When we first moved into our condo (last month), I posted a status update on Facebook about how much I missed my DirecTV and DVR. Watching local channels, without the possibility of pausing or forwarding through commercials was just too much for me. One of my friends commented in response to this complaint, "These are the kinds of problems to have!" And I thought, "Isn't that the truth? How lucky am I, and yet I complain?"
For the last few weeks, through the postings of a Facebook friend, I have been following and praying for the precious little life of Baby Ewan. His parents started a blog (http://www.team-ewan.com), documenting Ewan's fight for life. He was born with a heart problem. His mom, Kirsten, explains that, "Ewan has been diagnosed with a congenital heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot with Pulmonary Atresia, which consists of a combination of four defects in the heart. It is estimated that Tetralogy of Fallot occurs in as many as 5 out of every 10,000 births. There are several forms of Tetralogy of Fallot that range in severity. Ewan is diagnosed with the most severe form." Each day he lived was a miracle, but also wrought with pain for Baby Ewan and his family.
Ewan went to heaven on October 3rd. As I read Ewan's mom's daily account of happenings in his life, and then her varied responses to the loss of him (which you can read here and here), I began to think about my own blog (this blog)! When thinking about the posts I've written lately, I couldn't help but think, "These are the kinds of problems to have." Somehow the fact that I am not in a book club seems almost laughably unimportant. If the only thing I have to say goodbye to is my house, I am amazingly fortunate! And I know that Kirsten would give anything for Ewan to be two like Mary. You get where I'm going with this. Problems, schmoblems! Really!
So I've thought long and hard about what I should do. I decided that I'm not going to stop writing this Mommy-with-a-Masters-themed blog, even with the relatively unimportant worries and complaints that I have. The writing is good for me. There are times, too, when I feel like the things that I say resonate with others in a way that is helpful. But, in honor of Baby Ewan, I will forever go forth with a different perspective. I want all of you who read this blog to know that I will try very hard not to take myself, or my issues, too seriously. From now on, I'm going to double my efforts at being deeply and completely thankful for my dear children. I will hold them closer and love on them more. I will cherish these moments and days, because there may come a time when I have them no more. And I will pray. I will pray for Ewan; his parents, Kirsten and James; and all who know and love them. I will pray for all children who are sick, and those who are dying, and for the friends and families that love and care for them. I will pray for all who have lost children and loved ones. I will pray for myself, for my husband and for my kids. And I will pray for you!
For now I'm thankful that my problems are the kind that are desirable, but I know that this can change in an instant. I encourage each of you to pull your loved ones closer today, and make sure that each day ends with the satisfaction of a life well-lived through people deeply-loved.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Friday, October 01, 2010
Book Club
Those of you who know me, or have read this blog, know that I love to read. I have always felt like I would really enjoy being in a book club. Making that happen, though, when I have three kids and a husband who works a lot, has been difficult (in fact, impossible so far, given the fact that I'm not IN a book club). Book club is something that I often think I'll add to my life once I have less parenting responsibilities (or at least don't have to find babysitters to do everything).
A few weeks ago, Gregory (9) brought home a permission slip that said that the librarian was offering a book club for kids in 4th and 5th grades who are interested. The kids who sign up are able to choose between two books (a more traditionally "boy" book and "girl" book), and they meet with the librarian twice a week (during lunch) for a month. Gregory, very excitedly, brought me the permission slip and as I signed it I said to him, "I think it's great that you want to be part of the book club. I would love to be in a book club." And dear Gregory responded by saying, "Mom, I think you would like the book we're reading. If you wanted to read it with me, I could take some of your ideas to book club and share them with the group."
Two things about his sentences struck me. First of all, I was thankful for his considerate response. He HEARD what I said, and he responded with the only thing he could think of that would help. Secondly, he didn't realize that HE was one of the reasons I couldn't be in my own book club. This is my (current) life: On the one hand, I'm not free to do all the things I know I would enjoy, because much of my focus in on raising my kids. On the other hand, because I'm dedicating so much of myself to raising my kids, every once in a while one of them responds to me in a way that makes me know how important (and rewarding) this life's work really is.
One day I will be in a book club all my own. I will read books, get together with other adults who have read them, drink wine and talk for as long as I want! But someday, all too soon, I will have to hear about Gregory's books over the telephone from somewhere other than my own home. While he's here, I will try to cherish these moments -- the glimpses of the man he will become -- and, rather than resent the things he keeps me from, I will look for the joy in (and give myself some credit for) the kid that he is and the relationship that we have!
A few weeks ago, Gregory (9) brought home a permission slip that said that the librarian was offering a book club for kids in 4th and 5th grades who are interested. The kids who sign up are able to choose between two books (a more traditionally "boy" book and "girl" book), and they meet with the librarian twice a week (during lunch) for a month. Gregory, very excitedly, brought me the permission slip and as I signed it I said to him, "I think it's great that you want to be part of the book club. I would love to be in a book club." And dear Gregory responded by saying, "Mom, I think you would like the book we're reading. If you wanted to read it with me, I could take some of your ideas to book club and share them with the group."
Two things about his sentences struck me. First of all, I was thankful for his considerate response. He HEARD what I said, and he responded with the only thing he could think of that would help. Secondly, he didn't realize that HE was one of the reasons I couldn't be in my own book club. This is my (current) life: On the one hand, I'm not free to do all the things I know I would enjoy, because much of my focus in on raising my kids. On the other hand, because I'm dedicating so much of myself to raising my kids, every once in a while one of them responds to me in a way that makes me know how important (and rewarding) this life's work really is.
One day I will be in a book club all my own. I will read books, get together with other adults who have read them, drink wine and talk for as long as I want! But someday, all too soon, I will have to hear about Gregory's books over the telephone from somewhere other than my own home. While he's here, I will try to cherish these moments -- the glimpses of the man he will become -- and, rather than resent the things he keeps me from, I will look for the joy in (and give myself some credit for) the kid that he is and the relationship that we have!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Goodbye, House! I don't hate you, really!
It's a funny thing when you put your house on the market during a recession. The house that you used to love and cherish suddenly becomes a source of incredible stress! It's not my house's fault that selling it was such a long and difficult process, but somehow the house bore the brunt of my frustration. No house is perfect, but my expectations required it to be. Each day the house was on the market, was a day that I wandered through it with a critical eye. Everyday I wondered if people would come and see it that day, and at the beginning I wondered if those people would fall in love with the beauty and wonderful function of the house. As time wore on, though, I began criticizing my house for all its imperfections, and eventually, instead of wondering which particulars people would love about the house, I began thinking about whether people would look past its flaws and (please, please) buy it anyway. The reasons we decided to move had very little to do with the house itself. The house is beautiful and there is lots of space for living and playing. This weekend when we hauled the last of the stuff out of the house, and cleaned up for the new owner, I was sad to realize that I had spent most of the last six months resenting this house -- this house that had been a wonderful home for my family and me. When I walked through the house for the last time, by myself, I cried and I thanked the house for being our home -- for providing us shelter and a place to live and laugh and love! I made peace with the house, because I wanted to leave with the good feelings that I felt in the house for 3 1/2 years, and forget the bad feelings of the last six months.
Goodbye, House! I'm so glad you sold, but I really will miss you!
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Wouldn't You Like to Be Two Again?
Don't you think it would be fun to go back to being a two year old? If you need convincing, I'll tell you what your life would be like if you were Mary!
If you were two, like Mary, you would enjoy your favorite TV show bright and early in the morning, while someone brought you milk and "mo miiiilk". You really wouldn't have to worry about getting much of anything for yourself, because, if you were Mary, you would have two parents and two siblings to pretty much cater to all your needs.
If you were two, like Mary, you would certainly understand where the potty was, and you would know its purpose, but there really wouldn't be any need for you to use it. I mean really, you wouldn't need to -- not with one, sometimes two, very capable adults willing to change you (even if they had to chase you down to do it).
If you were two, like Mary, you wouldn't have to worry about your singing voice, because the fact that you were singing the words to songs noone even knew you knew would be very sweet. Your rendition of Dave Matthews' "You and Me" and Train's "Soul Sister" would be unexpectedly accurate for your age, and people would never doubt your love for music.
If you were two, like Mary, the rules wouldn't really apply to you. You could obey your mom pretty much only when you felt like it. No street would be off limits to you, and if your mom got distracted at soccer practice, it wouldn't be a big deal for you to wander off to the nearest playground. Also, if you didn't really like the way things, in general, were going down, you could just lie on the floor face down and refuse to get up until everyone in the room wondered what was wrong with your mom. That would be a sure way to make the point of your displeasure, and probably convince your mom to do what you wanted after all.
If you were two, like Mary, you could pretty much eat whatever you wanted. Vegetables would, of course, be optional. If you didn't like what your mom served, you could just throw it on the ground. That wouldn't be a big deal. And every trip to Schnuck's grocery store would include a free kids' cookie (as it should), and it would be great if you started asking for that cookie the minute your mom pulled into the parking lot.
If you were two, like Mary, everyone would think you were cute and funny. I mean, how could they help it, when "yes" didn't really work for you, as an answer to a question, and instead you preferred to say, "Yeah, sure!" ( in your great Demi Moore voice)? And how could people not laugh when something made you really happy and you started chanting "Uh huh, oh yeah, boogie, boogie!"? You would win everyone over, and certainly not be intimidated by the construction workers fixing (and blocking) your steps, because a simple, "Xcuse me, guys!" would make them clear a path for you.
If you were two, like Mary, you would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were truly loved! You would know that the parents and the big kids in your family would think that you hung the moon, no matter how many cups of milk they had to pour, dirty diapers they had to change, embarrassing face-plants they had to endure, vegetables they had to scrape off the floor, or booty-shaking they got to enjoy!
Really, it would be great to be two again! If you were two, like Mary, you would require a lot of patience, care and love, but everyone would be happy to accommodate, because you would be worth every minute of it!
If you were two, like Mary, you would enjoy your favorite TV show bright and early in the morning, while someone brought you milk and "mo miiiilk". You really wouldn't have to worry about getting much of anything for yourself, because, if you were Mary, you would have two parents and two siblings to pretty much cater to all your needs.If you were two, like Mary, you would certainly understand where the potty was, and you would know its purpose, but there really wouldn't be any need for you to use it. I mean really, you wouldn't need to -- not with one, sometimes two, very capable adults willing to change you (even if they had to chase you down to do it).
If you were two, like Mary, you wouldn't have to worry about your singing voice, because the fact that you were singing the words to songs noone even knew you knew would be very sweet. Your rendition of Dave Matthews' "You and Me" and Train's "Soul Sister" would be unexpectedly accurate for your age, and people would never doubt your love for music.
If you were two, like Mary, the rules wouldn't really apply to you. You could obey your mom pretty much only when you felt like it. No street would be off limits to you, and if your mom got distracted at soccer practice, it wouldn't be a big deal for you to wander off to the nearest playground. Also, if you didn't really like the way things, in general, were going down, you could just lie on the floor face down and refuse to get up until everyone in the room wondered what was wrong with your mom. That would be a sure way to make the point of your displeasure, and probably convince your mom to do what you wanted after all.
If you were two, like Mary, you could pretty much eat whatever you wanted. Vegetables would, of course, be optional. If you didn't like what your mom served, you could just throw it on the ground. That wouldn't be a big deal. And every trip to Schnuck's grocery store would include a free kids' cookie (as it should), and it would be great if you started asking for that cookie the minute your mom pulled into the parking lot.
If you were two, like Mary, everyone would think you were cute and funny. I mean, how could they help it, when "yes" didn't really work for you, as an answer to a question, and instead you preferred to say, "Yeah, sure!" ( in your great Demi Moore voice)? And how could people not laugh when something made you really happy and you started chanting "Uh huh, oh yeah, boogie, boogie!"? You would win everyone over, and certainly not be intimidated by the construction workers fixing (and blocking) your steps, because a simple, "Xcuse me, guys!" would make them clear a path for you.
If you were two, like Mary, you would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were truly loved! You would know that the parents and the big kids in your family would think that you hung the moon, no matter how many cups of milk they had to pour, dirty diapers they had to change, embarrassing face-plants they had to endure, vegetables they had to scrape off the floor, or booty-shaking they got to enjoy!
Really, it would be great to be two again! If you were two, like Mary, you would require a lot of patience, care and love, but everyone would be happy to accommodate, because you would be worth every minute of it!
Friday, August 20, 2010
Priceless
I feel like I should write some about our vacation to Florida, especially in light of my previous post In the Moment. We went to Carillon Beach, which is a planned beach community between Panama City and Seaside. Each way we spent 12 hours actually driving, and split it up with a hotel stay in Nashville. We rented a house that was about a block from the beach, and across the street from the pool, playground and tennis courts. We had beautiful weather and a wonderful time!
I tried very hard while we were there to soak in my surroundings, and to bask in this precious time spent with my family. We didn't do much while we were there, other than swim, play and eat, but that was exactly what we all needed. I kept thinking to myself, "I feel like I'm living a MasterCard commercial."
Rented Beach House: $$$
100 gallons of sun screen: $
Food for a family of 5 for a week: $$
The joy on the kids' faces from hours at the beach & undivided attention from parents: Priceless
How to Become a Famous Blogger
I got this link from my brother's blog Blue Sox Baseball, which you should also check out, but here's all you need to know about How to Become a Famous Blogger.
Friday, August 06, 2010
In the Moment
Last week it started raining while I was running. I ran the last mile in the rain, with the sky threatening a serious storm! It was an exhilarating experience! Amazing, really. I was running hard (to beat the storm), with my favorite music blasting in my ears, and the rain coming down on me. I felt so very present, right in that moment. All of me experienced the adrenaline, the noise, and the rain on my skin.
How many times can we say that we are fully present in one experience? As moms, my friends and I often laugh that we are never able to finish a conversation when our kids are present. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to call or email a friend, because I realized later that when we were together we started a conversation that we never finished. How can I be fully present in the moments of my life, when I can't even complete a conversation? On the other hand, how can I not be? I know that life is short. I know that my kids are only young once, but I often find myself wishing away the hours, days, and even years (i.e. "If I can just get through this day.", "Summer is ALMOST OVER!", "I'll enjoy the pool more next summer when Mary is older.", "When Mary starts school..." etc.). I have to figure out a way to truly cherish the time that I have with each one my kids, even in the midst of trying to manage all three of them at once. At this stage in my life, is it possible to fully present in these precious moments? Any thoughts? Suggestions?
How many times can we say that we are fully present in one experience? As moms, my friends and I often laugh that we are never able to finish a conversation when our kids are present. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to call or email a friend, because I realized later that when we were together we started a conversation that we never finished. How can I be fully present in the moments of my life, when I can't even complete a conversation? On the other hand, how can I not be? I know that life is short. I know that my kids are only young once, but I often find myself wishing away the hours, days, and even years (i.e. "If I can just get through this day.", "Summer is ALMOST OVER!", "I'll enjoy the pool more next summer when Mary is older.", "When Mary starts school..." etc.). I have to figure out a way to truly cherish the time that I have with each one my kids, even in the midst of trying to manage all three of them at once. At this stage in my life, is it possible to fully present in these precious moments? Any thoughts? Suggestions?
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