the business trip

A few years ago, I happened to be traveling on business to Boston - the week prior to my Aunt Ann turning 90.   As luck would have it, the weekend following my meeting, my cousins had planned an epic surprise party for their mom.  Since I knew that several of my family members would be in attendance at the party - including Aunt Ann's sisters (my mother and Aunt Grace who would be flying north from South Carolina),  I thought it would be fun to bring Carolyn with me on the business trip.  While I was in meetings during the week; Carolyn could hang out with her Noni and Auntie, and the following weekend - we could all attend the party and surprise Aunt Ann.











It worked: Aunt Ann WAS surprised ...  and a tradition was born.



Later that year, when I was supporting projects in the Caribbean, I invited my mother and Aunt Grace to join me for a week in Puerto Rico.  This time, I brought Elizabeth with me on the trip. And while I was in meetings during the week; the three of them toured the island ... shopped, took surfing lessons, and drank out of coconuts.










Last year, I took William with me to New York City, and once again - my mother and Aunt Grace joined us.  Mom had on her bucket list to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge; and we did just that.  They also attended a show on Broadway, went to the top of the Empire State Building, ate lunch at Tavern on the Green, were serenaded while riding the subway, took a boat to the Statue of Liberty, rode a horse drawn carriage through Central Park, ate a genuine NYC pie, and picked out their favorite diner with the best coffee in the city, by the end of the week.















This year, it was finally Henry's turn.



(Saying a prayer before we board: it's a ritual...)



Last week, I had a business meeting in South Carolina.  Henry and I flew in the weekend prior, and were able to spend a few days with mom and Auntie, before the three of us drove down to Charleston for the week.   Unfortunately, Auntie wasn't able to join us on this trip - as she was preparing for a separate trip to Greece.



While we really missed Auntie, we had a wonderful time with my mom - and as is par for the course - while I was in meetings - Henry and Noni toured the local sites including the aquarium, Fort(s) Sumter and Moultrie, the USS Yorktown, pirate dungeons, and the historic downtown.  They would have also visited the first submarine, H.L. Hunley, but the exhibit was closed during the week, to which Henry said, "WHAT?! Well, Mom ... sounds like we have to come back when it's open!"











(Union artillery shells embedded in the walls of Fort Sumter...)





The crescent moon over a Palmetto, at Fort Moultrie (where, coincidentally, the theme of the crescent moon over the Palmetto on the state flag was first conceived).



After three days in Charleston, we drove north to Columbia, and while I was in more meetings - they toured the Riverbanks Zoo (where this video about gorillas avoiding the rain was filmed around the same time they were visiting!), and met bona fide southerners on the front lawn of the capital building, who were celebrating Confederate Memorial Day and remembering their ancestors.  All of us received quite the history lesson, and were appreciative that the CSA impersonators didn't once balk at Henry's Boston t-shirt.













Henry missed a week of school to join me on this venture - but it was time very well spent.  He arguably learned more about American History in a the span of five days, than he's learned in the past five months of school.  Most importantly, he was able to spend one-on-one time with his grandmother and create memories that will last a lifetime.



(He also had a great time playing with his cousins on the beautiful yards at Aunt Grace's ...)



Chances are, I'll be taking an international business trip to Europe or Australia at some point over the next year.  Carolyn is tickled to think it's her turn again - but Charlie has unequivocally told the children, it's now HIS turn - and he's already in the process of pulling together his wardrobe.



Yes.  I think he'll be a fine traveling companion, indeed.

when neighbors become family

When we moved to Virginia in 2010, we bought a single-story brick house that was surrounded by trees, and had been owned by a 90-year old blind man.  

What I loved about the house from the first moment I saw it, was the location situated before a spectacular forest.   There was a huge circular driveway that intersected a cul-de-sac on one side, and a cul-de-sac on the other.  My vision was that our children would learn to ride their bicycles around this driveway, climb trees in this yard, and splash in the creek that cut through our backyard.  



Charlie's vision was that the 50-year old, all original applianced never once updated house, needed a TON of work, several trees cut down, and our children would have no one to play with since it appeared the average age of residents on our street was at least 75.  Sure, there had been rumors that there were children that lived in the house next door, but we never really saw them.

Soon after we moved in, while the triplets were off to school in kindergarten, and I was away at work - Charlie was in the front yard, surveying the monumental task of what needed to be done.   Across the street, one of the neighbors, a man who we would come to know as, Mr. Tom, had walked outside to check his mail.   Tom has since told me that he's always been a gruff kind of guy.  He'd lived a long and somewhat tough life, had dealt with cancer, and all kinds of issues that overtime, had put callouses on his heart.   But while Charlie was muttering to himself, "What the hell were we thinking buying this place...?" Our three-year-old Henry, dressed in boots and a superhero cape, walked across the cul-de-sac and introduced himself.



According to Tom, one minute he is minding his own business, looking in his mailbox, and the next minute he feels a little tug on his pant leg.  He looks down and sees a blue-eyed Henry who says, "HI! I'M HENWY.  WILL YOU PLAY WIF ME?!"  And in that moment,  Tom said his old heart completely melted in to his shoes and he felt weak in the knees.  In that very moment, Mr. Tom became our surrogate grandfather.

Tom, his wife, Sue, their disabled daughter, Dawn, and their great big black German Shepherd, Max, lived across the road from us.  Their kitchen window faced our front yard, and Tom who was a retired firefighter and paramedic, would sit at his kitchen table every day sipping coffee.  After meeting Henry, he started keeping a close eye on our children as they played in the front yard and he would tell me that watching our children run around and play gave his life more joy than we could ever imagine.



But in reality, Mr. Tom kept his eye on all of us. 

One day when I was at the office, and Charlie was trying to tackle some of the landscaping on his own, he dragged a ladder and his electric chainsaw out to the front yard.  Tom would tell me he was sitting in his usual perch, sipping coffee, with one eye on the paper - one eye on our yard - when he saw Charlie set up the ladder, climb to the top rung, and with one foot on the ladder - another foot on a tree branch, lift the chainsaw over his head and start cutting a branch ABOVE him.

Tom said the coffee nearly came out of his nose as he hastily put down the cup and newspaper, and dashed out of his yard and over to our house. Trotting across the yard he yelled, "Charlie!  Charlie!  Hang on there buddy, let's think about this! I don't want to be the one to call Jen at work and tell her she's a widow!" 

Years later, when Charlie and I decided to clear out leaves from the gutters on the back side of our house.  Because of the hill in our yard, the distance from the base of the ladder to the top of the gutters was quite large: I'd estimate at least 30 feet.  Charlie had bought an extension ladder, which we hauled out of the garage and set up against the back elevation.  To this day,  I'm not sure how in the world Tom knew what we were doing, because we were out of sight from his kitchen window .... but Charlie no sooner put one tentative foot on the ladder and Tom was next to me.

Tom knew that Charlie didn't like heights.  When Tom would regale us with stories of his days as a firefighter trainer - the drills where he would have to climb up and down the other side of a 50-foot ladder that was vertically straight - he would guffaw at my husband's reaction and pale complexion.  

On that day when he appeared out of thin air, Tom - who was 73 years old at the time - hustled to the top of our ladder, scooped out all the leaves, and hustled back down again while Charlie and I stood on the ground shaking.

When our children turned eight, it was Tom's recommendation that we contact his old friends at the fire department and request that they send a truck to the birthday party.  They sent two.  



And many a snow day, I would trek over to Tom's house with William in tow, so that the two of them could work together on affixing models.   Tom was an expert model maker, and had quite a collection of tanks - airplanes - and boats.  

Tom was born in Virginia and was a quintessential southern gentleman, and history buff through and through.  He could talk with you at great length about the Civil War and every battle that was fought, particularly those in Virginia.   He was also a veteran of the Navy, and an extremely proud card-carrying member of the NRA.  I'm not a big fan of guns, and Tom knew this.   Still, for years he wanted to take me to the local shooting range in Fairfax and make sure I knew how to defend myself.  He never left the house without his firearm, and would tell me how he sure hoped he never found himself in a situation where he needed to use it - but in the event something did happen ... he'd be ready.  "And you should be too, young lady," he'd sternly say.

Such a fixture in our lives was Tom, I cannot think of Virginia without thinking of him. Because during the five years we lived in Virginia, we had become his family; just as he had become ours. The day we moved, I will forever remember standing with him in the basement, looking over our children playing in the empty house.  Several neighbors had gathered to say goodbye, but as I looked at Tom - he had tears in his eyes.  He told me how much we had meant to him, how much he loved every one of us, and how terribly he would miss us all.    As I gave him a hug goodbye, I broke down in tears, too and told him that I would miss him, Most Of All.

It had only been a few weeks since I'd lost my own Dad, and Tom reminded me so much of him.  The Navy veteran, NRA card-carrying, devout Republican that he was.  From the blue eyes, and build, right down to the blue jeans and white t-shirt he often wore.   We didn't agree on everything - as families seldom do - but our friendship went so much deeper than politics.

Even after we moved, we kept in close touch.  He would send me emails, I would send him pictures of the kids.  William even called to interview him, and did a project on his military service for Veteran's Day.  Within a few months of us moving away from Virginia, Tom wrote to tell me that the cancer had returned.   Soon, our old neighbors were writing to me to let me know how desperately Tom missed our family, which would make my heart ache because we missed him, too.



Last summer, we drove from Texas to Virginia to see Tom.  We didn't tell him that we were coming, because we weren't entirely sure of our schedule.  On the day that we arrived, I'd called to check in and see how he was doing.  While we were talking and he was lamenting that he missed us and would give anything to see our children playing outside his door again, we pulled in to his driveway - and in line of sight of his kitchen window, where we saw him perched with his coffee cup.  

The look of surprise on his face was indescribable perfection.  



While we were visiting, he gave our boys his very first .22-caliber rifles that he had bought when he was a young boy, playing around the fields of Virginia.   For a man like Tom, there is something incredibly special about his first gun....  and it speaks VOLUMES as to how much he adored our kids - that he'd want for them to have this token to remember him.



Earlier this week, Sue wrote to tell me that Tom was in hospice and would likely pass this week.   When I told our children, they were heart broken to think they were losing their fourth and final grandfather.  First Grampy. Then Jimbo. Then Papa Alex.

And now ... Mr. Tom.

The kids made a care package for Sue and Dawn, and we sent Tom a red, white and blue balloon arrangement that has been in his room all week.   We've been praying that his passage from this world to the next week would be as gentle as possible, and this morning, Sue wrote to tell me that God heard our prayers and he passed peacefully this morning.    Our children are grappling with two people that they love, dying in just four weeks time.  But as I told them, this is the reminder that life is fleeting.  There is birth and death. Hello and goodbye.  Instead of focusing on the sadness, let us instead focus on how lucky are we that we have had the opportunity to meet and love so many wonderful souls along the way.  They will always be with us.

It's also a beautiful reminder to reach out and talk with your neighbors. We never know when that connection may lead to a wonderful friendship like the one we shared with our beloved Mr. Tom.  

Remembering Papa Alex

Today, we received heartbreaking news that Charlie's Dad, Alex, was killed in an automobile accident this morning.  Papa Alex would have turned 91 on March 17th.



Three weeks ago, today, Charlie had to travel to southern California for a business trip.  At the last minute, he decided that since he would be in the area - he would fly to Phoenix, instead of San Diego, so that he could enjoy a short visit with his Dad.  It's funny how things happen like that ... a little whisper in your ear that you need to create opportunities to make memories; and less than a month later, Charlie is so grateful that he seized that moment and made a detour to see his father.



During his brief visit, Charlie saw his Dad and Kathleen's new home which he had just recently, within the past two (?) months moved in to.  It is located in a retirement community, and Alex was so happy to be there, and very excited over the downsize to a simpler life.  Photographic evidence indicates that his library was stocked full, which was no surprise to me: Alex has always been one of the most well-read and articulate, comprehensively persuasive, all-around knowledgeable people I've ever known.  The majority of books in our extensive library, are predominantly from his overflow.



Father and son went out for lunch.  I'd happened to call Charlie while they were together, and was lamenting that three of our four children were home sick from school after having just tested positive for the flu.  I'm not recalling what in the course of our conversation gave rise to such amusement - but the last time I heard Alex's voice, it was filled with laughter and good cheer - as it always was.  

We're in shock at the moment.

Nothing quite prepares you for losing someone so suddenly.  While he had his share of illnesses and ailments, Alex was never really a sick man.  He was healthy and strong - and vibrant - and cheerful - and the very finest of gentlemen.  When Charlie lost his mother, and I lost my father - we were with them, by their bedsides.  We said our goodbyes and told them that we loved them.  We held their hands and grieved as they passed.  With Alex, even at nearly 91, it just seems surreal that he is gone.

He's gone? 

Last year, the entire family traveled to Santa Barbara to celebrate Alex and Kathleen's 25-year wedding anniversary - and Alex's 90th birthday.   It was a whirlwind weekend trip, but Charlie and his brothers - and Carolyn - went deep sea fishing with Alex, which is Alex's tradition for his big birthday celebrations.  (I'm now kicking myself that I cannot find the picture of Alex on the boat!)



(But this was the lunch, immediately after!)



That evening, after naps for everyone, all of Alex's grandchildren (and great-grandchild) gathered together for a wonderful celebration of his life.



It was a beautiful event.   We took pictures, and told stories.



And Charlie and his siblings each had an opportunity to get up and tell their father how much he meant to them.



The past few days, a cold front has hit Texas, with temperatures in the high 30's.  This afternoon, almost immediately after receiving the devastating news, we found ourselves at the Junior High School, where we had signed up to volunteer for the track and field meet.  Because Elizabeth is really in to track and field - she qualified for four separate events, that started at 3:30 PM and continued until 8:30 PM.  For five hours, our entire family stood in the cold, rooting on Elizabeth: who despite the sudden loss of her grandfather, still managed to earn medals - including one first place - in all four of her events.  In between each event she would run back to me and ask, "Is it true? Really? Did Papa Alex really pass away today? Am I dreaming? Please tell me I'm dreaming..." 

(My intent was to keep the news from her until after her meet.  But so much for the best laid plans.  How she knew is a separate issue that involves a cell phone and a homeschool student, who shall at the moment remain nameless.)

Tonight, when we returned from the track meet and the feeling returned to our extremities, we lit a candle and told Papa Alex stories.  I opened up my blog and yet again - am so grateful for this journal of memories.  Tonight, I'm especially grateful for this memory.

George Wellesley was such a good man.  When I think of how much he loved his first wife, Jeanne; and how much he loved his second wife, Kathleen.  How he raised such an amazing family - that yielded the best man I've ever known ... my husband, Charlie.   How he helped us cover rent with our first house while we were in graduate school, and how he attended all of our graduations.  How he traveled in to be with us, in our home, days after all four of our children were born.  How he flew in to visit us in San Diego and talk us OUT of buying an over-priced house when I had two year old triplets, and was nearly seven months pregnant with Henry.  How he flew in to visit with us in Virginia and Texas.  How he saved every single one of the business cards my husband ever had - from every one of his jobs.  How he could talk to you for hours about politics - or the Pythagorean theorem- or the colonization of Mars - and it was FUN.

True to the iconic legend of St. Patrick that shares his birthday, Alex is the embodiment of good luck and celebration.  While I suspect the shock we are now feeling will soon give way to grief, right now I'm just feeling so grateful for his life, and all that he accomplished.  I'm so grateful that my husband saw him three weeks ago, today, and created one last special memory with his father.  And I'm so grateful that he was never really sick a day in his life.



And yet.

And yet.  

I know we will miss him so much.

crossing the bridge v2

Yesterday, Henry bridged from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts.

I remember the first time I went to a Blue and Gold Banquet, way back in 2013 when William was a Tiger rank and Henry was still in preschool.  With a totally unexpected lump that formed in my throat - and tears that dripped down my cheeks (where did all this sudden emotion come from?  I thought we were just here for dinner and a magic show?!) - I remember watching the fifth grade boys walk from one side of the stage where their Den Leader removed their Cub Scout kerchief and waved them goodbye - to the other side of the stage, where they were met with a firm handshake of the young men of Boy Scouts, and fitted with a new kerchief.   

The symbolism of the kids crossing the stage - and walking across a small bridge - was not lost on me and I remember so clearly thinking that day will be here for William BEFORE I KNOW IT.  And sure enough, it was.  And now Henry has earned his Arrow of Light, and crossed the bridge, too.   

William was on the other side to meet his little brother with a big smile and handshake and it was epic. 

Charlie baked a cake, for entry in to a Father-Son Cake-Bake contest, to commemorate the event.  Each layer is intended to represent a different level in Cub Scouts, starting with Bobcat (light blue); Tiger (orange); Wolf (red); Bear (green); Webelo (blue) and Boy Scouts (yellow).  

As he was frosting the multiple layers, I kept asking him, "How in the world do you think you're going to transport that thing to the event?"  And he kept responding, "It'll be no problem. Trust me, Jen, that's the least of my worries."   

Once finished, Charlie drove and I held the cake on my lap.  And sure enough, it wasn't his problem - it was mine, trying to keep that multi-leveled masterpiece upright for three excruciating miles through stop signs, traffic lights, around corners, and over speed bumps.  You don't realize just how much accelerating - and decelerating - there is on a simple car ride, and the incredible forces of gravity that travel exerts, until you're holding a tiered cake in your lap.  Also, it's safe to say that my anxiety level transporting the cake was on par with transporting newborn triplets home from the hospital: every other car on the road was a dire threat.  

We arrived in one piece - literally - and set up our cake among some fierce competition. The creativity and artistic expression of people just amazes me.   This tree house cake was one of my favorites (look at the adorable little Cub Scout people sleeping under the graham cracker tent, and actual BRIDGE to the Boy Scout campground!) 

And this one - with the teddy bear clutching the Pinewood Derby Twinkie totally cracked me up!

Or this one, with the campfire and Lego scouts on Kit Kat logs?  HA!

    

While I haven't been as involved with Cub Scouting in Texas nearly as much I was in Virginia, and from a scheduling perspective - I am looking forward to the boys participating in scouting events together - this change is bittersweet.

It's impossible to comprehend that our little guy is now a bona fide Boy Scout, considering he was an "honowawy Cub Scout" ....

Just yesterday. 

tiny tim

On Friday night, as I was tucking the kids in to bed, I sat with them and said a prayer as I do every night.  My evening prayer always includes a request for protection, wisdom, patience, and kindness. We pray for family and friends, our sponsored-Compassion children,  and any situations that may be weighing heavy on our minds.



As I was talking with Carolyn, she informed me that while nighttime prayers are nice and all, and she really loves spending time with me at the close of her day, she's not so sure she believes in anything at the moment and she's quite unsure how praying really helps matters.  "What's the PURPOSE of it all?" she asked.

Of course I understand this!  I'm a scientist and I struggle with data,  proof, and repeatability all the time.  Until it was debunked, I'd always loved the quote from Albert Einstein, "There are only two ways to live your life: as though nothing is a miracle, or as though everything is a miracle." (Even if he didn't say it, the older I get - the more I know there's some solid truth in those words.) 

Kissing Carolyn goodnight, I told her that it was my most sincere prayer that she would receive some kind of divine gift from above that helped her to not only believe, but also - to illuminate her path for purpose.

If it seems like I'm getting more spiritual these days ... I AM.  I'd like to thank our four rapidly growing children, as we navigate this gloriously beautiful, and gloriously terrifying time in life. Leading my most precious gifts through the dynamics of body changes / social pressure / social media / increasing independence - decision making - and consequences - has promulgated my swan dive right in to the deep end of the search for heavenly guidance.

So this past Saturday, while Elizabeth was out running with girls from her cross-country team; and Henry was at a Cub Scout function with Charlie, I took William and Carolyn on a long walk with the dog.  We were approximately 1-mile from the house - with another 3 miles to go on our 'loop' when William exclaimed, "Look! There's a dead mouse on the sidewalk!"  It took me several moments - with William nearly touching the little critter - before I could actually see it, it was so well camouflaged atop the wet concrete and scattered leaves.



My instruction to William was to pick up some sticks and gently flick it off the path so it wouldn't be stepped on - or ridden over - or chomped down by another dog out for its morning walk.  As William gingerly tried to scoop it up, he paused, "Mom, I think it's still alive...!"  Carolyn - our resident animal lover - went crazy. "Ohhhh, nooooo! Ohhhh, it's so tiny! Ohhhh, we have to help!"

I went over to inspect, and sure enough, I could see that it was breathing - and it's little heart beat was clearly visible, thumping away within its teeny silky frame.   As I was looking at the little creature, I recognized by the larger shape of its tail that it wasn't a mouse, but more likely a baby squirrel ... so young its eyes hadn't opened up yet. Standing back, the three of us eyed the trees and looked for a tangle of branches and leaves that would indicate a drey.  Surely the little one just got knocked out of the nest?

Not seeing anything obvious, we gently picked the kit up from the dark shady spot on the damp sidewalk, and placed him off the path, and next to the closest tree, which was bathed in sunlight.  We then stood aside for a few minutes and waited to see what would happen.  The baby squirmed in the warmth of the sun, began squeaking and opening it's tiny little mouth.  It must have been a mammalian animal instinct that came over me, because this wasn't what I had in mind for Saturday morning.  We had a lot to do - my mental list was at least two pages of what I'd hoped to accomplish on this day - including walking another 3 miles to close a stubborn ring on my new Apple Watch.

Nonetheless, I decided in that very moment that while I'm NOT a fan of vermin, barring the mother squirrel appearing on the scene for a fast rescue, there was absolutely no way I'd be leaving an extremely helpless and vulnerable infant all alone in nature, while hawks soared over head.  Also, if this wasn't a prime example of a gift literally FROM ABOVE that might be helpful to illuminate my daughter's purpose (and passion), I'm not sure what is.



After a few more minutes, and much to my daughter's delight, I reached down and scooped up the baby and said, "Yep, it looks like he's coming home with us."   I'm not sure if the kids were more surprised that I actually touched it with my bare hands - or that I scooped it close to my chest and cuddled it for a mile walk back to our house.

When we returned home, we found out that the protocol for rescuing a baby squirrel is to keep it warm, and get it to a wildlife rescue facility.  And so it is, we filled a sock with rice and after microwaving it for 20 seconds, placed the little guy on top of it, which by now we'd named "Tim."  We found the closest facility - fortunately it was less than 10 miles from our house - and we piled in to the car and transported Tiny Tim to his next destination.  On the car ride, Carolyn was rubbing his little belly, and was in tears of absolute joy when he wrapped his entire body around her index finger.

You might imagine, she didn't want to leave him ... and was asking me in hushed whispers if she could PLEASE come back, or call and check on his progress every single day until he was released?



The people at the sanctuary informed us that Tim is a flying squirrel and as a nocturnal animal, it's very likely his mama wouldn't have found him.  It made our hearts happy to think that we played a part in saving the little guy.

Our Tiny Tim was placed within an incubator, and fed glucose soon after he arrived. We were told he'll be kept with other flying squirrels and they'll be released together, in nature, within the next 2-3 months.  It turns out, the facility is a 100% volunteer run organization and they welcome volunteers as early as 14-years old if a parent is present.

Yep.  I bet you'll never guess what Charlie and Carolyn will be doing as part of their homeschool curriculum this spring?    Gifts from above - conveniently located 15 minutes away.

God Bless us, EVERYONE!

taking the plunge: love, forgive, and laugh a lot

This morning at the crack of dawn, I was up crafting my list of new year predictions and resolutions.  It's quite lengthy and includes a spreadsheet.  Any time a spreadsheet is involved, it's safe to say that I'm feeling a little overwhelmed - and I rely on Excel to try and restore some semblance of order.

With that, I present Exhibit A, a spreadsheet that I recently found during a purge of my office - dating back to December of 2004 - that time in life when we had three newborns and no more than two hours of consecutive sleep for several weeks in a row.



Speaking of newborns, one of my numerous new year's resolutions is to be a better mother.  Particularly in regards to my patience threshold and better use of language.  I'm so deeply ashamed to admit it, but raising three (almost four) teenagers can be as challenging as $&% and sometimes, bad words come out. Usually when I'm confronted with a snarky attitude from a child who has a life of such privilege, I don't understand why they're not on their knees giving abundant thanks ALL the time?  

In the normal course of life, I'm really not one to use profanity, but it's a reflexive thing, like when you slice your finger with a knife, or stub your toe so badly the nail comes off.  It erupts with virtually no warning and usually before I even realize it's happened.   I know it's wrong, and I'm working so hard on it.  Dear God, please help me to use better words when I'm frustrated. Perhaps give me a heavenly nudge to take a moment and breathe - or better yet, render me temporarily and divinely mute.



I've resolved to put away the electronics - particularly my phone just before bedtime and immediately upon awakening.  I'm not on my phone much during the day, but I do immerse myself in the news and world happenings before I doze off to sleep - and when I first wake up - and I seriously think that it has had an adverse impact on my health and overall well being.  It certainly seems that between global warming, gushing political vitriol, and a lack of tolerance and compassion the world over  - I'm feeling quite depleted watching the slow motion train wreck of what the media is portraying as a decay of morale values and human decency.  

I've also resolved to give thanks and practice intense gratitude.  Instead of picking up my phone and firing up a news app, I'll start my day by reading something inspirational. I will light a candle - and reflect on my breath and offer my sincere thanks for life in this moment.



I'm resolving that 2019 will be a wonderful year for fitness and a renewed focus on health.  Everything is bigger in Texas - including my pant size and I intend to reverse that alarming trend.  Charlie bought me an Apple Watch for Christmas and after a week of sitting in it's package - I fired it up, today.   By June, I expect to be 25 pounds lighter on my feet and have a resting heart rate slower than it is right now.   I also intend to stand for 12 hours a day - or more likely, figure out how to change that absurd setting on my watch.   (Anyone know if that's possible? Charlie tells me no?!)

Lastly, I will be doing my best to look for God's fingerprints every day.  Today, I certainly experienced a situation that cemented this date as the most wonderfully memorable New Year's Day in the history of my lifetime.

Without going in to all of the details: we lost my Dad 3.5 years ago - and one month later - my family was ripped apart in a way that I never would have imagined.  It was quite possibly, one of the worst and most painful times in my entire life.  White was black; light was dark; up was down; right was wrong.  For several weeks, I couldn't sleep - nor eat - nor do much of anything except cry and second guess everything that I once held dear.   In the midst of my grief over losing my father - and during the move from Virginia to Texas when two of our children were recovering from a tonsillectomy and I received a bilateral brain tumor diagnosis .... one of my seven siblings became completely estranged from the rest of us.   It was beyond ugly, an extremely difficult time that created a lot of deep wounds that may never heal.  And yet, the other six of us pulled together in a way I never imagined would have been possible.  It was an extremely poignant time that eventually - and transformationally -  reaffirmed my faith that everything, EVERYTHING, has a purpose and is an opportunity to grow closer to God.  It just takes the right attitude.



Long story short: the one sibling who isolated themselves from the rest of the family - has a child who was married last night - and several of my family members, despite what they've been through and any resentment they may be harboring, rallied together and attended our nephew's New Year's Eve wedding.  Charlie and I didn't attend because we're 2000 miles away. And, well, I'm still quite hurt over what transpired in 2015-2016.   But some of my siblings - and their children - did show up.  They traveled in from out of state, and showed up BIG and with great LOVE.

Tonight, the children decided that in light of the New Year - they wanted to embark on a Polar Bear Plunge.  Elizabeth was first to go - and she was terrified.  She knew the pool was at least 40 degrees colder than the hot tub, but after several long minutes - she summoned the strength and she jumped. While all of her siblings jeered and challenged her sanity - she took the plunge.

She was invigorated, and she inspired her siblings - one by one - all four of them - to follow suit.  Once they were in the pool, once they got over the fear of jumping - and the shock and discomfort of the icy cold water enveloping their warm bodies - they, too were invigorated.  But more importantly, they were so triumphant in their conquest.

THEY DID IT!

I think that's how it is with forgiveness.  It can be so hard - and so painful - to let go.  It can be terrifying to think of the discomfort, the bitterness and resentment - and hurt.   But once you decide to take the plunge, that discomfort lasts only a moment.  The result is invigorating. And the courage it took to make the leap is contagious.

I'd like to give a shout out to my sister, Eileen, who has inspired us all to love unconditionally and to have as much fun as possible each step of the way.   For her birthday this past year, she sent everyone $20.00 with the request that each of us find someone else to bless. Here she is donning her perspectacles: those magical glasses that give one the power of perspective. 



To my big brother, Wally, who despite his bravado and comical sense, is one of the most gentle and sensitive souls I know.  I'm so impressed by him, I've been in tears thinking about his motto, "We're here for a good time.... not a long time!"  Mom is so proud of you.  And I know Dad would be so proud of you, too.

To my mother - and my Aunt Grace - who together - Hail Mary, Full of Grace... are the epitome of loyalty and support - and consistently demonstrate for the rest of us, how to forgive and lovingly show up for your family.  As my mother says, "There are NO accidents."  And as my Aunt Grace says, "Anything is possible with chocolate."  Amen. And AMEN.



This year I will do my best to remember:

Each challenge in life - is an opportunity to grow.

Keep your eyes and hearts open: miracles abound because God's Fingerprints are on everything. 

Seeing isn't believing: believing is seeing.

Take the plunge. Love. Laugh. Breathe.

Stand up - move around - and close those $#*% AWESOME exercise rings.

Happy New Year!

giving thanks for the moment - and the memories

Last week, I received an email from a dear friend who asked if I could please send her the address to our new blog, because I'm no longer updating this one.  And then I realized its been more than three months since I've posted an update.  Time is going faster than a gallon of milk around here.



For the past several years at Christmas, Charlie has given to me "blog books" which are printed and bound blog postings that I've written since this blog's inception in March of 2006.   These books have been one of the most wonderful and thoughtful gifts I've ever received, because as much as I enjoy looking over all of our memories - so many of which I would have otherwise completely forgotten - I especially love watching our children read the stories.  This blog has been such a priceless vault of our family's history and I'm so thankful for it.

When the children were younger, I updated this blog almost every day.  Sometimes, I'd update it more than once a day and I was so grateful for the mental reprieve and friendships I made with people all over the world as I 'navigated' those younger days.  There was a span of time that I posted so frequently, there are a few years we have four blog books for a single year (or one every three months).  Back then, I couldn't imagine going an entire quarter without writing what was happening!

These days, I try to keep an inventory of the things that I want to write about, and sometimes - I'll steal a moment to sit and capture my thoughts only to realize that it's been so long since I've last logged on, I need to reset my passwords, and upload photos and oops, that password needs to be reset too, and suddenly the whole effort is requiring more time than I have and is digging in to important time that I need to spend in this moment with my people.  By the time I figure out what I need to do to log on, and get my thoughts straight - they're standing in front of me, talking about .... something? ... and I lose all focus.

It might help my writing if the children slept like they used to, but the thing is - they're always awake.  They're always around.  They never nap anymore.  They go to bed minutes before I do, and usually wake up at approximately the same time, if not earlier when they fly out of bed and rush the refrigerator because they're always hungry.  They're always growing.  And I'm always trying to maximize my time spent with them.

It's a sight to behold how Carolyn is rapidly closing in on 6'0, while William has grown two inches in less than three months.   At this blessed moment in time, only Elizabeth and Henry are still shorter than me, and as a result, I pull them on to my lap, constantly.  I can't do that with William and Carolyn anymore because I can't breathe.  But I get them other ways, because no one around here escapes the mama cuddles.

We'll sit at our kitchen table and talk (and eat), and play board games (and eat), and read stories (and eat). They tell me about what is happening in their worlds and I soak it up.   Neighborhood kids are coming and going at a constant rate.  One rainy day last weekend, we had 12 children in our home playing an assortment of games.  When there was a break in the weather, they flew outside to play hide-n-seek.  It's so awesome to see their energy and excitement about .... life.

I've got my eye on when they're flying the nest ... and I see it happening.  Carolyn is talking about where she wants to go to college;  Elizabeth was up at the crack of dawn this morning to run with girls from her cross-country team; and yesterday, William informed me he and his friends walked down to the local grocery store to try everything the food demonstrators were offering because as eluded to above, teenagers love to eat. All. The. Time.  Henry is taking a serious interest in his hair and has decided that he wants to let it grow out.  I just snapped off this picture of him as he prepares to make breakfast on this Thanksgiving morning.  (He clearly needs longer pants and/or darker socks and/or boots.)



Also in this very moment, William is perched over my shoulder in his Spiderman onesie, eating a bowl of yogurt and fruit, and so happy to see I'm updating The Amazing Trips.  "Mom, I love your stories! They're so awesome!"

As I tell our children daily: we make the time for things that are important to us.  This blog is important to me and our family, and I must do a better job keeping it updated. I just wish I didn't require as much sleep as a teenager.

Thank you, Mrs. Dunnigan for the nudge.  Happy Thanksgiving!  xoxo