tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76788853223101291382024-03-12T18:41:50.420-07:00Graceful Like a Chicken...because life's humor is worth seeking
...because my fourth, doh, make that fifth baby doesn't take up the time between 3 and 3:36 a.m....and it MUST BE FILLED!
...because we can learn a lot from chickens
...and because this has very little to do with chickens and everything to do with grace!karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.comBlogger555125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-60721793647031616672022-08-22T08:34:00.003-07:002022-08-22T08:34:45.537-07:00Wesley<p> "Jesus, Tender shepherd Hear me, Bless this little child tonight. Through the darkness, be down near me, keep me safe 'til morning's light...."</p><p>"God bless: Mommy and Daddy, Andrew and Wesley, Eileen and Karen, all my friends and loved ones, help me be a good little girl, praise in Jesus's name, Amen."</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p>I don't know how old I was when I memorized this prayer. I don't know when my mom spoke it to me first, but I don't recall ever going to bed during my childhood without it prayed over me and with me. As I got older, I learned it was a family prayer because when saying bedtime prayers with my cousin on one of our many sleepovers, she held the same prayer in her little heart as well. And she shared how she added to it, to make it more inclusive of everyone she loved, which I immediately copied because I, too, wanted to pray for everyone I loved. </p><p>As I had kids of my own, the prayer changed to speak over my children as part of their bedtime ritual. While I don't know if my older kids still say it, I hope that one day, when words fail them, when they don't know what else to pray, that they have it to fall back on as I did this last year. </p><p>It has been a full year since my oldest brother, Wes, passed away. He was 49. I had just dropped my first born off at college and was a week in to a new coaching job at one of the most competitive high schools in our area when he passed unexpectedly. It was crushing. Actually, when I stop and let myself feel it, it still crushes me. In that first few weeks, I had no words to describe the grief, no words that I could think to pray, except for the childhood prayer I started my prayer time with every night before bed. Night after night, I prayed the familiar prayer and just ended with 'please hold us' as I quietly wept. It's all I had. </p><p>These last few years, the passing of so many loved ones, Andrew (14), Elliana (9), my dear friend Mary, and now my own brother, topped off with a pandemic and other personal struggles, has been rough. But as my big brother, a staple of my life, Wes's departure was so deeply shocking. I was not ready for the decisions that come with closing out someone's life. It was a level of adulting so unfamiliar, I found myself googling things such as: 'where to buy custom sports urns' and 'the first 10 things to do when someone dies'. Thank God for the internet. Whoever you are who put together such thorough lists to help guide others on a path that no one wants to have to take, thank you. Truly.</p><p>And, "through the darkness, be down near me," we got through it.</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p>I knew the anniversary of Wes's death was coming. I had filled the schedule with distractions that err on the side of insanity ("You need me to host 43 teenage girls for a High School Soccer Team sleep over? I'm in!") and had done an inventory of my life and started purging the unnecessary junk, with a special emphasis on the "started" part because holy smokes, Batman! We have collected a lot of junk! There were a few choice words as I sifted through our stuff, a few terse things said to a couple less than excited kids....(sorry you guys!)...and a few moments that stopped me in my tracks as something would trigger a memory that I had not anticipated. (That tiger blanket that Wes used to throw over himself for us to try to fight him....that stuffed animal he gave me when I was like 8....the pictures....heart tugging reminders....)</p><p>My sister and brother and I had ordered flowers to send home, planned a zoom call, readied ourselves. I even bought a new watch for myself as if that would settle things up....Wes had a thing for watches after all... Yet, I was not prepared for the onslaught of emotions, the reminders, the sudden need to escape, the tears. Someone once said that grieving is like the ocean.....you will feel big waves of feelings that rush over you and over time, the waves get farther and farther apart. I had assumed, in my arrogance, that I was done with the waves. My grief surfing, as with the longboarding of my youth, was over. I had no more big feelings, just a little hole in my heart that I had learned to live with by pushing to the side and filling my time with everything but hard emotions. Insert face smack emoji here. Where is that surfboard to cling to?</p><p>"Keep me safe 'till morning's light...."</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">Today, all is quiet. We made it through. The sleepover, the zoom call, the flowers, the kind gestures of friends who quietly remembered. The waves. And, now I know how big and wide that ocean truly is. Wes loved the ocean. He loved to surf. And he loved his family deeply. He did not always know how to express that but there was never a doubt. It is unreal to me that it has been a year. But here we are. We are left with a silence we were not prepared for, an abyss that extends far beyond the absence of a birthday text this year from the guy who was always first to remember. We are left with the recognition of how important it is to love each other wildly and fiercely while we are able. And the waves ARE farther apart but the ocean, well, it is still so very wide and deep.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Rest in peace big brother. I miss you. </p><p style="text-align: left;">God bless....and thank you for existing in the first place. Amen.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p>karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-20354378553400367362022-02-10T20:47:00.002-08:002022-02-10T20:47:17.121-08:00Don't Get Stuck on the Cookie: Part 2<div>Last April, I wrote part one of this post. In a fashion completely authentic to myself, I don't actually think I had anything planned for part two. I assumed it would come to me, like they all do, in fits and starts and then a sudden burst of inspiration that allowed it all to flow. Instead, I just got busy. </div><div><br /></div><div>At any rate, I <a href="http://www.gracefulchicken.com/2021/04/dont-get-stuck-on-cookie-part-1.html" target="_blank">reread that post</a> this morning and thought, ya know, I could have just stopped there. It pretty much said it all I think. Except, that little voice in my soul keeps hounding me to write again. I just process life better when I can get it into words to share. And wow, is there a lot to process!</div><div><br /></div><div>A week ago, I had just fallen asleep when I heard a maternal voice, loud and clear, speak to me: </div><div>"Karen, pay more attention to the details." </div><div><br /></div><div>I startled awake, sat straight up in bed looking around to see who had been talking. It was pitch black, other than the sliver of moonlight coming in through the shadeless picture window. The house was silent, still, no one was there, yet, where did that voice come from? It was a motherly voice, not familiar to me yet I knew it was one of tough love and gentleness, wisdom and, wait, was that also a little smirk in her voice? Can midnight voices smirk?</div><div><br /></div><div>I spent the next hour thinking through what details I had missed that day, that week, the last year or two (and let's be honest, it was the middle of the night, I probably wrestled with my entire adulthood). Was I lost in the clouds? Am I the one person who actually overlooks the trees for the forest? Who the heck is this faceless voice to assume I don't pay attention to details anyway?!</div><div><br /></div><div>Call it my brain screwing with me, a whispering reminder from God, some struggle buried deep in my subconscious, (maybe the wine?) I don't know, but it stuck with me well into the next day and week. What are the details I am overlooking? Have I gone so far the other way that I NEED to get stuck on a cookie or two? My blinders are strong....I can look past a whole lot to stay grounded and sane in the chaotic life that I have created. Is there self-care in that or is it an excuse to let too much go? Am I too hard on myself or have I been too easy? Can it be both? </div><div><br /></div><div>And then I realized that this is the juxtaposed life we lead. We have to balance the letting go with the holding on. We have to remind ourselves to go ahead and have that cookie, don't get stuck on it, but know there is a point at which our tummies may ache. We need to pay attention to the trees while also keep a wider view of the forest. Be careful, we tell our children. Stay safe. But.....in order to grow, you have to take risks, be uncomfortable, maybe even throw a little caution to the wind a time or two and yes, make mistakes, sometimes BIG ones. But don't get stuck there either! </div><div><br /></div><div>Yin and Yang. </div><div><br /></div><div>Marlin and Dory</div><div><br /></div><div>Tigger and Eeyore</div><div><br /></div><div>Pooh and Piglet and wait, Owl and (how many characters does it take to define the human condition?)</div><div><br /></div><div>Paradox is ultimately why black and white thinking and living doesn't work in reality. Life is a whole lot of carefully yet impetuously constructed contradiction with a side of confusion and if you are lucky, an occasion dollop of clarity. We can choose to fight it, or roll with it, sometimes both, all at once. We can choose which cookie to eat, which ones to stay clear of, see the trees individually <i>and</i> collectively, or hell, leave the forest and find ourselves staring out across the ocean, or desert or heck, just go off the grid and find yourself in a space of your own creation. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, yeah, don't get stuck on the cookie, and also, maybe catch a few details along the way and while we are at it, throw in a wild splash of color because we only get this one chance to create something beautiful. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hugs! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-61944010576949705202021-04-08T05:36:00.003-07:002021-04-08T05:36:40.528-07:00Don't Get Stuck on the Cookie: Part 1<p>The year was 2014. I was running ridiculous miles as Boston loomed near. I was having doubts about my purpose and worth and wondering whether I was doing what I was actually here for. I struggled with food, had a bit of body dysmorphia and was obsessed with health and performance. I was likely an anxious mess but I wasn't about to let anyone in on that. (I am sure no one noticed, right?)</p><p>I had apparently made a Lenten promise to "write one person a little note" every day of Lent. I do not recall this idea. I doubt I made it through two days because although the thought was in the right place, I know the follow through was probably lacking, and I would hope that if I really wrote 40 different people over the course of 40 days that year, that I might remember it. I do not.</p><p>At any rate, fast forward six years. As I was cleaning out some things the day before Easter this year, I found an envelope that read (in my handwriting):</p><p><i>To Karen</i></p><p><i>(Open on Easter)</i></p><p>Intrigued, I held onto it to open the next day, on Easter, like it instructed. And I subsequently forgot about it, again....apparently that is how I roll you guys. </p><p>Anyway, I read the letter the day after Easter. And the next day. And the next day. Not because it was such a great letter but because I guess I still need to hear the wisdom of my 37 year old self. I want to be more like her again one day. (But maybe with a better memory and a better grasp on a few things!)</p><p>Here is what I wrote: </p><p>3/5/14</p><p>Dear Self, </p><p>There are 40 days in Lent and you are going to write a note every day to someone new. Day 1 is YOU! Of course, you are totally feeling that second glass of wine (it was totally worth it no matter what you think tomorrow!) but you have to know some things so I (you) am going to tell you. (Confused yet self?)</p><p>First, you need to fight for your family; for your kids, their needs, for the things that are going to build memories and connect you. The time is NOW. Get movin' Girl!</p><p>Secondly, eat the damn cookie already! You are running 50+ miles a week. I am pretty sure it won't be a problem. Stop thinking about it and just do it. Then you will have more time to move on to bigger and more important things. <i>Don't get stuck on the cookie!</i></p><p>Third, people need you. Stop your constant inner struggle with "figuring out your purpose" because you are living it! Start acting like you, your purpose, and path are in front of you because THEY ARE!</p><p>Finally, relax a little and remember to love--Love your life, your husband, your kids, you family and friends and the strangers you run into on the street. These are the moments that life is made of; these are the greatest and least and everything in between and you will do well to love as much as you can. Take a deep breath and just relax. You are doing just fine. (So long as you don't get paralyzed by that cookie!)</p><p>Much love, </p><p>Your Self</p><p><br /></p><p>So today, remember: Don't get stuck on the cookie! And honestly, there are a lot of cookies in this lifetime! </p><p>Cheers!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-18471641638603344492021-02-04T06:37:00.002-08:002021-02-04T06:40:09.637-08:00Open Letter to Fellow Parents<p> Dear Fellow Parents, </p><p>I know you love your children. I know you want to protect them and keep them safe and all that stuff. I get it. I have kids, too. A lot of them actually. But, we need to have a little chat about Middle School drop off. You see, when your child was 5 and 6, and you insisted on driving up exactly in front of the school door to drop off your precious cargo, we all understood. We were all there, making sure we saw our little angels walk into the building so that we could drive away with emotional ease. Afterall, they were babies then. </p><p>Two years later, we were encouraged by the teachers on Drop-Off duty at the Elementary school to let our kids out earlier; there was even a sign back then: Drop off Kids After this Point (or something like that) letting us know, "It's ok, mom and dad; your kids can safely walk from here. We are here to make sure they get into the building." And many of you understood and readily dropped off your kid at the sidewalk, letting them walk a few extra feet into the building. You did it! They made it! And we all went about our day, happily ever after. </p><p>But now, dear parents, your child is a 7th or 8th grade teenager, and I have to ask, how did you forget all those years of drop-off training? Even my kid living with Autism eagerly jumps out of the car 4 or 5 cars back because he knows he can do hard things.....things like, I don't know, walking an extra 20 yards into the building. I imagine, one day, he may even tell his own children how he quickly jumped out of the vehicle and rapidly walked those extra yards on a slick, salt covered sidewalk, through 14 degree weather, wearing his pandemic mask, just to get into the warm building. It is building his character and who knows, maybe even making him a little more grateful to be able to go to school. And yeah, I know, sometimes the kids are reluctant, and haven't slid over to the drop off side of the car quick enough, or are struggling to get their stuff together or are being, gasp, difficult.....we've all been there. It happens....but not every gosh darned day!</p><p>I promise you, it won't kill your kid if they get out BEFORE they are the first car in line. I suspect, it may even make them a wee bit less soft. But really, you've got this. Your kids will survive....if only you would let them! And then one day, they will be able bodied enough to get to High School all by themselves. These are the days we have been working towards, Parents! We've got this! We are in it together! </p><p><br /></p><p>All the best, </p><p>That Mom behind you who has been waiting for 4 cars to drop off kids right at the front of the line (my kid has been safely inside for minutes!)</p><p> </p><p><br /></p>karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-80076748113484788752020-12-31T21:12:00.003-08:002020-12-31T21:12:58.074-08:00Are We There Yet? (A year in review)<p>I preach it to other parents all the time: let your kids fail. Let them make mistakes. Help them learn from the stumbling and they will be more steady on their feet and stronger for it. I preach it all day long. If the parents promised not to call the PsychWard, I'd get it tatooed on my forehead and make them read it at every encounter.</p><p>And 2020 hit. Boy did it hit. I was trying to journey back in my mind to recall how this year began (yes, I was in the photo app on my phone....no way my brain would ever remember all of THAT!) and it kind of hit me...this year was like my view on failing magnified by alien zombies who are clearly experimenting with torture using my own darn sermon topic (with some additional random BS thrown in for good measure.) </p><p>A quick review of my year includes:</p><p>January: The septic system clogging up and backing all the way into our basement (which subsequently took about 10 hours of cleaning and throwing away $h!t, metaphorically and otherwise, and 6 months of psychological recovery....I mean, how can that smell just stay on you and permeate your entire being when drenched in that much bleach!!!!) (I am not including the actual pictures....you're welcome!) But, I learned so much about the septic system....and my kids were given a treatise on what you can AND CANNOT put in toilets.....so much learning.....and THAT is why Sloth made his way into our home....to offer stability and humor. </p><p>February: A carbon monoxide leak that was on the verge of killing our whole family ("you would not have woken up tomorrow" was a common statement by the fire department, the EMTs and air/heat/plumbing guys as they miraculously discovered the problem, evacuated a very confused us out of our own home, turned off the gas, capped the hole and made sure our blood oxygen levels were ok enough to not require further care.) We now own carbon monoxide detectors that actually work and I thank God often for the incredible timing of that random Air/Heat appointment. </p><p>March: Oooooh, when those March winds blew....while it started with this tiny little GLOBAL PANDEMIC, we took a splendid trip down to FL where everything was ok, so long as you were on the beach, breathing in the salt air, soaking in the salt water and around absolutely no salty people. The trip ended quite abruptly, right after I secured a quick little concussion, when we found out school would be starting back up again, but this time, at home. ALL FIVE KIDS TOGETHER.... <b style="font-style: italic;">USING THE SAME INTERNET!!! </b>But, not to be outdone by January or February, March threw in a tree almost falling on Liam and me while we went for our daily run. And again, we thanked God for the impeccable timing. </p><p>April: I can honest to God say....April would, maybe, have been our best month (if it weren't for the lights and noise and screens all continually hurting my head)....and oh, the anxiety. So, here's the thing, I have experience limited episodes of anxiety in my adult life. For the most part, I am fairly resilient and soldier through random stresses and fears and don't get too anxious about random life stuff. But then I had a concussion, during Covid, and the insomnia at night was unbearable and I got to the place that I was scared I had hurt my brain badly enough that, this time, I was actually going to die. And that is when I realized anxiety had crept in while I was unawares, and I needed to go to the doctor about this silly head problem. By the time they got me in, I was on my way out of it, I had broken down and had a mini-midlife crisis in which I finally surrendered to whatever might be because I felt like my life had had purpose and meaning and so, it was okay if I died. (Seriously, that was a conclusion I drew in order to keep myself going.) Luckily, the anxiety started to lessen as the concussion healed and I was given the go ahead to get back to my normal life.....which of course, by that point, was nothing even close to resembling normal. </p><p>May: By May, we had things better figured out. We were using most of our time wisely, spending solid hours connecting with each other at home, had learned how to zoom and google chat and group facetime, were not sitting in the car for thirty minutes every time we went to the grocery store because of the anxiety over having to wear a mask (a true story....it took me weeks to bravely wear a mask into a store, and still, I rush through most shopping experiences as quickly as possible because it gets me into the fresh air sooner.) My girls made my birthday one of the most special ever and I can honestly say, May was a saving grace to this year in many ways for me. Really, the only big negatives were those raccoon attacks in the coop but even there, we just threw up our hands to the universe and then started catching all those babies, (and then their parents...and cousins....) and finding them new homes that don't involve my chicken coops. It was like our own little Mini-Raccoon Rescue. Kind of. </p><p>June: Oh sweet Jesus....things were looking better....things were opening up! There was hope. We saw beautiful sunsets, gorgeous days outside, Liam even played baseball. Sure, we were still catching the rest of the raccoon's extended family (man they are prolific breeders), but all in all, June was almost amazing. </p><p>July: We were still coming off our June high, living summer life to the fullest, lake trips, fluffy clouds and rainbows, so when I cut my finger deeply trying to cut a late night snack, Lily and I just patched it up by ourselves because, shoot, is THAT all you got 2020? (Never, ever test fate like that y'all....it just isn't worth it!)</p><p>August: I never thought I would say this but I LOVED Middle School Soccer tryouts this year. It meant we were on the field, together, and yes, it meant coming up with all sorts of crazy activities due to the covid protocols we had to follow and yes, it took me a few days to stop being harsh underneath the mask (did I mention masks are not my favorite things ever?) but generally speaking, it was fantastic. And when the time came to make cuts, I was very honest with the girls: I don't know any coach with half a heart that actually likes making cuts. Cutting kids is hard. But it is not the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I knew those girls who did not make it this year would face it bravely and go on to do great things. And then, Solomon played football! Like, real tackle football! And Liam tried out for a travel baseball team and honestly, it may have been one of the proudest moments in my life. He was a little nervous the day before....I'll admit, I was nervous for him. My instincts were to talk him out of it, protect him from failure, but then I heard my own sermon play through my head and I knew he needed to do it. </p><p>"What if I don't make the team?" he asked.</p><p>"Is that any different than now?" I asked back. ("No.) "Will you die?" I asked. ("No.") "Then there is no reason not to try. If you don't try, you will never know. If you do try, you will either be on a team or be right where you are but better because now you know what you need to work on."</p><p>He gave it his best. He fielded the balls. He caught the pop flies. He even pitched! And I was completely shocked at how far he had come. For a split second, I thought he might actually have a chance. But then he had to bat. And he needs a lot more work on that. But, now he knows exactly what he needs to do. And the smile on his face when it was all over, well, that was worth every bit of it. And then, in 2020 fashion, he found out he didn't make the team from kids at school. But, no worries because he was already off running cross country and he never really looked back!</p><p>September: Oh, September.....2020 decided to rear its ugly head again....multiple hospital visits and that doozie run in with one of my players that had me in a brace for what felt like eternity. While fully tearing both my MCL and ACL, was never on my bucket list, the experience has been chalk full of real life moments. I learned how to navigate the insurance system and workers comp, I'm fairly familiar now with the internal structure of the knee, the strengthening and injury prevention methods to better help my players, and I learned what a wonderful community I have supporting me. I am so thankful for the generous outreach of unfettered help from so many people. I was injured, without a doubt but I was also blessed in so many ways. </p><p>October: October was spent relearning how to use my leg, through injury and pain, while also strengthening it to prep for surgery. I was unable to drive for almost the entire month. Try that sometime, with 5 kids....so much fun. </p><p>November: Surgery.....for anyone who has had surgery you know what I am talking about....I am glad that is behind me. I am so thankful my brother was able to be here but pretty much the rest of it was just icky. But, Madeline also turned 16 and bravely faced some new life experiences herself and oh, we got a new puppy! Not all was lost!</p><p>December: Outside of that random dog fight between Storm and the neighbor's Doberman, you know the one in which my 16 year old thought to tackle the doberman in order to save our dog.....it was a pretty smooth month all things considered. But I will admit, as we enter 2021, we are so thankful to start anew. </p><p>And before you think I am delusional enough to believe that 2021 is going to turn everything around (Madeline did jinx the entire year within the first few minutes by jokingly saying: Ah, 2021, what's the worst that could happen?!....Why Maddie why??), I will just say this: I am grateful for the opportunity to believe in fresh starts and for the turn of the year to offer just that. I also believe 2020 has prepared a lot of us for the unknown in ways no other year ever has. And that is something. Maybe the January addition of Sloth to our household was just a sign of things to come....of days spent together, enjoying each other's company. And for me, of a time when slow was the new norm and smiling for no good reason was really the best way to be. (I have started to think of that smile as the smile of survival. Thanks, Sloth!)</p><p>Happy New Year Everyone....or at least, Yay! A New Year.....at last!</p><p>Much love. -K</p>karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-4354679557909023942020-10-28T06:59:00.007-07:002020-10-28T07:00:13.014-07:00Last Bat<div><i>[Note to reader: When I originally started this post, we were in the month of July....and then some life stuff happened and now it is October and I opened this up and thought, Oh.My.Gosh. It is no longer almost August, it is ALMOST NOVEMBER! And that pretty much sums up the entire year....I left the post as it was though and will try to get to the next post within the decade. Thanks for your patience.]</i></div><div><br /></div>So here's the thing: I have no idea how it is already July, much less about to be AUGUST! WHAAAT? <div><br /></div><div>JULY! As in J-U-L-Y! The 7th month of the year, going on the 8th month and soon, back to school, whatever that might mean! I'm personally stuck somewhere between: "Where the heck did months 3 through 6 go??" and "Argh! We still have FIVE months in this year of insanity!"</div><div><br /></div><div>We started 2020 with all this awesomeness and then March hit and HOLY GUACAMOLE! At first, I spent hours on end laughing at all the funny Covid memes, excited about the little "Spring break" we were having. But after a whirlwind trip to FL, a dumb concussion, and having to become my kids homeschool teacher long enough to realize I don't care enough about elementary school grades to actually worry about whether my boys were actually completing their work or not, (and then realizing that trying to explain that to their teachers was not my best idea ever)....well, like everyone else, we spent a lot of time in the trenches of this thing, trying to figure out how to spend so much time together in our house without kicking anyone off the island while also testing the social distancing waters and make our way back into our former life, now through a completely different lens. </div><div><br /></div><div>Exhale.</div><div><br /></div><div>And still, FIVE months left in this year! </div><div><br /></div><div>I have been asked to keep writing. Well, I think someone may have mentioned it like six months ago but since I can't really recall what we did yesterday, I could be making that story up in my head. I am going to have to get back in the habit of making mental notes and getting to my computer every night. I wish I had been better about it from the beginning of this thing but instead, I had to learn how to Zoom....and how to coach soccer teams via the internet and how to make masks (note: I have a love hate relationship with my sewing machine and after a dozen tries, several cursed at bobbins, a broken needle or two, and that extra half hour it took me to remember how to put the presser foot back on correctly, I broke down and bought them like the other non-crafty people I know. Kind of kicking myself for not starting THERE but, I have in fact used my sewing machine for so many other fixes recently that I guess it is all worth it. Thanks, Covid!)</div><div><br /></div><div>At any rate, I wanted to share a semi-uplifting story about one of my favorite characters: Liam. If you have been a reader long enough, (or are related) you know that Liam is a special kid. Yeah, yeah, we all think our kid is special, but as an extroverted kid on the Autistic Spectrum, who can't help but smile at just about everything and whose love for sports surpasses that of most athletes I know, well, he really is special.</div><div><br /></div><div>And he LOVES baseball. I will be honest. I don't know how. I have such little patience for it myself but seeing how baseball lights up his face even more than it is naturally, well, his radiant joy becomes contagious. </div><div><br /></div><div>The only problem is, he is now 12 and there is no longer "rec" baseball for him to play. The only real option he has is to try out for a travel team and if we are honest with his ability at this point, his chance is slim to none. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was pondering this last night at the final game: a pick-up "sandlot" style game for the kids who don't play football. They chose captains and the captains chose the teams. I will admit, my stomach turned a little, knowing Liam would be one of the last ones selected. He was next to last but his huge smile and the cheers of his teammates eased this mama's heart. The camaraderie and supportiveness he has experienced in this league have been incredible. I took a deep breath and the game began. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of Liam's big struggles is hitting. He was okay when it was coach pitch and they could adjust the speed of the balls thrown for him. But with the kids getting so big and throwing so fast, Liam hadn't hit a ball all season, not even a tip. Last night though, the coaches pitched and as Liam made his way to the plate for the first time, I prayed my mama prayer: Please, just connect, just this once, in what might be his final game of baseball as a kid, please let him hit the ball.</div><div><br /></div><div>The coach lobbed the ball his way; Liam let it go by. Again, the coach pitched and Liam swung and missed. And then, something awesome happened: as the next pitch came in, Liam got a sly little look on his face and bunted the ball. The coach took his time fielding the ball, threw to first and Liam found himself safe at the base! </div><div><br /></div><div>The boys went WILD! Liam was grinning ear to ear! </div><div><br /></div><div>Three times at bat, three bunted balls. And in that last bat, Liam bunted and started running; the coach slowly fielded the ball, purposefully overthrew first and round and round the bases Liam ran as the other boys scurried to catch up to the play. When Liam stopped at third base, everyone cheered and Liam could hardly stop laughing. </div><div><br /></div><div>While my heart grew three sizes that day, I still don't prefer baseball, but I am so glad Liam does. And I can't wait to see what he conjures up next! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-85421925220290356012020-01-24T07:45:00.000-08:002020-01-24T08:01:28.757-08:00That Time Mom Bought a SlothSo here's the thing: I don't think anyone walks into a store with the intention of buying a pet sloth. Is it a LIVE pet sloth you ask? Well, of course not. I'm not crazy! (Wait, can you get a live one somewhere?)<br />
<br />
But, sometimes things happen. And while it had been less than a week since Kurt told me we needed to cut back on our spending, there I was with this unfortunate dilemma. I really needed to buy a sloth. I couldn't explain it. Don't ask me why. It was definitely impulsive but once strapped into my car, I knew it was the right thing to do with that $20. (Some people might think it is questionable that I am being told to cut back on spending when clearly I make very good choices....hee hee.....apparently those people do not know me AT ALL!)<br />
<br />
In my defense, I don't shop at Walmart if I can help it and when I do, I don't usually let my eyes wander to the big bargain bins of fun things. And I usually am not talking to my soccer team manager while doing those two things and wouldn't then mention the hilarity of the gigantic Llama stuffed animal that 'I am sure I need to get for my daughter Lily.....and oh look! A Smiling Sloth!' I blame my manager for telling me her daughter would <i>love</i> the sloth....because now I have one. In my car.<br />
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At any rate, here is Sloth strapped in.<br />
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Seriously. Something's very wrong with me. But look how happy he is!<br />
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<br />
So I picked up the girls from the bus stop that day.<br />
<br />
"Mom, do we need to ask?" one of them said.<br />
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"No. Better if you don't. But, oh, you are giving a Sloth to your little sister, Leah, by the way." (They are in a mentorship program with my soccer teams and Leah is their little sis. It justifies everything.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, they know me pretty well, so they snickered a bit, and I am pretty sure there may have been some eye rolling action going on, but they knew to leave it alone.<br />
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A little later, I went to the elementary school to pick up Solomon. He got into the car and there was this silent pause before he closed the door. Then I looked in my rearview mirror and saw him glaring at Sloth. The next thing I know, he is beating the snot out of Sloth with his book bag!<br />
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"Solly! Why are you beating up my pet Sloth?!" I intensely asked.<br />
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"Because.... HE STOLE MY SEAT!" Solly yelled back.<br />
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<br />
****<br />
<br />
Later that night, a coaching friend texted me a bit upset because a basketball parent had become belligerent with him at his Futsal practice, called him arrogant, told him soccer did not belong on a basketball court, among other things.<br />
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"Want me to stick Sloth on him?" I texted back, hoping to lighten up the situation.<br />
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"No, the parent would probably just call him lazy," he said.<br />
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"Well," I replied, "Sloth's been sitting in the same damn seat ALL DAY! He IS lazy!"<br />
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I probably need to work on my empathy skills.<br />
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****<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Liam knew nothing about Sloth. He had been picked up and dropped off in my car several times during the day, but had been in and out of the front seat and never looked back. We were on the way to school and running a bit late the next morning when I came to a quick stop and commented, "Hopefully my pet Sloth doesn't fall out of his seat."<br />
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Liam looked at me confused as he struggled to get his seatbelt on.<br />
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"Are you calling me a Sloth?" he questioned.<br />
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"Um, no. I am referring to my pet Sloth," I said, pointing to the back seat.<br />
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Liam turned around and immediately started belly laughing like I have never heard from him. He was so tickled he could hardly contain it.<br />
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Solly, quietly sitting next to Sloth, was <i>not</i> amused.<br />
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"It really isn't that funny," Solly scolded Liam.<br />
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"Yes, it really is!" Liam snorted.<br />
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"No, he is REALLY ANNOYING!" Solomon exclaimed. "Why do we even have to have him <i>IN THE CAR</i>?!"<br />
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"Well," I said calmly. "I could hide him in your bed as a little surprise if you'd rather."<br />
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"Well then I will just put him outside your bedroom door before you wake up and see how YOU like it!" Solly exclaimed.<br />
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"You are right. That would probably startle me....Sloth would definitely make me jump first thing in the morning," I admitted.<br />
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Solly got really quiet....and then, out of nowhere, starts laughing and laughing and laughing....<br />
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"Mom, why can't you take me to school first? I might be late now!" Solly asked once he got a hold of himself.<br />
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"Just tell your teacher Sloth made you late," I told him.<br />
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"But I blame you!" he said.<br />
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"That may be more true, but it is WAY more interesting if you tell her it was your pet sloth!"<br />
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"Still annoying," he said before getting out of the car, a half smile still planted on his face.<br />
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"Have a great day, Solly!" I yelled back.<br />
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It's about making memories y'all!<br />
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I heard a quote recently that resonated with me. It went something like this:<br />
"Now I know, my life will not make me happy but happiness will make my life."<br />
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And that is why I bought the happiest Sloth ever.....<br />
<br />
(Totally. Worth. Every. Penny! hee hee hee)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u4NdQO6xVno/XisL1tSKsPI/AAAAAAAACnQ/mQusw0Qau10xwCPN2uNq3U8QB95cohNLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/5xS6rntnRV65nlcbw7MTWg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u4NdQO6xVno/XisL1tSKsPI/AAAAAAAACnQ/mQusw0Qau10xwCPN2uNq3U8QB95cohNLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/5xS6rntnRV65nlcbw7MTWg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l5DypIbfN6U/XisL10OOa4I/AAAAAAAACnY/Ldl45k8AqSwNRUnPzwMq8dmZ9OLO6nO3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/GUqeo1z4SpKE4V5H9I9aBw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l5DypIbfN6U/XisL10OOa4I/AAAAAAAACnY/Ldl45k8AqSwNRUnPzwMq8dmZ9OLO6nO3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/GUqeo1z4SpKE4V5H9I9aBw.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sloth watching the sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WiZ2QqMo5T4/XisL1mtNalI/AAAAAAAACnU/OY1Z90_beT4u6fpB_i61yV4JJ4LSHB1eACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/L5KLklhcTDmXll89Le4hhQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WiZ2QqMo5T4/XisL1mtNalI/AAAAAAAACnU/OY1Z90_beT4u6fpB_i61yV4JJ4LSHB1eACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/L5KLklhcTDmXll89Le4hhQ.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sloth meeting the cat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dE5Xgre0LXM/XisL2KdmQMI/AAAAAAAACnc/Y6iOGoXc45IFBunxNcEi9hfqigJG9wwEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/MNUeHQPMRP%252BjNO7P5oEubQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dE5Xgre0LXM/XisL2KdmQMI/AAAAAAAACnc/Y6iOGoXc45IFBunxNcEi9hfqigJG9wwEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/MNUeHQPMRP%252BjNO7P5oEubQ.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally. Worth. It.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-55792532815728662852019-05-12T15:20:00.001-07:002019-05-13T08:29:24.020-07:00Happy Mother's DayI was asked to write again. And as such, experienced this dichotomy between feeling appreciated or wanted and at the same time a little guilty and sad. Maybe that is part of this crazy balancing act we all go through when we have to let some things fall through the crack and realize the one thing that was keeping it all together was the one thing that we had to let go!<br />
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Anyway, it has been a while and too much jumbled chaos has filled all the moments of my life and left no time for the quiet reflection that cleanses a soul and helps tell a story. So I cannot put it all to paper, er, screen. I don't know if it is just the having five kids thing or the time I have dedicated to coaching or taking care of chickens or the seven kittens or the nine bunnies (and that is nine only because we gave five away) or the fact that one of those kittens came home one day pregnant because I just hadn't gotten them all fixed yet.....because I hadn't worked out the time (it's ok to judge, but don't be surprised if a "live animal" package shows up for you at the post office)....or because one of our kids was feeling neglected and needed more from me and it seems that someone always needs more and more and more, and then the babysitter quit and ..... before I spiral here I am going to take a moment to tell some stories. Hopefully humor is actually what we all need a little more of but sometimes I wonder if I am grossly mistaken. (When I finish laughing at this whole universe, I will let you know.)<br />
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As it turns out, there is another parenting thing they don't tell you about in the pregnancy book that is equally important to all that "What to Expect When You are Expecting" stuff. (And that book by the way, is essentially a fairy tale with a cute little ball of baby in the happily ever after.....the hard stuff comes AFTER that baby gets home....the pregnancy was the EASY part. Thanks for that little exclusion, Book!) Anyway, here's the thing: One day, if you are so lucky, you get the opportunity to teach your teenager how to drive, or at least, how not to drive like you do because there is no way it will pass the driving test!<br />
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So, by the grace of God, Aidan turned 16 in February, and has since been chaufferring me around (it's about time) and what they don't tell you is that you don't realize how important that breathing stuff really is until you sit on the passenger side of the car the first time your teenage driver gets behind the wheel. (Who knew that Lamaze stuff would come back around!)<br />
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Seriously though, for the last few months, (and by few I mean like half a year) Aidan has fallen behind in his school work and has subsequently not been taking his voice lessons each week. Never fear though, I like to be challenged so the first time he asked to cancel, I showed up and became the "substitute" vocal student. I figured, hey, teachers do it, why can't the student? So on most weeks, I show up to his voice lessons to learn how to control my breath, project, open my soft palate and transition through the vocal ranges flawlessly (which I'm sure comes with practice, at least that is what she tells me) but the biggest benefit has been the deep belly breathing that we sometimes do to relax me on those few occasions I tamper with my human side and come in stressed. It was as if the universe just knew I would need this technique because in that first moment with Aidan behind the wheel, I think I stopped breathing for oh, five hours of that 20 minute car ride before I realized I needed to put those lessons to good use.<br />
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Deep breath in, relaxing the chest, filling the belly, and out....instant relaxation....well, instant once we were safely home....and after I reminded him that he needed to turn the car off BEFORE exiting the car. Details.<br />
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Since that day, I remember my belly breathing (and try to stop clenching all the muscles in my body or grinding my teeth down...and keep my choicer words to myself, among other things) and he has only forgotten to turn the car off two other occasions, so we're making progress.<br />
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And I guess, on this Mother's Day, that is all one can really ask for, progress.<br />
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So, to all you moms, Happy Mother's Day! May it be one big belly breath after another, rinse and repeat, and perhaps a little progress thrown in for good measure.<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-44861129657995143012019-01-11T11:15:00.001-08:002019-01-14T08:11:14.007-08:00MarySome people come into your life and reshape how you think, how you see the world and your experience of even the ordinary moments. They just "get" you from the inside out, as if your souls have known each other for eternity. They understand your humor, laugh with your self-perceived wit, don't take you any more seriously than you take yourself and yet make you feel like they couldn't be any more serious about you. They are the kindred spirits, the fast friends, the ones who don't miss a beat, no matter how near or far.<br />
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For me, Mary DePersia was this and so much more. She was my chosen family. My west coast mom. Forgive the cliche, but she was a soul sister through and through. </div>
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While it seems like I have always known her, I met Mary the day I brought my first born home from the hospital. Tired and worn, I took him straight to the front office of our townhouse community to introduce him to the two women who worked there. You see, I was already pregnant when we moved to San Diego, and knowing I would be staying home with our children, I did not take a new job there which left me plenty of time to meander. So each day, I would walk to the sales office, work out at the gym and then stop in to pass the time over coffee, cookies and conversation with the two women who worked there. (Sometimes they would interrupt our girl time to do their jobs.) On that fateful February day, Mary happened to be in the office doing the same. (Minus the working out!) We were introduced, she 'ooed' and 'ahhed' over my newborn and pretty soon, Aidan and I just met her at her townhouse instead to do life together. </div>
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Mary quickly became a bestie, like a sister to me and a grandma to my child. She was so tightly woven into the fabric of our life and I spent so much time over there that I am surprised her husband Chris doesn't have a neck issue as he continually shook his head at us, laughing like school girls, gabbing on as we would, solving the world's problems (or at least making fun of them) over cheese and crackers. </div>
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One of our favorite shared stories had to do with a trip to Costco. A constant companion, she would tag along whenever I went shopping to help me with Aidan. On one of these trips, Mary had offered to push the cart since I was big and pregnant again and Aidan, well, was Aidan. A little more sure on his feet now and wanting nothing to do with sitting inside the cart, he was given permission (i.e. he was already doing it anyway) to stand on the outside of the cart, holding onto the side, feet on the bottom rack. So there we were, walking along when I look over to see Mary pushing the cart while browsing the aisles and Aidan at the bottom, holding on for dear life as his body dragged along the ground, feet flying wildly behind, a big smile on his face. I started laughing and Mary looked down to see what she had missed, then looked back and ever so nonchalantly said something along the lines of: "Wow, I didn't know he could already cart surf! He is a real natural!"</div>
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She asked about her "cart surfer" during our last conversation, still getting a good laugh from that 15 year old memory. That was a week ago. No time at all it seems, yet between the then and now, life stood still a moment as one of its finest left us. </div>
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The day Mary died was an unusual day. My normal energy was sapped. I had a hard time waking up that morning and after the first wave of kids left for school, I found myself crawling back in bed with such a heaviness I thought I must be coming down with something. I told Kurt that I thought I might need to go get checked for Lyme Disease, everything ached and the exhaustion was intense. No amount of caffeine could snap me out of it; something just felt very wrong. A few hours later, Chris told me the news of her passing and as sorrow filled my heart, the heaviness made sense. We had a weird connection, birthdays a week apart, both of us Geminis to the core (or so we laughed about anyway). I thought it oddly coincidental that the day she went in sick years ago to the hospital with pneumonia, I was fighting off a horrible cough, the worst I had had in years. Chris had called me to tell me the terrible news that she was so ill and they had found cancer in her lungs and were not sure she would make it out. Devastated, I wanted to fly out but my cough was so bad I knew they wouldn't let me near her. But Mary fought back. And granted us more time. </div>
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But, there was no warning call this time. Just the news of her passing. The flood of memories and emotions, the regrets and remorse; all so crippling. Only a few days before, we had spoken on the phone. The sorrow she feels at the holidays since the loss of her only son was more evident this year; her breathing a little more labored, but all in all, she was doing ok she said. I had sent her the yearly picture calendar we make for her at Christmas, a little late as usual but earlier than my norm. And my first flustered thought was, oh no, did the pictures even make it to her? Did she know I thought about her....that I loved her? And then the guilt overwhelmed me. I had always felt like her chosen daughter and yet, she had tried to call me just days before and I couldn't take the call as I was with company. I had made a mental note to call her back the next day, even told her incredible story to my sister-in-law, how Mary was a medical miracle, how she had fought off lung cancer, and how doctors were shocked with her survival given how bad it was, how she had had some melanomas removed recently and had been scheduled for another scan. But my life, too full at times to even think straight, had distracted me from returning the call. My stomach twisted into a knot as I rapidly checked my voice mailbox, hoping to hear her on the other end. She hadn't left a message. I crumbled. </div>
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The thing about grief is that it all becomes kind of a big blur. There are so many tears shed, so much heartache, so many unanswered questions and unknowns. There were mournful hours mixed with moments of clarity and calm; tears shed for not only Mary and for Chris, their lost son, her brother, but then also again for my cousin, whose son's death is still so fresh in our hearts. It is all so raw. And everywhere I look, there is a reminder. The 'first year' frames she gave me for each of my children, the "Friendship is like a Sheltering Tree" plaque, the chicken wall decor, the Norman Rockwell Santas, even my daughter who was given Mary's middle name... and on and on. Mary is everywhere. </div>
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I slept fitfully that first night, waking once in the bleak hours of morning, after a chilling dream, only to open my eyes and feel water rush out as if I had continued crying in my sleep. I have heard it said that sometimes when someone you love dies, and you wake up that first morning without them, for a brief moment, you forget and feel like your old self. But then, in a blink, reality hits like a sucker punch, taking your breath away as you recognize that it wasn't all a terrible dream and it pierces you all over again as if cutting open the wound for the first time. And that is when you know that your old life, the one with your loved one still in it, is never coming back. And <i>that</i> smothering moment is the beginning of a new normal, one that starts with a crawl through pain and heartbreak and leads you through unpredictable waves of sorrow that threaten to wash you away. </div>
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Needless to say, the day was rough. I had traveling decisions to make and to be honest, I am not great at making travel decisions under the best of circumstances, much less in this one. Chris generously texted with me throughout the day, letting me know his sister and niece were flying in to help and he would keep me posted on the decisions made. With the false comfort of knowing he was not alone, I found myself keeping busy with the tasks I had been putting off a while like addressing Christmas (now New Years) cards and deleting my backlog of emails, all the while, wishing I had been given more time with her, that I had given more time <i>to</i> her. I just childishly thought there would be another day. Another year. Another conversation. Another lifetime together. </div>
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Obsessive questions kept drifting through my thoughts: why didn't she leave a message, what was she calling to say, why didn't I call her back? I kept lifting them to God, praying he would settle my mind. That's when I ran into an unread email sent to me just days before. It was an e-card from Mary. Always thoughtful, she had sent me a beautiful JacquieLawson animated e-card, her favorite kind: a delightedly peaceful winter scene unfolded, snow gently falling, (like it had all day the day she passed and continued in that moment as I read), sweet little black-capped chickadees flying about, deer grazing, bunnies curiously watching and a cozy, little house to come home to with kids skating outside on a frozen pond; a cold, winter scene that warmed the soul and at the end was this message:</div>
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"<i><span style="color: #660000;">Thank you! </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #660000;">I tried to reach you by phone.....no luck and did you know your mailbox is full so I couldn't leave a message. Anyway (enough of my whining) I want to thank you for my calendar, I enjoy them so much....I love seeing how the kids have grown and am sad to see how the kids have grown...hoping that makes sense. Happy New Year to you, Kurt and the kids. Love you and we'll talk soon. I have some "biblical" questions!</span></i>"</div>
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And just like that, she gave one last gift. Answers, much deserved sarcasm, peace and just like Mary, a little cliff hanger to ponder. </div>
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Rest well, Mary Elizabeth (Betty) Depersia. Thank you for being you, for sharing your heart and life with us. May the only One truly capable of answering all your questions give you everlasting peace and comfort. (And sorry about the voicemail. I'm working on it!) Talk soon. </div>
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I love you. </div>
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karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-34276436717211805052018-11-02T10:10:00.000-07:002018-11-02T10:10:18.604-07:00Updates from the FarmIt has been almost five months since I last sat down to write. Someone asked me about the blog a few weeks back and I had to pause for just one wild moment as stories and images flickered through my memory. It feels like a lifetime has passed.<br />
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So here are the significant events from the last handful of months:<br />
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Lily almost went into anaphylactic shock after consuming a Macadamia nut the day after school let out. Our summer was spent reading the backs of food labels, making certain there were no traces of tree nuts because while she is only potentially allergic to a few of them, the one would almost certainly kill her if she did not administer her medicine after an exposure. I was reprimanded by the allergist about this and he did not seem amused when I explained that the gas station apparently doesn't sell epinephrine. We are getting along dandily.<br />
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We inherited 7 kittens....and the best part about it is that no one really thought much about me owning several dozen chickens but when told we have 7 kittens in our attic now, they look at me like I have lost my mind. So, here's a little hint guys: it's not the kittens that put me over the edge! But truly, they are the cutest things. Now a bit more adolescent-like, they each mimic the personality of the owner who claimed them. Liam's cat, for instance, is the friendliest of them all, preferring companionship over things like eating....he has the biggest, happiest purr. Solomon's cat, on the other hand, refuses to follow social norms, has pulled off and hid two collars now and is at once, loving and cuddly and alpha and stubborn. Hmmm. <br />
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While Kurt toured Italy with Aidan for a few weeks, the rest of the kids and I took a trip down to Florida. We all had a blast, it was great to be home and for the first time in a long time, I left with the urge to just stay a while longer....and by longer I mean I spent a week looking at houses on Zillow, just to see what would be in our price range, you know, just in case. It would be hard to give up my make believe farm-life, but I am pretty sure I would get over it. (Or perhaps hide a few chickens out back.....with the kittens.....)<br />
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When we got back to PA, Marco came to stay with us. (He is the 13 year old Italian cousin Kurt brought home.....never question your spouse's souvenir choices....unless you have to feed them and keep them alive....) A month with Marco deserves it's own post but for now let's just say, there was never a dull moment.....and while we loved having him, I might have been okay with just one or two dull moments!!<br />
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Soccer started back up and then school and then Solomon got suspended because of a pocket knife (again, he probably deserves his own post....shoot, he probably needs his own blog!) and then Halloween came and went and now it is truly smack dab in the middle of fall and everything I am juggling seems suspended in time and space, ready to either fill us up or overwhelm us into submission. I guess we will have to wait and see. But, I hope your home is enjoying this season, though fleeting and indecisive in nature. I am grateful we have it to share, if only for a little while.<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-2254655736582957512018-06-22T08:33:00.000-07:002018-06-22T08:33:00.697-07:00Most Enthusiastic Baseball Player Ever to Walk the Earth<b style="background-color: transparent;">Steele:</b><span style="background-color: transparent;"> I want Rudy to dress in my place Coach. He deserves it. </span><br />
<b>Dan Devine:</b> [<i>Laughs</i>] Don't be ridiculous, Georgia Tech is one of the top offense teams in the country. You are an All-American and our Captain, act like it!<br />
<b>Steel:</b> I believe I am. [<i>Lays down his jersey on Devine's desk and walks out</i>]<br />
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****<br />
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<b>Players and Fans:</b> Ru-dy, Ru-dy, Ru-dy!<br />
(<i>Insert viewer's heart ripping from their chest and, oh, the tears</i>.)<br />
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****<br />
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If you know the movie, you know the scene. You know how those collegiate athletes, one by one, walked into the office of their Notre Dame coach and laid their jerseys down, asking him to let Rudy take their place in the last game of the season. You know how, eventually, the coach confirms Rudy's spot to dress for the game and run out on the field. You know the swell of emotion and uncontrollable tears of joy that the movie elicits from there until the end.....<br />
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We watch the movie Rudy a lot. Well, at least we did before it went missing. And we remind our kids of the determination that Rudy possessed, the belief in his ability to accomplish his dream and meet that goal of running onto the field for a game that he never gave up on.<br />
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In our family, Liam is our Rudy. Substitute little league baseball for college football and far less athleticism and size and you have our little Liam. He is the most enthusiastic baseball player that ever walked the earth. Grinning from ear to ear as he plays, he cheers (often for himself!), he gets passionately mad (sometimes) when he strikes out and he evokes joy and happiness from not only our team's parents but from the parents of every team we play. He is the only kid that the team shouts for when headed up to bat.<br />
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"Li-am, Li-am, Li-am!"<br />
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The kids genuinely want to see him succeed and urge him forward, even when he goes a full season without ever hitting a ball. He loves the game and when he is at home, his glove is on, ball in hand, as he pretends to play in our living room, commentating in a hushed whisper the play by play in his imagination. And while he will likely never be an All-Star, he doesn't let his developmental delays and Autism get in the way of playing his favorite game on earth with the hopes of playing forever.<br />
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So, it is understandable that while I watched the last few minutes of baseball camp yesterday, the part where they gave out awards, that I would feel an immense pang of sadness and heart break. The truth is, Liam has made huge strides. He has gone from not being able to even throw a ball, much less catch one, to actually making plays ever so often; fielding the ball and even throwing kids out. He has gone from being scared of even standing in the batters box, to actually batting with a fair amount of ease, sometimes even getting on base. And ever so often, he scores a run. And it makes his entire week.<br />
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As I stood there though, listening as they called up the the fourth place and third place and second place and first place winners for each age group, I felt such pain in my heart. Liam would likely never be one of those kids. If only the world gave awards for enthusiasm and joy.<br />
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But as the ceremony was coming to an end, the high school baseball coach leading the camp, paused and then very deliberately spoke about a player who had been knocked out at the very beginning of the competition but who had been unfazed, cheering every one else on, enthusiastically encouraging each player, applauding and boosting up every one of his teammates as if he, himself, were the one about to win. And for this, the Camper of the Week award goes to <b>Liam Wolf</b>.<br />
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The kids went wild! They screamed and cheered loudest of all for the smallest among them. And then chanted:<br />
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"LI-AM! LI-AM! LI-AM!"<br />
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(<i>Insert mom's heart ripping from her chest and oh, the tears</i>....)<br />
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He might not make it to the World Series, but he has certainly stolen this crowd. And while the world doesn't often reward enthusiasm, his enthusiasm will undoubtably reward the world.<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-35584561091824213132018-04-13T07:44:00.002-07:002018-04-13T07:44:45.046-07:00Hot Cross Buns<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">Hot cross buns!</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">Hot cross buns!</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">One a penny, two a penny,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">Hot cross buns! </span></i><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><br /></span><br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;">Hot cross buns!</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;">Hot cross buns!</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;">If you have no daughters,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;">Give them to your sons!</span></i><br />
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I got a voicemail yesterday:<br />
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"Mrs. Wolf, this is the principal from the Primary Center. I had Solomon in my office just now and apparently in lunch he was throwing food at kids in the cafeteria and uh, in Music they are singing the song, um, Hot Cross Buns so at lunch he was standing up, singing that song and smacking his bottom while he, ha ha, was doing it and then pretending to shoot the kids with his finger....."</div>
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Imagine getting that voicemail, one in which, not even the principal can get through without cracking up, and then trying to reprimand the camouflage laden seven year old sitting in your car as you wait for the bus to arrive:<br />
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"Solomon, you cannot stand up on the table in lunch and smack your bottom while singing Hot Cross Buns....it isn't acceptable behavior." (Said no one with a straight face ever!)</div>
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Solomon did his darndest to keep a serious tone as he replied, "Ok, I know, Mom" and then burst out laughing as he almost choked on his words, "<i>BUT IT WAS SUPER FUNNY!</i>"</div>
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And I am sure it was. But, as I explained to him after his genuine, uncontrollable and entirely too infectious belly laugh subsided, just because something is funny does not make it right. As Steve Martin so wisely put it in the movie Cheaper by the Dozen, some things are "Funny, but WRONG!"</div>
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Parenting this one might very well be a long and laborious journey. And as my bestie down the street so lovingly pointed out, perhaps I need to mentally prep myself for his future endeavors because if the military thing doesn't work out, he might become an aspiring Chippendale performer....</div>
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Hey, at least he has options, right?</div>
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karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-53374382518661166262018-02-07T07:32:00.001-08:002018-02-07T07:32:23.672-08:00Life Without Focus"Hey Mom," Lily said, on a car ride home from soccer one day. "Can I get a blow torch?"<br />
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Snapping out of my daydreaming, "Wait, what? Uh, no.....no you most definitely cannot."<br />
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"Oh darn," she said, as if she half expected me to say yes.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">😳</span><br />
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From the title, you might think I am going to go into a rant about living a life without purpose or meaning; perhaps complaining about the black hole that is being a stay at home wife and mother (and for the record, whoever named it "stay at home" mom/parent, never had kids....at least not 5 of them because there are many days I WISH I could just stay at home!)<br />
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But no, today is literally about focus, or the lack there of; about how I turn my phone on to look at my calendar to see what the day holds, get distracted by the idea that maybe if I had a better organizational system things would run more smoothly, so I go into the app store to see what kinds of apps they have for that and I miss waking the kids up on time (or did I wake them and they didn't actually get out of bed? That must be it.) So, at least one kid is late to school but the others hurry to get ready and actually walk to the bus stop as if they do it all the time (first time this year?) and then I blink twice and it's 2:00 and time to pick up kids and start round two and whoa! What happened to the day?<br />
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I can waste time like I get paid for it. Come to think of it, I wish there was a job for that: Professional Incessant Time Annilater (my husband would call it a PITA for short 😂) because not only could I work from home, no training necessary, but I would surely make a GAZILLION dollars (assuming there is commission on just how much doesn't get finished) and be the employee of the year! I told my friend the other day that no matter how many houses we have lived in, they have all been starter homes. Every house is a starter home for us because there are always five thousand projects started, but never finished. (That's an approximation of course, could be more....) What can I say? I'm a starter, an ideas person.....not always a follow-througher.....<br />
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My world is a buzz of business without accomplishment. There are continuous cycles of dishes, and laundry, and pets and overwhelming stacks of papers. (My family alone has taken out at least one full rainforest.) And then there is the wandering mind that goes from each thing, like a bee flitting around flowers, consuming time, space, life. Sometimes, on a good day, I might make time to breathe. Sometimes.<br />
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And sometimes it is overwhelming (unless you are my spouse, then it is ALWAYS overwhelming). Sometimes I liken it to the life of a flea, making huge leaps from one random animal (project) to the next, looking for a choice place to settle down, lay down some roots, really dig in, but eventually, hopping dramatically on to the next thing that catches my fancy.<br />
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Hey look! New chore....new project.....new <i>entire life path idea</i>! Let's go try THAT thing instead!<br />
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Squirrel!<br />
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Some of you are reading this and shaking your head (possibly in scorn and judgement). You don't understand how someone can choose to live like that, disorganized, scattered, flying a million miles per hour without a particular destination in mind. (Pat yourself on the back. You are probably a really good adult. Maybe you even have a fantastic career, well behaved and responsible kids, and are on top of everything your life touches. Success is your middle name. Well done, Super Adult.)<br />
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But some of you get it, possibly too well. Some of you recognize the plight as similar to your own. Some of you see it as the cross you carry....others maybe even find a little peace in the absurd chaos. There is comfort knowing life is a flurry of activity and whether you control it all or not, the end is the same for all of us. (Judge THAT Super Adult!.....But go ahead and feel good about yourself that you didn't just research therapeutic rabbit wheelchairs for the last hour....)<br />
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Maybe Lily is on to something.....a blowtorch might make some things a lot easier.<br />
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Here's hoping you have a wildly productive day.....or perhaps a wild day that adds just a little bit of unADULTerated joy. <br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-81364913595691536212017-12-04T06:10:00.000-08:002017-12-04T06:10:16.436-08:00RisksIt has been three long weeks. Kurt left for his hunting trip the day I drove the kids down to Florida to pay our respects and show our love to my grandmother who had passed after 99 incredible years. (More on her in a later post.)<br />
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He came home and immediately flew to Italy with our oldest daughter, Madeline, who had been invited to go train with a group of girls at Chievo and Genoa.<br />
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The night we went to go pick them up from the airport, after two weeks of flying solo, Liam could not stop talking about the weather. He went on and on. (And on and on and on....) Soon it was a slew of questions about the differences between tornadoes and hurricanes.<br />
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"Which one is worse?'<br />
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"Which one would you rather be in?"<br />
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"Why are we safe from tornadoes at our house?"<br />
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"Have you ever been in a tornado warning?"<br />
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"What did you do?"<br />
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"Do tornadoes have names?"<br />
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"Why not?"<br />
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"How many hurricanes did you survive?"<br />
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And on.....and on......and on.....until even I could take no more.<br />
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"Liam, we are done talking about the weather and natural disasters," I announced.<br />
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"Why?" he asked.<br />
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"Because I am done answering those questions. Please pick a new topic." (I might not have been quite so polite.....)<br />
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Silence fell over the car. Briefly.<br />
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Then I hear Solomon from the way back of the truck say: "Hey Liam! Did you know there is a slight chance <i>of death</i> when you drive on the highway?"<br />
<br />
😂😂😂😂😂<br />
<br />
<br />
Well......he's not wrong.<br />
<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-85438871534899687782017-10-23T21:43:00.002-07:002017-10-23T21:43:18.073-07:00We All Have SomethingSince we are on the topic of Liam.....recently I took Liam to see Madeline's therapist, Miss H. You see, one of the main comorbidities of people with Autistic Spectrum Disorder is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. While OCD affects around 2% of the general population, 30-50% of people on the autistic spectrum also have symptoms of OCD, if not full fledged OCD. Liam has been displaying some signs of anxiety and panic recently so we decided we would have him seen, hoping to get on top of anything before it gets out of control. (Yes, I still live under the illusion that I have some control in these matters!) While at that appointment, I asked Miss H if it was appropriate to talk about Liam's diagnosis with him and she confirmed that we should probably speak with him about it sooner than later.<br />
<br />
So, here's how that went.<br />
<br />
Liam, Lily, Solomon and I were sitting amongst the mess of the little boys' bedroom before bedtime when I impulsively decided: Hey, let's have that talk now, without any plan or thought about it whatsoever.<br />
<br />
"Liam," I started. "Do you now why you go to the support teacher's classroom everyday?" (Lily's eyes widened.)<br />
<br />
"No," Liam said, full of smiles and an air of laughter. "But everyone goes there sometime."<br />
<br />
"No, not everyone," I replied. "Do you know why you go to the social skills class in school?"<br />
<br />
"Yes....um, no," he admitted.<br />
<br />
"Well, do you know how we went to see Miss H last month because you were having some anxiety?"<br />
<br />
"Yes....."<br />
<br />
"Do you know why Madeline goes to see her?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. Because she has OCD," he said enthusiastically. (You could almost see him tallying his score in his head.)<br />
<br />
"Do you know what OCD is?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder," Lily chimed in.<br />
<br />
"OCD is something Madeline has that makes her brain work a little differently than other people. She has to take medicine to keep it under control and she goes to talk to Miss H in order to work through the ways her brain is different," I explained. "And recently your brother, Aidan, was diagnosed with ADHD because his brain works differently as well. His brain is like your dad's brain and my brain and most likely Lily's brain. We all have various levels of ADHD which means we have issues with certain things like organization and focus and distractibility among other things. You have something different with your brain, too. It's called ASD which stands for Autistic Spectrum Disorder. When you were a little boy, we noticed you did some things unlike other kids and so they evaluated you and diagnosed you with Aspergers which is kind of a high end form of ASD."<br />
<br />
"Well, what does Solomon have?" Liam asked.<br />
<br />
"Nothing," Lily said.<br />
<br />
"Not that we know of anyway," I added.<br />
<br />
Liam looked at Solly, grinned and then ecstatically blurted:<br />
<br />
"Ha! We all have something....except you, Solly! You don't have <i>ANYTHING</i>!"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
* * * *<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So, admittedly, I didn't see THAT coming.<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-72478711923513943282017-10-16T07:06:00.000-07:002017-10-16T07:06:10.280-07:00My Made For TV MovieJust to be clear, I did not make a movie. But sometimes I feel like I am in the middle of one, that the plot is unfolding with obvious foreshadowing, crystal clear yet dynamically developing characters (oh the character sketches I could turn in now....if only I were still in 9th grade!) and the most humorous and/or grace-filled moments in the most unexpected of places.<br />
<br />
But, the problem with being the woman who defines "mess" in "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOQViEZOwGk" target="_blank">hot mess mom</a>" is that sometimes I miss things....like, big-ish things.<br />
<br />
A few weeks back for instance, I was standing near the soccer field, randomly taking over the concession stand duty while watching Lily play when I got a call from Kurt. Liam had just hit his first home run.<br />
<br />
Now, I use that term as loosely as a definition can be used. You see, it was the first time Liam had hit a ball that went beyond the foot in front of home plate. For reference, a few weeks before this, my bestie neighbor, who had graciously donated her time to take Liam to his game since we were stretched too thin (aren't we always?), called to tell me that Liam had hit the ball. "Well, he made contact," she said, which she assumed he had never done before because the entire crowd went wild. It was a proud moment for him, one that Kurt and I completely missed but heard about for several days following.<br />
<br />
But this was different. Liam had actually made contact with the ball AND the ball moved forward, straight to the pitcher. And then, as if that were not enough to be completely thrilling, just when one thought the play was over at first base, the first baseman missed the catch and Liam, in all his determined glory, kept running. ("Run, Forrest, Run!") He must have had it in his head that he was not stopping until he was either safely home or undeniably out because base after base he ran, through mistake after mistake by the infield who, much to everyone's surprise, simply could not stop him. The angels were smiling on him that day (actually, probably every day to be honest) because the kid, who at nine years old still struggles to run straight half the time, made it all around the bases and safely home to the cheering and adoring fans. My understanding is that both teams' parents were cheering when he arrived at home plate.<br />
<br />
Now, I have heard the story so many times, I feel like I was actually there. Liam, who crossed home plate, half laughing, half crying, tears rolling down his face and his whole body shaking in complete exhilaration, had just hit his first "career home run" as he would tell us later.<br />
<br />
I arrived an hour too late. Because I'm mom of the year. Duh. (And to make it worse, Kurt showed up right AFTER it happened. The fact is, when you have 5 kids, you miss a lot of things. Sigh.)<br />
<br />
Somewhere toward the end of the game, the coach put Liam in left field, next to where we were sitting. We watched as the pitcher threw the ball, the batter swung and hit it; up, up, up it soared, straight toward Liam. Liam watched the ball, adjusted his feet just slightly, actually put his glove up in the air and by the grace of the baseball gods, he caught that fly ball.<br />
<br />
Out!<br />
<br />
His eyes widened. He took a double look at the ball in his glove to make sure he had actually caught it and started waving the ball in the air, cheering for himself. "I caught it!"<br />
<br />
He was as surprised as the rest of us. "Did you see that?! Did you see that?!"<br />
<br />
Everyone went wild. You would think he had just made the final play of the World Series. It was the first out of some random inning in the middle of a random rec league game. But for him, it was a highlight in his life. The kid who almost quit last season because of fear now hit an in-field homer and caught a fly ball for an out, all in one game. Progress.<br />
<br />
He has a blessed life, even in light of his differences. Or maybe, just maybe, it is because of his differences that we are able to see the little things as blessings. And when "life" hits the fan, it is those blessings that continuously hold us up, when we remember to let them.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, sometimes it feels a little like living with Rudy....or living smack dab in the middle of Rudy, our own little made for TV movie.... And we are oh so grateful.<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-82301496515736971072017-07-18T05:33:00.000-07:002017-07-18T06:19:14.807-07:00More then EnoughRecently I read a blog post from one of the few bloggers I follow. And apparently I like this blogger so much that if you would have asked me her name ten minutes ago, I could not even have recalled the beginning letters. (My attention to detail may be lacking in a few areas....as it turns out, Adderall does not fix <i>everything</i>.)<br />
<br />
At any rate, she recently reposted a post that I loved the first time around and clearly she did too because she sent it out again (or maybe she was just out of ideas that day.....or even more likely, maybe it just popped up again when I was trying to clear out the 4,000+ emails in my inbox.....please read my above statement about some things NOT being fixable!)<br />
<br />
Her name, for the record, is Ann Voskamp. She is a Christian writer and mom and farmer's wife and I will admit to admiring her on so many levels. Maybe even wanting to BE her at times. But mostly, I am inspired. Like most people frantically making it through this life, I need grounding and Ann offers that in ways I don't even know I need sometimes.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://annvoskamp.com/2017/07/how-these-3-words-can-stop-whats-stealing-your-joy-instead-of-staying-stuck-in-the-competing-and-comparing-rat-race/" target="_blank">This particular post</a> she wrote really hit home though. To put it simply, she offers you three words, neatly packaged in a sweet little story, to remind you that what you get in life is sufficient. Those words, "I get enough," inspired my new mantra:<br />
<br />
I get enough.<br />
I have enough.<br />
I am enough.<br />
<br />
Whenever I feel shortchanged, I remind myself that, like the child in Ann's story, I get enough. I get enough of everything I need. Food, water, sunshine, happiness, sadness, challenges, all those ordinary days that seem to last forever and go by too fast...oh, and oxygen! (Laugh, but until my doctor got my asthma under control this allergy season, I was not getting the oxygen I needed and trust me, you definitely want enough of that! I now hoard it. I admit it. I am an <i>oxygen hoarder</i> because I now know how much I LOVE to breathe!) But seriously, I get enough. Growing up, I had incredibly generous parents who gave me more than enough. Now that I am an adult (at least on paper) I have an amazing husband who provides us with a life beyond what I could have imagined. And while that doesn't mean we have no problems, I can honestly say, I get enough.<br />
<br />
And because I get enough, I have enough. I have enough messes to clean up; my house is bigger than I could possibly stay on top of....if I lived in a third world country, I could host the whole village....and maybe the competing one down the street with the second watering hole. I have more kids than I can keep track of, more activities than are humanly possible to manage alone, more ideas and dreams than I know what to do with and even if I may try to tell you otherwise, I do. not. need. any. more. cowboy boots. (Or chickens. Or rabbits because holy guacamole, forget the carrots, we have RABBITS coming out our ears!). I have enough.<br />
<br />
But the big one. The one that I need to tell myself and hear most often. The one thing I need to believe with all my heart and soul lest I mess the whole of this life up and waste it chasing something I cannot even pinpoint:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am enough.</div>
<br />
This last year, I turned forty. 4-0! About six months before that happened, I started freaking out. Like really, truly, clearly-having-a-midlife-crisis, all out panicking. Now, I do not believe I know anyone who, at some point, doesn't question who they are and what they are doing with their lives (you know, unless they are, say, six) but this was a real monster of a wall. Who am I? What am I? What am I doing? What have I done that is important and noteworthy and worthy of this life I have been given? What about me and my plot in life is good and noble and lasting? What will be my legacy? Do I even have one? If I die tomorrow, will my life have mattered beyond my family and few friends? (And no, don't argue with me that my life's worth is in my having 5 ridiculously wonderful kids because my rabbits do that every. single. month....not impressive.)<br />
<br />
Six months I tortured myself. Maybe even longer. And then my birthday came and went, like all 39 before that, and the monster at the end of the book was just me and life kept rolling along and when I finally settled down and realized forty is no big deal, I began to grasp that our ultimate purpose, our ultimate worth, is not some big, impressive something that needs to be acknowledged by the world. Really, it isn't even about us at all. It is simply this: We are, we exist, because God loves us. Created in His image, for His love alone, His hope and desire for us is beyond our comprehension. You. Me. We are enough. Enough for God to create, to wait for, to hope for, to fight for.....Enough for God to love. Even enough for death on a cross. We are enough.<br />
<br />
It isn't showy. It isn't an Ivy League degree or a high powered job or a wardrobe of designer clothes or a segment on the national news. It doesn't put us in the spotlight of the world or even in our tiny towns. It doesn't make us a rock star to a flock of chickens or help us win soccer games or fold the laundry or put dinner on the table or build our clientele. And yet.....it is more than enough. More than we could possibly imagine or create for ourselves. And if we, if I am enough for that, I am enough for anything.<br />
<br />
And so are you.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
And since everything sounds cooler in Latin, I leave you with a new mantra to try out for yourself:<br />
<br />
Adepto Satis,<br />
Habeo Satis,<br />
Ego Sum Satis<br />
<div>
<br />
<br />
And if I were preaching this in a church, I would now cheesily have the congregation sing (to the tune "We are the Church"):<br />
<br />
I am enough.<br />
You are enough.<br />
We are enough together.....<br />
<br />
And they would go about their day, humming it to themselves, remembering. (And trying to get that blasted tune out of their head!) Just like you will. (You're welcome!)</div>
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Much love to you all my friends!</div>
<br />
(p.s. Don't trust my Latin....)<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-16081615163988929282017-06-13T20:55:00.000-07:002017-06-13T20:55:39.693-07:00To Where Does Time Fly?<div>
"Mom, I saw something really funny at school today," Lily says.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I try to listen but anymore, the rush of words spewing from the mouths of my kids seems to get jumbled in my already crowded brain and the best I can do is stare at them blankly. Sometimes I nod. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Lily, I am so sorry. I couldn't concentrate on all of those words. Could you repeat it?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Oh, I totally get that!" she says honestly. "So, I read this at school and it is really funny:</div>
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Friends are like snowflakes..... </div>
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If you pee on them, they go away."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
The humor snaps me back to the present and I glance over at Lily. We laugh for a very long time. </div>
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* * * *</div>
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How did it get to be summer break already? These last few weeks and months have flown by yet in the getting here, their heels were dragging! Or maybe those were mine. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For months I fretted over the impending decade change that I experienced on this year's birthday.....I lost my way, found it again, lost it, stopped bothering to look for it.....but found it anyway when I stopped freaking out and realized that the monster at the end of the book was just me....still me.....fury, lovable old <strike>Grover</strike> Graceful Chicken. (With an emphasis on the old now I guess.)</div>
<div>
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Where did the time fly off to anyway? </div>
<div>
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Playing soccer against a high schooler recently, he was unable to take me on 1v1. He had been smack talking the other boys all day so I said, "Hey, how does it feel to be beat by a lady old enough to be your mother?" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was really funny at the time but when I pause to think about the truth behind it, I'm stumped. How did I get to be the adult around here? I pondered this question as I helped cut Solomon's fingernails yesterday. He was complaining that it hurt and Lily told him: <i>Well, THAT'S why I do my own!</i> I flashed back to conversations with my grandparents about how to cut and file your own fingernails. I must have been about 5th grade and my grandparents were taking me out to lunch I think. I don't know why it was just the three of us but the moment still stands vividly in my memory. My grandpa thought we were still talking about using the nail file properly but grandma and I had changed the subject to the best way to cut your dominant hand's fingernails, yet there he was, chiming in: "I just hold it still like this and move my other hand back and forth across it like this."</div>
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Grandma and I took one look at each other and burst into giggles. </div>
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Grandma is 98 now and Grandpa has been gone for over twenty years. And somehow, someone thought it was a good idea to put ME in charge! I mean, for real y'all. I still laugh over 'friends being like snowflakes because they both go away if you pee on them'......that's who's running this show! (At least in part....)</div>
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The absurdity of it struck home last week when I emptied out Solomon's school backpack. </div>
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Look closely......what doesn't belong? Ding ding ding! That Leatherman knife/tool combo probably doesn't belong in the kindergarten classroom. But this adult in the room? She did not even know she was missing one!</div>
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<div>
"Solly, you can't take knives into school buddy," I told him, withholding my chuckles as best I could. </div>
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"You can't?" he asked, as if he didn't realize it until just now. (He's sneaky, that one.)</div>
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"No, Solomon. They will expel you from school if you take in a knife. Do you know what that means?" I asked. He shook his head no.</div>
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"It means you wouldn't be able to go back to school anymore," I declared. </div>
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<br /></div>
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There was a pause before he slyly responded: "Really......hmmmmm."</div>
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The wheels are a'turnin'. I want to tell him, "Hold on to this moment, Solly, because someday, someone is going to get the bright idea to make you the responsible adult in the room and...." OH! MY! GOOD! LORD! </div>
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You have all been warned! </div>
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karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-90245290385469696762017-03-10T07:51:00.000-08:002017-03-10T08:07:41.599-08:00SollytudeIt's that time of year....Lent. If you would have asked me in the fall about the next Lenten season, I would have given you all sorts of wonderful challenges I wanted my family to accept. I started writing about conquering fear. I had epiphany moments where I ran straight into the face of some of my own fears and knocked them out of the park. At least temporarily. I focused on supporting kids through their fears: Lily, afraid to "try out" for a solo at school. Madeline, afraid to keep pushing through her anxiety with a new soccer team. Aidan, well, he's another story, one wrought with apathy more than worry (maybe a topic for next year).<br />
<br />
Then LIFE happened. Fat Tuesday arrived and quite honestly, I did not even realize it was upon us until it was almost too late. Maybe we would just take a pass. Let the challenges and the sacrifices move around us, through us, by us, into the Easter season. God is good after all. And that goodness is with us regardless of our deeds.<br />
<br />
But the girls insisted: they wanted to give up something. Sugar? Desserts? For Madeline it became obsessive and I started coaching her on the notion that maybe giving something up was not a good idea for her mental health right now: try adding something like "Being nice to your sister" or "Making your bed."<br />
<br />
"What are you going to do, Mom?" the girls wanted to know.<br />
<br />
"I am not focusing on that which I take into my body. I am going to work on giving up the frivolous spending. There are too many odds and ends we do not need. I need to put a stop to the buying of those things. And that it mostly on me."<br />
<br />
"What are Solly and Liam going to do for Lent?"<br />
<br />
"They need to cut back on screens: You know, read more, watch/play less."<br />
<br />
And then Solly proved that maybe there were other things he needed to give up.<br />
<br />
You see, over the last year he has really begun to take his camouflage seriously. He hides in bushes. He squats down, quietly waiting, barely breathing, until he thinks you can't find him and then he ambushes you. It's cute.....it's hilarious really.....unless you are the neighbor who is supposed to be watching him and all of a sudden he is gone. MIA.<br />
<br />
I was sitting in the dentist chair, my mouth full of who knows what, the hygienist asking questions I could not physically answer even if I wanted to, when the phone rang. Madeline was sitting there and I had her call the mom back. She quickly handed me the phone and I listened as this neighbor frantically explained that she could not find Solly anywhere. She had gone upstairs briefly to get her stuff and when she came back down, the door was ajar, he and all of his belongings gone. She searched her yard, yelling. She drove up the street, checked all my doors, which were locked. And by the way, "I really have to leave like right now!" (to get her son to an appointment.)<br />
<br />
"It's ok, just go. He is in the neighborhood somewhere, I am positive. I will just call the other neighbor and see if she can find him."<br />
<br />
"I can't leave your kid!" she exclaimed.<br />
<br />
"It's fine, really. I will come home if I need to." (Obviously he is the fifth child, not the first!)<br />
<br />
At that point, I call my bestie neighbor and ask if she is home.<br />
<br />
"Why yes! I was just getting ready to drive your son up to your house 'to get something'; I found him sneaking through my yard," she said.<br />
<br />
"Of course you did. He was hiding from his friend's mom," I explained.<br />
<br />
"Well, he <i>is</i> fully decked out in his camouflage today," she laughed.<br />
<br />
Yes, yes he is. As with every other day.<br />
<br />
I am fortunate to have good friends. Solly is fortunate he is so darn cute.<br />
<br />
"By the way," she said, "I asked Solly why he wanted to be at home when there was no one there. He said he likes it when everyone else is gone, because it is nice and quiet."<br />
<br />
I guess the kid has to get his Sollytude somehow.....<br />
<br />
The next day, after apologizing profusely to the other mom (this is the SECOND time he has wandered off on her watch....I might have to reexamine his going over there come to think of it), I picked up her son and drove the boys to school.<br />
<br />
On the way there, his friend dramatically exclaims: "You were REALLY BAD yesterday! You should not have left! My mom looked everywhere for you! She was yelling for you and even went all the way to your house looking for you!"<br />
<br />
Solomon snickered.<br />
<br />
"I did NOT leave!" he insisted. "I was hiding in your bushes the WHOLE time and she couldn't see me because of my cammo! I saw her leave and kept hiding until after she got back! My camouflage kept me hidden! BUT I WAS RIGHT THERE THE WHOLE TIME!"<br />
<br />
And not to compare my kid to God or anything, (but, you know, if the Fatigues fit.....), well, sometimes in our chaos and the frantic mess of life, we think we have been abandoned. We might even search wildly, thinking that our yelling and shouting out and worrying will bring Him closer......but like my little Camouflaged angel, He is there, hushed: watching, waiting, maybe even ready to ambush us when we least expect it.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we just aren't looking in the right places.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we just aren't really looking at all.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we just require a little Sollytude....and the picture clears and we see what has been right in front of us all along.<br />
<br />
Maybe Lent is not really about sacrifice at all. Maybe it isn't about that outward showing of "giving up" or "taking on"....maybe it is actually about simple openness: slowing down just enough to see that which is already there. Listen closely my friends. He comes in a gentle whisper. And maybe wearing cammo.....<br />
<br />
Happy Lent Ya'll.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He was told to get ready for bed.....this was his answer.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not kidding about the hiding in the bushes....</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They don't call it "amBUSH" for nothing!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Solly takes on Colonial Williamsburg</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even Soldiers have off days.....(He thought he was getting a shot.....he wasn't.....I just let him think as much!)</td></tr>
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-29968102332095222782017-01-12T20:40:00.000-08:002017-01-13T04:07:18.562-08:00On Prayers with Children"Jesus, tender Shepard, hear me,<br />
bless this little child tonight.<br />
Through the darkness be down near me<br />
Keep me safe 'til morning's light...."<br />
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Dear Younger (read: inexperienced) Self:<br />
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When you start to tack on blessings at the end of your children's night time prayers, keep it simple. Please just trust me here. Your time becomes far more valuable (and your patience quite a bit shorter) and well, you see, if you start adding pet names it might go something like this:<br />
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God bless Daddy, Mommy, Aidan, Madeline, Lily, Liam, Solomon, Leroy, Stripsies, Storm, Oreo, Sparkles, insert the names of 6, nope 12, chickens, wait, make that 24......no wait.....<br />
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And then, oops, Sparkles, the fighting fish, went all kamikaze and jumped ship.....out of the tank (we are guessing) and well, I'm pretty sure the cat ate him....because there were no remains.....not anywhere. And then Oreo, well, that abscess was no joke and while his jaw got bigger and bigger, to the point of caricature, his body withered away until your kid found him stiff as a board (and the only thing you could think to say, but fortunately knew not to, was "Well, I guess the vet was right after all!" but then there was that constant reminder every single night that his name was missing). And then, a chicken will die, and then another, and you will subtract their names and with those down, you pick up a couple more rabbits and Messi and Morgan quickly become a family of six, but instead of keeping them all you only keep two, so while you added Messi and Morgan and Ham and Baggio and Ranger and whatever the heck the orange one was named, you will have to cut a few from the roster when they get sold off. And then Leroy will break the Dish and run away with the Spoon and while we are going to pretend he did not get eaten by some bigger animal and is now just shacked up at a better home, after months go by, we scratch him off the list as well, and then those 6 cute peeps are now 58! And who names ALL 58 CHICKENS?! I know you think you will but I assure you, you get over that when you realize you can't tell those six white silkies apart <i>at all</i>! NOT EVEN A GUESS! And get this, you hatched them! All. By. Yourself! (Well, you know, with the help of those hens.) But you can't even tell which is which! Oh, and while we are at it.....you know those three black roos you thought you couldn't live without? Larry, Moe and Curly? Well, don't add them to the prayer either because they do MUCH better at someone else's farm! I know, I know, so hard to imagine now. But one day you will speedily gather up six thoroughly unnamed chickens, throw them in some make-shift cage and just haul them away to someone else's house, without a second thought at all......BECAUSE YOU HAVE WAY TOO MANY GOSH DARN ANIMALS!<br />
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So please, when you start tacking on all those names, just stop. Ask yourself: is this REALLY the road you want to travel?<br />
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(No! The answer is NO! Put away that quizzical look and shake your head back and forth because it is unequivocally, without a shadow of a doubt, N-O!)<br />
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"God bless Daddy, Mommy, Aidan, Madeline, Lily, Liam, Solomon,<i> all of our Pets</i> and all of our friends and loved ones (See? It even works with people!)......help me be a good child, praise in Jesus's name. A-frickin-MEN!"<br />
<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-29589615177273863532016-12-10T18:41:00.000-08:002016-12-10T18:41:59.193-08:00Solomafia Strikes AgainGuess I wasn't thinking straight<div>
Couldn't tell wrong from right</div>
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Went ahead and called you up</div>
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I got a little drunk last night</div>
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-Eli Young Band</div>
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You might wonder how the above lyrics relate to my five year old child (unless you know him, then you are nodding your head: Yup, sounds about right.)</div>
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To be totally truthful, Solly has been having a tough time "adjusting" to Kindergarten. It's not like we didn't see this coming, I mean, after all, I warned the new, incoming principal over the summer about this kid. I even called out, "Good luck with that!" as I dropped him off on day one......and every day since. (And then hopped the curb as I rush out of that parking lot with a crazed look on my face!)</div>
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And it doesn't help that they gave him the novice teacher; the one they brought in from the middle school who has had ZERO experience working with 5 year olds. Her initial emails were full of frilly hope and excitement; about how she was so fond of sitting on the floor with her grandchildren, quietly reading books, doing puzzles, creating cherished memories. (GAAAAAAG me now before I shoot myself!!)</div>
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We knew from the start that she was in trouble. The rose colored glasses were blinding her to the stark reality that this was a room full of boorish monsters! And this one Solomonster in particular, whose main goal in life outside of completely ignoring anything she might have to say, is to cause her daily heartache and sorrow. </div>
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Before I paint a horribly negative picture of our little beast, please know, he is a super sweet child. He loves warm hugs, kissing (bordering on creepy), being held tight while <strike>sitting</strike> crawling around in laps and being read to.....and adventures.....and excitement......and super heroes......and total and utter destruction.....</div>
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So, the first "Yellow Card" came home (on week one) kindly informing us that Solomon was talking too much. We all laughed because "Oh my Gosh! It could be SOOOO much worse!" We patted him on the back and told him to be quieter and listen more. But really, we were secretly relieved. Oh, talking. No real harm in talking......</div>
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And the Yellow Cards rolled in every week or so: too much talking. And we smiled, feeling like our little card carrying NRA murderous devil, the kid who recently asked what body parts we didn't need, which ones we could "just get rid of", was at least under control in the classroom. </div>
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But as the Mafia might have it, put one monster with another and all of a sudden, there's a pair of them......and then an entire clan......and Solomafia Boss hooked up with "another kid who is a bad influence" according to his teacher at his conference (Really? Are you SURE it isn't the other way around???.... This was the same conference she compared him to her son.......who was expelled in ninth grade......and is now in jail.) First impressions are a B!%$H. </div>
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One thing led to another and this week we received his first red card (and subsequently our first trip to the principal's office.)</div>
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The principal, who is apparently trying to qualify for an early Sainthood later this year, spoke softly and kindly to Solomon, explaining that he was not mad but that it was not okay to rip down the classroom decor and tear it up with his buddy. Solomon sat, almost abashedly, in my lap, arms around my neck, unable to even look at the principal. We told him we knew he could do better and we don't want him to make a habit of seeing the principal in his office. I hugged him, told him to be on his best behavior and sent him on his way.</div>
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That afternoon, Solly came home with this:</div>
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Sigh. So, he went from destroying to creating. Perhaps the pendulum swung a little too far.....but really, "placing paint on another student?" As in, art class? At least he wasn't flinging it right? And holy smokes, HE WAS PARTICIPATING! This time last year, he wouldn't even sit through an art class at school, let alone, "place paint" on anything!</div>
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The next day, he came home with yet another one:</div>
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I'll admit I am running out of excuses here but, hey, at least he bothered going into the bathroom right? I mean, my biggest worry before he started school was whether he would bother using the restroom at all and opt instead to just go outside at recess! I even warned the principal. But look! He made it to the bathroom! Bonus points! </div>
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OK, ok, I am not trying to make light of this. As I dropped him off on Friday, before meeting with the principal for the second time of the week, (which means he has been to the principal's office more in one week than any of our kids COMBINED in all the years they have been in school!), I reminded Solly of his behavior, of listening and following directions. Short of pleading, I just hugged him and then noticed the police officer standing by. </div>
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"Solly, I know! Why don't you tell the Police Officer that you will try harder to behave in your classroom?! Go ahead! Tell him!"</div>
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Solly looked at me as if I had lost it, a big grin spread across his face as he replied: "Nah, I'm not gonna do that!"</div>
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The amused Police Officer chimed in: "Well now, maybe I should walk you to your class." </div>
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And THAT is how he got his first police escort. </div>
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"Get used to it, Kid!" I called out. The Officer at least has a good sense of humor. </div>
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After meeting with Solomon's Principal (God Bless Him) I immediately drove to the girls' school where Lily was to read her D.A.R.E. essay in front of the entire 5th grade, the Sheriff, the Chief of Police, the School Superintendent, State Reps, the District Attorney and other such important people. </div>
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As she got up to read, I noticed Solomon's principal sitting behind us. He has a daughter in 5th grade as well. </div>
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"My uncle went to prison and my cousin died because of drugs," she began. Attention granted by all. </div>
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I shook my head. At the very least, it encourages some perspective from Solly's principal, after all, it's all relative.</div>
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****</div>
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That evening, Kurt asked Solly what color he ended up on today, expecting him to finally have a green day, for which we could go overboard congratulating him. </div>
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"Um.....Yellow," he said plainly. </div>
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"Really?" I asked, slightly sinking. "Yellow? Again?"</div>
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He looked at me, head cocked in contemplation. "Yup!" he finally exclaimed. </div>
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"For what?" I wanted to know. </div>
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"I don't actually remember," he said, which was probably the honest-to-God truth.</div>
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****</div>
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Later, Kurt and I were discussing what to do with this situation when Solomon came up singing from the basement.</div>
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"I got a little drunk last night," he sang. "Somethin' bout a midnight rain...."</div>
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"Um, Karen?" Kurt asked.</div>
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Sigh. </div>
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I simply poured another glass of wine. (So sue me!) I'd ask what's next but something tells me it won't be long before we find out. At the very least, he is a creative little bugger.....I mean, rarely does she get to mark an ACTUAL box on those cards.....</div>
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Way to keep her on her toes, Solomontosaurus! </div>
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(#NotWinningMotheroftheYearOverHere)</div>
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karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-76324867643722665652016-09-30T10:36:00.004-07:002016-09-30T10:36:56.836-07:00PHEW! That was a close one!For those of you who are not on my email list and sometimes check in to the blog to see if anything new has come out, you may have been faced with the horribly traumatic experience of finding that the blog was gone recently. Or at least, you couldn't find it at gracefulchicken.com!<br />
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You see, apparently when you set up a domain for auto-renewal and then cancel the credit card it renews on and then don't read your emails in order to get the final notices that the domain has not been paid for and therefore will not renew, the registrar takes it away! I know, <i>crazy,</i> right?<br />
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So after a week of hair pulling stress, too much reading and rereading (in a failed attempt to understand how it all works and what I need to do to reacquire my domain name), several conversations with different people at the registrar who told me the best they could do was have me transfer the name so that they could charge me for it so that I would have access again, (which still doesn't make sense since I had no access to the domain anymore in order to transfer it) and then a little stroke of luck as the light went on (briefly) in my brain and I put two and two together and figured out a way to get around it......www.gracefulchicken.com is back up and running.<br />
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Phew!<br />
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That was on top of a ridiculous week that included (but was not limited to): missing an IEP meeting for Liam, as well as five kids' dentist appointments, sending Solly to school with an ear infection (and apparently "because he wasn't running a fever and needs to suck it up" wasn't a good reason when I spoke to the nurse who calmly replied, "Yes, but he hurts."), missing the bus every. single. day., and then losing a rabbit (seriously, who loses a rabbit?.... Fortunately, it missed us and came back....sucker!), and finally, showing up at the Vet's office to get meds for the dog but forgetting my wallet. (As it turns out, you can run a tab at the Vet's office....they are good like that!) And then, because I forgot my wallet, I couldn't go get the medication at the pharmacy that I needed to pick up for Aidan who also had an ear infection (which he had been complaining about for weeks but I had just finally gotten him to the doctor that week, because SOMETIMES I SUCK AT MOTHERING!)<br />
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Apparently, this is what I get for vowing, after the death of another friend the week before, to appreciate each and every day, regardless of what it brings. Serves me right! <br />
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But all faith in the world was restored when my bestie showed up at the Pharmacy to bail me out, pay for the meds and even had a Starbucks drink for me to brighten my day. Never a day goes by that I am not thankful for my friends!<br />
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Have a great weekend, friends!<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-77350569270814116772016-09-23T09:12:00.000-07:002016-09-23T09:17:06.110-07:00More OCD TalesPeople ask how Madeline is doing all the time. She is doing fairly well. She is still in school and only begs me maybe once a week to homeschool. This is great progress.<br />
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Her intrusive thoughts currently all revolve around cheating, which is not surprising with school in session. (Did you write the answers on my pencils? Are the answers on the tags to my shirt? Am I cheating? Oh no, I need to change into a different outfit because there are answers on this one!)<br />
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It is sad and scary and sometimes a bit ridiculous bordering on comical all at the same time. She suffers. She is tormented. But she also recognizes the illogic of it all. She knows her brain is tricking her, that her mechanism for turning off irrational ideas is simply not working, but it is so real to her that she suffers all the same. There are set backs, and there is progress. And she is pushing through.<br />
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She was getting out of the car the other day, wearing a tank top and heading in to take a quiz when she stopped and looked at me, that wide-eyed horror stricken look I have come to know so well.<br />
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"Did you write the answers on my arms?" she asked.<br />
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"What?" I asked, exasperated. "That's silly. Just the OCD talking, Madeline. Move forward."<br />
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"You did! You wrote all the answers on my arms!" she exclaimed, emphatically.<br />
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"Madeline, do you see answers on your arms?" I calmly asked.<br />
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"No."<br />
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"Do you have a potion to reveal the invisible ink that I must have used to write the answers on your arms?"<br />
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"No."<br />
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"Then I would suggest you just wipe the invisible answers off your arms and get into school," I said, half amused with myself.<br />
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"You are so mean," she said as she rolled her eyes and exited the car.<br />
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Yes, yes I am.<br />
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What's worse is I wrote the WRONG invisible answers, kid!<br />
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(I swear, I am the worse mom for this job......or maybe, just maybe exactly what she needs....)<br />
<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-31486335046036878452016-09-02T21:00:00.000-07:002016-09-02T21:00:01.086-07:00First Day of SchoolIf you know me well, you probably know I have "Time-Management Issues" (which I like to think of as a symptom of being an optimist.....I am just so sure I can get those dozen things done before I have to be wherever it is I am going next.)<br />
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Well, believe it or not, summer went by in a blink of an eye. And as we were nearing the first day of school, trying to keep Madeline's anxiety at bay while the other kids excitedly prepared, I didn't really manage the time like I might have had I really believed school was actually going to start on the 31st.<br />
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As it turns out, the school district was not kidding about the start date and so the night before, I scrambled to figure out what the kids would need, and if we even had those things since my one futile attempt at back-to-school shopping was met with a Target that was mostly out of stock on all the essentials. (And then I forgot to get to Staples to finish collecting supplies......because in my mind, there was still <i>plenty of time left, Summer</i>! Way to ruin a perfectly good dream! Sheesh.)<br />
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Aidan was the last to go to bed since, like his mom, he struggles with time management issues as well and was trying to finish up his summer reading project. At 10:00 p.m. I told him he needed to pack up his backpack and go to bed. He emptied his backpack (from last year, still full of cookie crumbs and other assorted gross stuff) and asked which folders and binders he needed. I went through the list. I had only managed to find 2 of the right colored folders (for PE and Computers); not exactly a gold-star moment. I did get excited when I saw I had gotten the black binder needed for math but then quickly remembered that, oh yeah, his math class is at the high school so this middle school list does not apply for that class.....(I made him take it anyway because it's better to have something than nothing.....assuming we are not talking about diseases.....then nothing is pretty darn great!)<br />
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Anyway, Aidan was up by 5 a.m. working on his assignment and was out the door early to catch the bus. (One down, four to go.)<br />
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Madeline was up by 6:15, almost an hour early but was too excited to go back to sleep. (Given her nerves over the past couple of weeks, we were just happy to see her smiling and ready to go.)<br />
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Lily awoke, already in her school clothes (that she wore to bed, as is her norm) and quickly got to work making her lunch.<br />
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Liam kept an ongoing count down to let us know how much time we had before the bus arrived.....his nerves getting more and more edgy as the clock ticked away. (Think: FOUR ALARM FIRE when there was only 20 minutes left!)<br />
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Needless-to-say, with all we have going on, I felt a huge sense of relief when I sent these three off:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And with smiles no less! We were so grateful (even if it was a short lived happiness.....)</td></tr>
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Then there was one.....one kid to get to school.<br />
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Solly started Kindergarten this year. Our district only offers half day (because they hate us) and so I signed him up for afternoon as it is one less kid to get ready in the wee small hours of morning.<br />
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Solly was excited about starting Kindergarten but he definitely had some reservations as the morning went on. (I also had some reservations because they put him in a class with a teacher who used to teach middle school reading lab and has ZERO experience with Kindergartners. She is a grandma and "loves children, loves reading to them, doing puzzles with them, playing games" but when I met her, I got the feeling that, in her rosy colored world, she had no idea what it would be like to have a classroom full of Solomons.....and I put my money on Solomon breaking her.....give it a month.)<br />
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After reading a random email from his teacher the night before, I realized she had given out a supply list at the orientation night (that I happened to miss since almost everything that happens in the district is Tuesday or Thursday evenings when I coach.) At any rate, I wrote the teacher, requesting the list and she wrote me this lovely email, apologizing for the unnecessary stress this must have caused me. I chuckled. There are many things that cause me stress but whether or not Solomon has a pencil box on the first day of school is certainly not one of them. (Whether he chooses to keep his clothes on at recess or pee in the bushes instead of using the bathroom, well, those may be on my list.....)<br />
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As we were driving home from Staples with his supplies (and his Starbucks lunch of champions: chips, chocolate chip cookie and chocolate milk......because I am mother-of-the century here.....) I got a call from our neighbor whose 5th child (of 7) is also starting Kindergarten. She wanted to know if I knew what time school started for the boys.<br />
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"Oh, thank God I am not the only one!" I told her.<br />
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I drove Solly to school at what seemed like a reasonable drop off time (12:30) and pulled up in front where there was an enormously LONG LINE of parents and kids waiting to go inside. There was ONE CAR in the actual car line and I hesitated. I must have missed the memo saying we were supposed to walk our kids in and seriously, why are all these parents doing that? I called my neighbor. Is this normal? While I had no intention of parking and walking in, wasting 20 precious minutes of this three hour block of FREEDOM, I felt this slight pang of guilt......She assured me Solly was independent enough to go it alone.<br />
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I watched as the little girl in the car in front of me got out and stood in the back of the line all by herself. I felt another wave of guilt.<br />
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"Solly," I said, turning around to look at him square in the eyes. "You are going to go into the school like a big boy, all by yourself, show all those other kids how it is supposed to be done, ok?"<br />
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"Got it!" he exclaimed.<br />
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"Great. You go on out there then and have a fantastic first day."<br />
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He gave me a kiss and got out of the car, heading toward the wrong door. I rolled down my window:<br />
"Solly! You have to get in the line and go through THAT door," I hollered, pointing at the line and then the door.<br />
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He took one look at the ridiculous line, looked back at me with a daring glance and then ran through the grass, behind the trees, avoiding the line completely and stealthily snuck in the door behind the teacher who DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE HIM.<br />
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I guess he was dressed appropriately:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little girl on the left is the end of the line.....Solly looked like an old pro cutting through that grass in his camouflage.....<br />
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I will admit, I said a little prayer.....for the teacher and the entire school for that matter. They will need it.<br />
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(Day two he tried to climb out the truck window at drop off.....I had to explain to him that he really should use the doors at school.....so he pulled his backpack back in the car, opened the door and literally fell out in a heap on the ground....he got up grinning: "I'm ok!" and rushed away. Oh lord help them.....)<br />
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<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7678885322310129138.post-74277893159389458462016-09-02T05:37:00.000-07:002016-09-02T05:37:33.205-07:00What Doesn't Work With OCD Having a child with a mental health disorder makes life far more challenging. What's worse is that it is really not something I can completely explain to people unless they have seen the symptoms and meltdowns for themselves, which of course, they haven't because children with OCD are very good at hiding their symptoms from people until they burst. From the outside, someone who knows Madeline might just sense a little anxiety or discomfort when really, a war is raging inside her.<br />
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This has certainly brought out some of my less than perfect parenting as I try to navigate what sometimes seems like an enormous abyss.<br />
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My parents have been privy to some of our more difficult moments; those marked by some of my greatest parental fails (and some successes that were total shots in the dark). And believe me, so much of this walk has felt like darkness......we go along, trying to understand, trying to figure it out, to research, to learn but time and again we stumble, fall flat on our face, shake our fists to the heavens because what the heck is this? AND WHY? There are just so many unknowns.<br />
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Nonetheless, here are some of my greatest fails to date, (I do not recommend trying these at home).<br />
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1. The therapist told me to have Madeline hold an ice cube to distract her from the intrusive thoughts causing the meltdowns. At one point, when forcing her to hold the ice in her hand was simply not working, I just poured the entire cup of ice on her. (For the record, while it did stop the screaming momentarily, the screeching that followed was probably not worth it.)<br />
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2. Madeline had been fighting the need to repeatedly wash her hands for several days. One night, towards the end of our FL trip (she had unfortunately had a relapse and was really struggling again), she went into hysterics and she spent ten full minutes washing with the bar of soap, lathering her hands over and over while in the shower. When I came to see what was going on and stupidly asked why she was doing it, she said her hands were dirty and wouldn't get clean so she had to wash them again and again. I took the bar of soap away (insert hysterical screaming) and she rinsed the soap off, (still screaming) and demanded I give her the soap back because her hands were still dirty and needed to be washed again (screaming, screaming, screaming).<br />
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Impatiently I exclaimed, "Madeline, this is your OCD! Your hands are NOT dirty," and then I impulsively grabbed her hands AND STUCK THEM IN MY MOUTH to prove how clean they were. She got quiet, wide eyed yet somehow still glaring.<br />
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"Ok, um, well, they might be dirty now," I said, handing the soap back.<br />
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3. At one point, we were walking inside and Madeline started walking to and from the door repetitively. Without even thinking, I slapped her on the back, as if that would snap her out of it. Ever try slapping someone out of a diabetes episode or an asthma attack? Yeah, it works about that well! (For the record, pinching does not work either, unless you are just trying to make the kids really mad, then I highly recommend it.)<br />
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I am sure there will be more where this came from because if there is one thing this experience has taught me it's that I am far from a perfect parent, maybe not even close to a good parent when you throw in big obstacles......but onward we press because at the end of the day, that's what loving parents do....just keep swimming, just keep swimming, whatcha gonna do you're gonna swim, swim, swim....<br />
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(It just might not be a very straight path.....)<br />
<br />karen dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03126087265723761290noreply@blogger.com0