clarity.”

“No,” Mother Teresa answered, “I will not do that.” When he asked her why, she said, “Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of.” When Kavanaugh said that she always seemed to have clarity, the very kind of clarity he was looking for, Mother Teresa laughed and said: “I have never had clarity; what I have always had is trust. So I will pray that you trust God.”

Well that hits you right between the eyes, right?  

I know all of us are from different religious backgrounds and trust looks differently for each one of us.  Maybe it is trust in self.  Trust in family.  Trust in the universe.  Or trust in a God-like figure.  No judgment from this gal--you be you.  

For me, it is indeed a trust in God.  But, let's be real.  I stink at it.  My trust is in my lists.  I have master lists for my smaller lists.  I have timelines for my lists.  But at the end of the day, my lists do not love me back nor do they have any responsibility or hope for me.

So whether it's clarity (or trust) that you seek, I think today, with my eyes open wider with the help of sleep, I realize I need to do a better job at asking for what I need--and expecting to receive it.  And knowing I deserve it--always. Most of all, when I don't receive it, I should be able to express to whatever person/entity that this sort of treatment is not acceptable.  

Most of all, I also need to trust myself (and God) that I am worthy of being treated well.  Full stop.

This ranges from the lady on Facebook who doesn't want to sell me her Disney Princess kitchen (that price is ridiculous!) to a service provider for the children who isn't doing a respectable job to a family member who I love dearly, but I know needs to treat me better.

It will be a daily challenge, but I know (at least today) that I'm worth it.

That's all the wisdom I've got today.  Lots of moving parts in my world, as I'm sure in yours.  I hope you find some clarity--or trust--even if just for a moment.  Some silly photos to lift you up.

Girls Day at Ceramics

First Day at Ballet

My face when I lose my lists

My face when I realize what blessings I have

A New Year

I can't believe I haven't written on the blog since my blood clot last November. 

Maybe that represents more than I realize. That was a turning point in many ways. 

For some reason, I felt called to return to writing this morning. Maybe because I hosted a gathering for all of the Kindergarteners (yes, my kiddos started Kindergarten this week) at my house this week and I got to meet so many moms with children my kids' age. 

I see these moms and I wish I could sit down with each one of them and get to know them. There is so much to every mom, isn't there? Her fears, her worries, her own routine, her little joys, her sense of balance...I could go on. 

But I see these moms and their smiles, and I wonder...are they truly ok? 

Are they struggling in a way that needs more help? I pray for all moms today---of all ages. Especially as a new school year begins. Many of my clients are sending their children off to college and I can't even fathom that. 

My mom always says parents are meant to give their children two things---roots and wings. So I imagine I'm in the roots stage now--we're learning to care for others and ourselves (dental care is still a struggle!). We're learning to respect each other. We're learning to name our feelings. We're learning table manners. The list goes on. 

But, I know there will come a time, that I need to focus on helping my babies grow their wings. 

I see several of my clients doing this now. And my gracious, it looks hard. Children who push you away but secretly want your affirmation. Children who say they want to live far away, but desperately just want you to say that you will miss them. Children who have bigger dreams than you ever imagined. Children who don't know how to take a step without you. I guess as someone who counsels high school students, I see so much "wing" development. 

And you know what? It's sad and beautiful--all at the same time. But isn't so much of this life? Sad and beautiful. I think the older I get the more I realize so many things are sad and beautiful. And that's ok with me. Perhaps at a younger age, I was afraid of sadness as being something that swallowed me whole. 

But now, I see sadness as this reminder that many things are indeed meaningful. And meaning is one the things that I think most of us seek, right? On the way home from work last night, I heard Tim McGraw's "Humble and Kind." I remembered that when the children were in my belly, I used to sing this to them every night before bed. 

Doctors required me to do a "kick test," to make sure the babies were still active. Granted, I had no idea who was doing the kicking, but doctors decided that was ok. 

So, I sat in a chair in our VRBO and counted 100 kicks each night. If I didn't reach 100 in 30 minutes, I had to go straight to Labor and Delivery. This was nerve-wracking, so I decided to sing. 

My mom and dad used to have a home on alot of acreage and Dad used to love to cut the grass. He'd sit in the cab of his giant John Deere air-conditioned cab of the tractor with this giant headset on. I can still see his grin as he would ride by on his tractor. It still hurts and helps my heart to think about these happy times. I remember one time as Daddy climbed off of the tractor, "Humble and Kind" was playing loudly in his headset. I know he loved that song. So, I sang this to my kiddos in utero. 

Someday, I will re-introduce them to this song. It teaches so much of what I want them to know. I'm sure each one of you has a song (or several) that you want your children to carry with them as they grow their wings into the next chapter of life. 

All of this to say, life is beautiful, but it's also sad, too. There are tough days that no one sees. There are things said that burn to the core. 

This week, as I posted pictures of my girls' first day at their school, many Facebook followers began to chide me about why I do not post as many pictures of Luke. 

I've been very honest here about Luke's life with autism. Children with autism see the world differently and in Luke's case, photographs are not something that he enjoys. But these folks who do not know me personally (only through social media) make assumptions about my level of love for my son based on the number of photos I publish. 

As much as I was insulted (and very, very hurt), I realized that so much of life is based on what we see. We really have to hold ourselves accountable to remember that there is so much more that doesn't meet the eye, right? 

There is mental illness. There is grief. There is family strife. There is sadness. There is trauma. And if nothing else, there is so, so much effort that we don't see in each and every family. 

So, in all of this, I just reminded myself to be mindful and appreciative of each mom (and dad) and all that they do for each of their children. Harboring resentment for strangers doesn't serve me. 

I hope today brings you a bit of rest (in whatever form helps you most). 

Here are some photos from the first week of Kindergarten.