a $1.75 lesson in compassion

There's a lake near our home that in addition to having a miniature railroad and golf course, offers the most wonderful free children's concerts during the summer months.



A few weekends ago, we headed over to catch the free concert on Saturday, while Charlie stayed home and finished building the tree house. Following the show, when the temperature peaked 90 degrees, I took the children to the lake's store for an ice cream cone. As we sat in the little parlor, a man walked in and yelled, "DIET COKE! DIET COKE!"

I could immediately tell that he was mentally handicapped, as could our four children whose eyes nearly bugged out of their head to witness a grown man yelling in a public place.  Two steps behind the man was a woman, who appeared to be his aide. She was trying to calmly reason with him but he didn't want to listen. While she was whispering, "William, William ... I have your lunch. Come on now, let's go outside so you can eat it..." he grabbed his head in his hands and started pulling his hair while rocking back and forth and continuing to yell, "DIET COKE! DIET COKE!"



My children were uncomfortable. 

Who was this man? 

What was he doing? 

Why was he yelling? 

Elizabeth looked up at me and in a barely audible whisper asked, "Mom, can we leave now?" While I understood her tension, I knew that if we went outside with ice cream cones in 90+ degree temperatures, the ice creams would melt before we could eat them and having just spent $16.00 on four little cones - I didn't want for that to happen.  So I told her that we'd leave as soon as everyone finished and in the meantime, let's take a moment and say a prayer for William and his helper that is so gently trying to care for him.  We have a neighbor who has a severe mental handicap. The love, patience and care that her family dotes upon her is a beautiful thing to see.  And here was a grown man, with the mental capacity of a toddler, and a young woman half his size that was unsuccessfully trying to help him.  It was difficult to watch.



Several minutes went past and William who was still demanding a "DIET COKE!" stood up from his chair and then sat down in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed, "DIET COKE! DIET COKE!" he yelled.  A look of defeat washed over his helper's face.  There was no way she was going to move the 200+ pound man off the floor without his consent.  She summoned additional helpers and none of them knew what to do, either.   I tried to think what I'd do if I was in their situation, so I approached them and quietly asked if I could buy him a small Diet Coke? Maybe it would lure him off the floor? They weren't so sure because he has dietary restrictions.

After another few minutes, as our children finished their ice cream cones - which took them longer to consume than under normal conditions because they were distracted by William and his want of a Diet Coke and when children aged eight and six are distracted, they lose track of all other things in the world, including the ice cream cones in their hands ... I went to the cashier to purchase bottles of water.  While I was there I decided that I'd go out on a limb and buy William a small Diet Coke.  With a drink and straw in my hand, I approached the helper and said, "Here, maybe this might help?" 

Her eyes flashed with gratitude.

She turned to William and said, "William, look! I have a Diet Coke for you!  Can you please stand up and sit at the table outside with the rest of our class?"  He crossed his arms a little tighter and rolled his head around in a circle. After another minute or so, while I realized my idea had flopped and wondered if they were going to have to call the paramedics, he suddenly flew off the floor, snatched the cup and straw from her hand and said, "OUTSIDE! DIET COKE OUTSIDE!" before he bolted out the door.



When we came home from our outing, our children told their father about what had happened and they were so excited to think that we'd helped William by purchasing him a Diet Coke.  Charlie then told us a story, which he'd read about earlier in the week, and which we'd not heard before of a mentally handicapped man who died after resisting the police when they tried to arrest him for changing movie theaters.  

My children pondered this story for a while, before my William said, "That poor man. Maybe they should have just let him watch the movie again?  I mean, how much money would it have cost for another ticket?" Since then, he's taken to carrying his little wallet with him whenever we go out, just in case an opportunity presents itself where he can help someone with his hard-earned chore money.

That's my little man. 



And just when I think I can't love him anymore than I do.

the art of breathing

This past Wednesday night (early Thursday morning), I started a blog post (that I never published) about being on my own this week with the children since Charlie is on a business trip in California.  The post went in to great detail about how Wednesday, despite the fact that I'd been so jazzed about having a few days - on my own - with the kids, it was one of the WORST parenting days ever.

In a nutshell, here's why...

I dropped Charlie off at the airport and headed over to Costco to shop for school supplies before we went to gymnastics. If I could accomplish purchasing school supplies in early August - I'd be a rockstar, if only in my own mind, because most of the time I don't get around to buying school supplies until AFTER the school year begins. Also, for the next four weeks, we'll be very busy including several trips out of town, so I wanted to get it done while I had the chance and not leave it to Charlie to accomplish on his own. Most importantly: acts of service is my love language so this was a demonstration of my love for my husband.

So, we arrived at Costco at noon.

First and foremost, don't go to Costco at noon. Perhaps it was the lunch crowd filling the store, trying to get in and pick up a few things during their lunch hour - and grab a quick bite to eat - but the volume of people was comparable to the Saturday before the Super Bowl.

Second and secondmost, don't go to Costco looking for school supplies. Sure, they have them. Or at least some of them. But they aren't neatly organized like they are at some place like Office Depot where you'd be happy to pay twice as much because they're ALL TOGETHER.  At Costco, you'll find your pack of 16 marble covered notebooks on aisle 113 and the Lysol wipes on aisle 322 which is at the each opposite side of the store. And while this may not be a challenge ordinarily - if you're on your own - it is a BIG challenge when you're in the store with four hungry children and gymnastics that starts in less than 90 minutes.

Third and thirdmost, when you're in a rush, don't order an entire pizza at the Costco food counter. Instead opt for the slices because even those are more expensive than the "whole pizza deal" you can get those in an instant as opposed to the whole pie which will take at least 20 minutes to cook which feels like 2,000 minutes when you have four ravenous children and things to do.

All this to say: Expectations. They are the death of my peaceful attitude, every time. Whenever I approach anything, especially in parenting, with heightened expectations for myself and/or my children, I'm destined for failure.

After realizing after an agonizing 30 minutes that I couldn't possibly do my school supply shopping at Costco, we jetted over to Office Depot where I was able to procure 95% of the items on our list in less than 30 minutes.  Think Warner Brother's Roadrunner zipping around the store while throwing things in to the cart.


Beep! Beep!

The children, meanwhile, were asking, "Why do I have to have that ugly black / red / green notebook?  Why can't I have the one with the robot / hearts / baby ducks on the front?" and I tried to explain that the teacher specifically indicated that they needed these exact notebooks without any cartoons or logos and they all protested, "Awwww! Come on!"

Ditto to the pencil box question. Why does it have to be solid? Why can't it be the metal one with Iron Man; Princess; Puppies?  "Awww. Awww. Awww. This is terrible!" they told me.

I was ruining my children's school year before it even started. 

With nearly all of our school year goods supplied for three 3rd graders and one kindergartner, we went to gymnastics. I dropped off William and Elizabeth and took Carolyn and Henry with me to the gym so I could work out for a blessed 30 minutes.  (Henry's on the waiting list to join a class, and Carolyn is no longer in gymnastics. She despised it, and was miserable for two full sessions before I finally consented that she didn't have to do it anymore. And with my decision went the dream that all of my children will be engaged in the same sport. It would have been so convenient for ME if it had worked out that way. Why is it that the children can't think more about ME and my needs??)

I'd like to note that this is the first time I've been to the gym all month and my theory is that I need to go at least once a month in order to rationalize maintaining the $166/month membership.

(I've got delusions of grandiose, obviously, that one day I'll be in good shape again.)

Following the gym I went to pick up William and Elizabeth with one Henry and one Carolyn who were VERY UPSET about having to leave the gym because they were having fun. And even though I explained that we needed to get their siblings who would otherwise be sad and alone, it no matter because the world?  It revolveth around themeth and likely more than it should around meeth too, because otherwise I should have been able to better rationalize with my children why we needed to leave at that exact moment.  Instead, there were more protests of "Awww. This is terrible!" 

We arrived at gymnastics.  Children were bickering. It's my fault, of course, I know I could have managed this entire day better by just taking them to a park and letting them loose, but whatever, STOP BICKERING. At around that moment, Henry was crying because Carolyn was being mean and the reason she was being mean was because Henry was being a pill. I told them to LOVE one another and hold hands to the car, but instead Carolyn pinched him and who knows what happened and he cried, cried, cried.

I'm not sure what transpired, all I remember is that we were in the car and in the rearview mirror, I could see that there were dirty looks being given to one another and tongues being stuck out, and because I just couldn't tap the reservoir of patience that I know exists in my heart, I pulled the car off the road and snapped, "Is this how you show love or hate?  Do you want me to show you what hate looks like? Do you not understand I grew you in my body and delivered you and nursed you from my breasts and you made me bleed? WHAT IS THE JOB OF A MOTHER?" They started to answer, before I cut them off and finished, "The #1 job of a mother is to teach her children RESPECT AND KINDNESS AND LOVE TOWARDS EACH OTHER and how am I supposed to do that when you act like monsters?" Then I rambled on and on about how they have the propensity to try me to my core and why do they insist on pushing their mother over the brink of reason?

WHY? WHY? WHY? 

If none of this sounds challenging to you - and you're wondering why I can't just get a grip and be more of a grown-up, then I'll just kindly suggest that you haven't been out alone in public, running errands, for a full day with four children under the age of nine, in an unmedicated state, in more than a decade.

By the time we arrive home, all four of the kids are crying - which seldom occurs at this stage in life.  And because at that point I must have been partially brain impaired from the lack of oxygen in my body from my panicked breathing all day, I thought it would be a good idea to sit down and work on their workbooks once we arrived home before dinner.

That's right. After a full day of running errands, instead of letting the kids loose to blow off some childhood steam, I sat them down do to MATH because it had been several days since they'd done anything academically related and we've got to keep those brains lubed!

I should have known this was an idiotic idea and retracted my plan once I saw that it took them 30 minutes to do one question.  But no, I couldn't see the forest through the trees so we mustered on.

Not surprisingly, I got so frustrated when my children seemed to forget how to count. The specific exercise that sent me over the ledge was to write out what one dollar plus a nickel and a penny was equal to ($1.06).  My rationale was that our kids have been working with money all summer and this isn't new material. The other rationale is that the two preceding answers were $1.04 and $1.05.  So if you were to look at the question and just think about it - a little bit - you'd easily be able to tell that the answer was $1.06.

Alas, for 30 minutes ... THIRTY MINUTES ... every time I'd pop in (between dinner preparations) to see how the homework was progressing, I'd see that my child would be writing things down like, $6.06. Or $1.16. Or $1.0006 and I damn near lost my mind when this continued to happen even after I methodically wrote it out on paper and showed how the decimal place remains the same and they said, "Oh yeah! Oh yeah! I totally get it!!"

So I freaked out and said things that I'll regret for the rest of my life and I shouldn't have because my children know how to count and even if they don't ... SO WHAT??

Remember Jen?  The #1 job of a mother is to teach her children RESPECT AND KINDNESS AND LOVE TOWARDS EACH OTHER and how is she supposed to do that when she can't even demonstrate it herself, sometimes?

(Please excuse that little voice in my head, it follows me around everywhere.) 

I went to bed at nearly 3:00 AM that morning because I was up working on work. Carolyn crawled in to bed with me at 6:30 AM and told me that she couldn't sleep because she was thinking about what she wanted to be when she grows up. She sweetly asked me, "Mom, what did you want to be when you grew up?" And I looked my beautiful, precious child in the eyes and even with only three hours of sleep there was absolute clarity as I said, "I've known for as long as I've been alive that I wanted to be a mother when I grew up.  But not just any mother - YOUR MOTHER. And I'm so sorry that I said anything to hurt you and you are the most wonderfully, perfect blessing I've ever received and I pray that you'll forgive me for losing my patience."

Fast forward to today.

Today, I noticed that the days have been remarkably better which just supports my theory that people need to acclimate to being around children, full-time. They need to realize that you can't go out shopping on a hot summer day and expect that the children are going to happily follow along. But in my defense, it's definitely not easy to revert in to full-time parent status when you've spent the past several weeks with professional colleagues and then return to a houseful of children who need to be told 20 times to put on their shoes and to stop pinching one another.

We woke up this morning, had a wonderful breakfast and headed back to Costco for groceries.  Once we dropped a small fortune, we returned home, unloaded the car, had lunch, and went to the pool.  There, we met up with friends who invited us over to their home tonight for a s'mores party at 8 PM.

We left the pool at 6 PM, rushed home - showered and had dinner.  By the time we were ready to leave it was exactly 8 PM and the dog was missing. Someone had gone out earlier and he slipped out and now he was gone. Now under normal circumstances, we would have looked for the dog until we found him. But tonight, after looking for 20 minutes - I decided to leave the garage door open and go out ANYWAY because we live in an extremely quiet neighborhood that backs up to conservation land and he always comes back and I wasn't worried.  Also, good company and s'mores were waiting for us and those were two things that I really, really needed.

We arrive at the party, Carolyn is a wreck because Louie. Louie is her dog and the only reason we haven't said goodbye to Louie is because I'm worried what it would do to her.  She adores that dog, and he adores her - given the fact that he follows her everywhere and sleeps directly beneath her bed.

We make s'mores. Or rather, I make s'mores after prying (and/or blowing out) flaming marshmallows on the end of long sticks from little hands.

The kids retreat to watch a movie, and my friends pour me a glass of wine. Then they hook me up to this breathing / heart rate monitor system that they recently purchased through Heart Math and my very good friend, who is a PhD clinical psychologist was telling me about the importance of breathing and staying out of the RED ZONE.  Deep breathing is so important for your overall well being - including your heart rate and oxygen levels.

There's a lot more I could write about this, including that the company started as a means to help evaluate biometric readings for children who were struggling with math, but I'll cut to the chase that as I'm sitting there - sipping my wine and watching my breathing stabilize in the green zone (a very good thing) their phone starts ringing off the hook.

First it was Charlie - calling from California to tell me that neighbors were calling him on his cell phone because Louie was wandering all through the neighborhood and WHERE WAS I?

Then it was our neighbors calling - who had figured out from talking with Charlie that I was at this family's home that they tracked down through the school directory - and WHERE WAS I?

Everyone wanted to know if me and the children were safe, because why wouldn't we be home at 11:00 PM on a Friday night? Shouldn't the children be at home in bed, asleep?

Instead, I'm where? At a party drinking wine?? 

I looked at the little breathing apparatus in my hand as it turned from the relaxed green state, to the blue state, past red and proceeded to purple.  This is how I normally feel.  Which makes sense that I make so many poor decisions because I'm not breathing properly and my brain is devoid of oxygen when I need it the most.  You always hear people tell you to slow down and breathe and it can be tough to do when you're not consciously thinking about it (which can be tough to do when you have a lot of other things on your mind).  But this little device keeps track of it for you and reminds you with it's bright light display.  I think I need one.

In case you're wondering, at this moment, I'm safely at home. The children are happily tucked in to bed and soundly asleep after having one of the most fun evenings of their summer. The dog is asleep at my feet.  I'm breathing deeply and feeling relaxed.  All is well.   Except I'm out of chocolate, and Mama's got a serious hankering.

the health kick

When you have four children and a DVD player in the car, and two parents and something that is required from a store, it is so easy to suggest that one parent stay in the car with the four children and a movie - while the other parent runs in to the store for the errand.

But the more you do this, the more the children expect it - and soon, every time the car stops - the kids will ask, "So, what movie are we going to watch?"

Then one day you decide, "NO MORE MOVIES IN THE CAR." And you tell the children that from now on, whenever the car stops, they are going to partake in parking lot olympics. 

So you park in a far back corner of the lot where there are no other cars and you have everyone get out and practice their long jump.

"This is crazy!" they all say.

But you tell them, "It's not crazy. And also, we're eating watermelon for dinner from now on and starting each day with 16-ounces of fresh juiced kale." 

favorite thing friday: the bose knows

This past November, I was at one of my monthly chocolate and wine soirees with the neighborhood ladies, when I commented to the homeschooling mother with seven children that she always seemed so calm and relaxed.  How exactly did she manage to always have such a MELLOW disposition? Why was she not hoarse? Was she on medication?

Her response surprised me. She confided that no, she's not on medication ... instead, she has a fantastic pair of noise canceling headphones and every afternoon when the kids start getting rowdy, she'd put the children downstairs (or in some location where they would neither inflict nor receive any bodily harm) and then she'd slip on her headphones and listen to music, or a book on tape, while she painted in her art room.  She said it was like she was in her own little peacefully quiet world.

I thought she was pulling my leg until she showed them to me and let me try them on while she stood next to me and hit a pot with a spoon.

So I immediately thought of Charlie - who was home the majority of the day with the kids - and I thought about how my husband might really appreciate the ability to tune out the noise for a little while. My homeschooling mama friend told me that the headphones weren't inexpensive - I think she'd paid nearly $300.00 for her pair. But since my husband's birthday was coming up, I thought it would be the perfect gift.  However, given the value of the purchase, I thought it would be wise to at least first ask him what he thought of owning such a gadget.

When I asked him, he looked surprised, and I mistakenly assumed that he was thinking, "WHAT KIND OF PARENT would wear noise canceling headphones when they are supposed to be dutifully watching their children?" But after a few minutes, Charlie confessed that he already owned a pair but he uses them when he travels by air so he can get some work (or sleep) done on the plane. He then had a twinkle in his eye as he pondered listening to books on tape during the day.

"Hmmm, I never thought of that!" he said. 

Anyway, since I've been doing so much traveling, Charlie has loaned me his noise canceling Bose headphones which I think is extremely generous of him because if there's ever a time he needs some quiet during the day, it's probably when I'm out of town and he's going on day five of single-parent duty.   Nonetheless, I'll put them on as soon as the pilot allows the passengers to use electronic devices and they certainly do help filter out the noise of the engines and other noises on the plane. Like, say, people who think it's acceptable to have a boisterously loud conversation with their row mate at 2AM when flying to Washington DC from California.

The headphones also come equipped with a plug, so you can tap in to the onboard entertainment and watch movies, or listen to music in better sound than (what I think) traditional headphones offer.



But what I've realized is that while these headphones are great, they don't entirely block out the aeronautical noise and for my particular form of psychosis, that would be incredibly useful.  For as much traveling as I've done lately, I'd expect that my nervousness with flying would have subdued. It hasn't though.  Not at all. 

My thought is that if planes would only take off smoothly and fly in a perfectly straight line with no big banking turns or sudden jolts that make everyone on the plane gasp loudly = I'd be perfectly fine. What's not perfectly fine is when two other planes appear to be racing your plane to the runway for landing - like this one that is visible off our left wing on descent in to Chicago last week. Seconds later, another plane appeared off the end of our wing and I nearly passed out.



Also, I'm not a fan of the big turbulence when I'm on a little plane.

What's with all the crazy weather this past month, North American continent? 

On my most recent plane trip home this past Wednesday night, on a commuter jet out of Raleigh, with engines that couldn't maintain a constant RPM and sounded like my electric toothbrush that desperately needs a recharge, I closed my laptop, clasped my hands tightly and tried to imagine that I was on nothing more than a big bus traveling down a road with a few potholes.  22,000 miles above the earth's surface.  VRRRRRROOOOM .... vrooom, spluter, splutter, cough, cough, vroom.  VROOOMM!! 

Now that I look back, I'm certain that it was my prayers that kept us aloft.  Whenever I'd stop praying and would try to take my mind off things by looking out the window, or reading a magazine, the faltering engine noises would kick in and the plane would resume its jolty violent seizure across the stormy sky.

My next flight is in two weeks.

I've already started praying.

*******

(Note: This post is not a paid advertisement for Bose headphones. These are headphones that Charlie purchased, on his own volition and without my knowledge, and we both enjoy using them very much. I'm writing this post because I have a compulsion to share things that work well for us because maybe, just maybe, they might work well for someone else, too.  Over 'n out.) 

the courageous way

A few months ago, Charlie and I rented the movie, "The Way" through Netflix.  We both agree that it was one of the most powerful movies that we've ever seen. Here's an excerpt from the movie trailer,

Martin Sheen plays Tom, an irascible (definition here, yes, I had to look it up!) American doctor who comes to France to deal with the tragic loss of his son (played by Emilio Estevez). Rather than return home [with his son's remains], Tom decides to embark on the historical pilgrimage "The Way of St. James" to honor his son's desire to finish the journey. What Tom doesn't plan on is the profound impact that this trip will have on him. Though unexpected and often times amusing experiences along "The Way", Tom discovers the difference between "the life we live, and the live we choose." 

Soon, I'll post more pictures and commentary about my trip to the magnificent arctic last week. But before I do, I must mention that last week on July 24th, while I was far to the north in Canada, I heard news that there was a fatal train crash in Spain.  What I learned from the news reports is that the train was laden with people, many of whom were headed to the gathering in Santiago de Compostela to celebrate the Feast of St. James the Apostle which occurs every year on July 25th.  This is the very city that Tom, in the movie, ended up in following the grief pilgrimage that he embarked upon following the loss of his son and the gaining of a new perspective on his own life.

For days, weeks, and now even months after Charlie and I watched the movie, we have discussed the message that it carried directly in to our hearts.  In a nutshell, that message is to cherish what you have. Life is short, unpredictable, at times torturous, but most of all, it's beautiful. And we are incredibly blessed to be here ... even with all of its sham, drudgery and broken dreams.

***********

I work with a man named Felipe. He is in our Procurement group and before I first met him, people told me that he was very matter-of-fact. I'd been warned before I went to my first meeting with him that I needed to be prepared, organized, and efficient.  I had one opportunity to make a first impression and if I expected to garner his cooperation on a billion dollar project that would consume me for the next two years, that first impression had better be a good one.

So I met Felipe. And as people had predicted, he was very matter-of-fact. But I was organized and prepared and efficient.  I met with him several more times and each time, there was no indication that Felipe was anything more than an up and coming Procurement Manager for our corporation that had no time for small talk.   But then one day, while I was meeting with Felipe, another of our co-workers popped their head in to our discussion and asked how my children were doing? And Felipe, who had been intently focused on suppliers and budgets and all other things business-oriented, sank back in his chair and I watched a warmth wash over his face as he inquired, "Yes, please tell us, Jennifer ... how are your children doing?"  

What I learned in that very moment is that while Felipe is a remarkably successful business man, Felipe is first and foremost, a family man.  So I told him that my children, my then six-year-old triplets and four-year-old singleton, were doing very well. When Felipe heard that I had triplets he bellowed, "TRIPLETS?! YOU HAVE TRIPLETS?!" and then he roared with laughter at what he proclaimed to be "an incredible blessing from God!"  He was then compelled to share a bit about himself as he pulled out several pictures of his family, his beautiful wife and two equally beautiful children and he positively beamed with love and gratitude for what he considered to be HIS blessings from God.

Even though Felipe was soon promoted to a new role and I finished my project with a new Procurement manager, from that point on and to this very day, whenever I see Felipe around campus, he will greet me with a happy smile and a big hug as he excitedly inquires, "Jennifer, tell me! tell me! How are your beautiful babies?" 

Earlier this week, I was on a business trip in North Carolina.  While I was there, I learned that Felipe and his wife, Ana Maria, and their 17-year old daughter, Christina, had traveled to Spain on holiday to meet Felipe's son, Santiago, who had just completed the 500+ mile Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage. I should mention that Felipe's family are devout Catholics and Ana Maria works with the Diocese in nearby Arlington.  So while their son, Santiago, awaited at the train station to greet his family in Galicia for this joyous occasion, the train carrying his father and mother and younger sister, derailed when it's speed exceeded twice the limit on that stretch of track.

If I'd read any of the news articles that were scattered about the internet last week, I would have immediately recognized the name - and the face.  But for whatever reason, I had no knowledge that my friend and his family had been on that train, until this week. What I learned this week, is that Felipe suffered a broken nose and broken ribs.  His daughter, Christiana, suffered a broken leg. And Ana Maria, Felipe's beautiful 47-year old wife, was one of the two Americans (and one of the 79 people) who died as a result of her injuries sustained during the derailment.

It's interesting because when I heard the news last week about the crash, I felt sadness for the victims - especially given my abbreviated knowledge of the area and St. James Festival.  Why, this past weekend, my family lit candles at church for those who were affected by the tragedy.  But when I later heard that MY friend and "his blessings from God" were on the train ... well, it felt like I'd been punched.  The sorrow that consumed me was almost crippling. Since then, I've learned that Felipe is doing remarkably well - given the circumstances. He has reverted in to the focused manager that is organized and efficiently executing a plan for his family's return to the United States. But more than that, he is exerting his unwavering faithfulness in God and has become a model for those who know him - including many of the senior executives in our corporation.

It just makes me wonder how can I continue to be devastated when my friend is giving thanks for the time that he had with his wife? 

Coincidentally, last night Charlie and I watched the movie, "Courageous" and that movie (also) hit us so, so hard. (We're turning in to a bunch of cry babies.) If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend that you do and as you tightly clutch your box of Kleenex, allow yourself to be amazed by the awesomeness that is Javier, The Snake King.

I'm not sure when or how it's happened, but as we inch our way through our middle-aged years, Charlie and I find ourselves overwhelmed and grateful by the inspiring - and often heart wrenching - stories that we hear regarding the unsurpassable human strength that is fueled by faith.  When tragedy strikes and we wonder how it is that the survivors can actually survive (let alone breathe) - what we see is that so many people demonstrate "the way" with a grace that is unfathomable.

At 42-years of age, faith is finally the biggest tool in my tool box of life.

And it's in large part to unintentional teachers ... like my dear friend, Felipe.

north of the 60th parallel

This past Monday morning, I left at 4:00 AM for a trip to the Canadian Arctic.



Over the next few days, I'll post some of the pictures I took - but none of them will give this remote region of the world any justice.



I'm still trying to process what I've seen and experienced the past few days and the only word that comes to mind is amazed.



Amazed at the beauty and sheer ruggedness of such a place.



Amazed at the incredible remoteness.



Amazed at the plants and animals that have managed to thrive in such a harsh environment.



Amazed that across the 587,206 square miles (375,811,840 acres) ... there are a mere 42,000 people. Or, approximately one person per every 8,957 acres.



Amazed that the pioneers who ventured in to this land and settled it - survived.



Amazed that people continue to trek north despite the fact that there are virtually no roads or means in and out - except by airplane or boat.

Amazed that people DO actually live there and have built small communities around themselves and are incredibly reliant on one another for survival.



Amazed at humanity's insatiable desire to explore and conquer.



Amazed that the vast majority of people will not have the privilege of experiencing what I just experienced.



Amazed that when I look at a map of the world, I was practically at the top of it.

'round the world in 90 days

In my new role as a technical advisor, there is considerably more business travel than I've experienced previously in my life.  Within the past month, I've flown to Texas and California.

This is some of the fine cuisine I enjoyed while in Houston (mmm Po-Boy and a cup of Gumbo)...



And here's the not-so-lovely view from my Houston hotel room.



I think I like the view of the California coastline better.

Was it really this beautiful when we lived there?



Tomorrow morning at 4:00 AM, I'm leaving our house, for a flight that departs at 6:15, for a week long trip to the Northwest Territories of the Canadian Arctic.  I'm most excited about seeing tundra for the first time and meeting a Polar Bear Hazer.  For those not in the know, a Polar Bear Hazer is a professionally trained person who will accompany us on our trip and will have a "Four Point System" for stopping any rogue and ravenous polar bears from attacking.  From what I understand, the first point is a bull horn alarm; the second is a bean bag shot; the third is a tranquilizer shot; the fourth is a lethal shot. While I'm not at all excited to actually see or have them use any of these four points - I am certainly intrigued that the very, very (very, very) slim chance exists.  I'm also glad that I know I can run faster than at least three of the people who will be accompanying me, should it come to that.



Later this month, I'll be traveling to North Carolina on a business trip and then next month I'll be back in Texas. Within the fourth quarter, I'm slated to be in at least six other US states, Europe, Australia and Canada - again.  Outside of my trip to Hawaii in 1993, I've never left the North American continent.  Whenever I crossed the border to Mexico or Canada, I'd beg them to stamp my passport so it would at least appear like I've done some international travel.  But in my limited experience, our neighbors to the north and south don't even stamp passports. So when I just submitted my passport for renewal, the only stamp that I'd received for the past decade, was a stamp from our trip to the Bahamas in 2003. On a clear day, I think you can see the Bahamas from Florida, so I don't think that really counts as exotic travel.



I just wish there was some way that I could bring Charlie and the children with me on all of these adventures.  But I suppose with all the traveling I'll be doing between now and the end of the year, I'll have accumulated enough frequent flier miles that bringing them with me could be a real possibility, next year.  Until then, I'll just fly around on my own and hope with every fiber of my being that the plane (and pilot) does exactly what it / they are supposed to do upon take off, flight and landing.

For as much as I love the thought of travel and adventure - and even though I've passed my 38th year relatively unscathed - I'm still a very nervous (and palm sweaty) flier and after my trip home from California last week, where we were two hours late departing out of our connection in Denver because of the weather and then hit such bad turbulence that people around me were praying and grabbing and filling their air sick bags, I've solidly decided that flying definitely isn't one of my favorite things to do. Especially when I can see the wings rattling and fully expect to see one of them SNAP OFF at any moment as we fall 37,000 feet down, down, down.  



Let's just hope that doesn't happen on any of the eight flights I'm scheduled to take over the next five days.  On a happier note,  I'll rake up almost 10,000 frequent flier miles this week alone and I'll be that much closer to flying and freaking out with my precious family!!

honeysuckle

Along the banks of the Reedy River in Greenville, South Carolina, there are the most fragrant honeysuckle bushes. When I was 10-years old, I remember my friend teaching me how to pluck the flowers and suck the nectar out of the funnel-like bottoms.



A few weeks ago, I spotted a honeysuckle bush growing in our neighborhood and the sight of those yellow and white flowers was a blast from the past. I excitedly explained to the kids how I used to love honeysuckle when I was a child. Now, whenever we ride our bicycles past the bush, the kids jump off their bikes and hunt for flowers just like I used to do. These really are sweet memories in the making.

favorite thing friday: she shoots, she misses; she shoots again, she scores (she = me)

My mother can be very difficult to buy a gift for and has a reputation for returning presents.  Every so often, I land a great present that my mom loves. For example, in 1994, I bought my mother a pair of Teva sandals for Christmas, and you'd think I'd given her the Holy Grail. I've never in my life seen her so excited.  She screeched and squealed and danced around and there were tears of joy. I think she was more excited about those sandals than she was when I told her I was expecting triplets.

But for every one great gift I give, it seems I drop at least five bombs.

Last year we bought my mother and iPad for her birthday. While I didn't have one myself, I thought they were the coolest things and I really thought my mother would enjoy it.  Imagine my surprise when she opened the box and huffed, "What's this? Oh pfft! I don't need this. I have no idea how to use one of these things ... here, take it back."

Wait. What?  It's a brand new iPad, Mom. One of the most magnificent inventions ever?

Coveted the world over? 

Mom didn't want anything to do with it and I could tell the mere sight of it made her punchy. Which probably had more to do with her being upset that I'd spent a lot of money on a gift for her, and not due to the fact that she had an Apple product in her living room (rest assured, Steve Jobs).  So I defeatedly returned it to the sparkling white Mac store cinch sack and considered taking it back to the store. But then I started using it and the next thing you know, I'm the proud owner of an iPad! Yay me!

Over the past year, I've come to really love my accidental iPad and I know, just know, that my mother would love it too if she'd just give it a chance.  The whole idea of her not knowing how to use it is preposterous.  There's really nothing to know except how to push the button. So this year for my mother's birthday, I bought my mother an iPad mini.  Maybe the smaller less expensive sized version would be easier for her to swallow, figuratively speaking.  Especially if I wrapped it up and presented it to her in a Teva shoe box.

As she was opening her present, she was telling her friends that were gathered 'round how last year I'd bought her an iPad and she gave it back to me because, really?! What does a 79-year woman know about that kind of crazy technology?  Then she pulled out the iPad mini and huffed, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? You did it again?!" and I explained, "No, I didn't do it again, I got you the SMALLER one this time and trust me Mom, PLEASE TRUST ME ON THIS, you and your 80-year old self will LOVE it."

William, who was standing behind me whispered, "Hey Mom, if she doesn't want it again and gives it back ... can I please have it? Pretty please?"

Son, not now.  

I was determined that this gift would STICK. So for the next two hours, I showed my mother and several of her friends from Florida who had converged for her birthday surprise, how to work the iPad and by the end of the night I had them all convinced it really was the greatest gadget ever.  They've even invited me to come down to Florida next winter and spend a day with them teaching the ins and outs of the brand new iPads they all intend to purchase.

One day last week, I Face Time'd my mother on her iPad mini from our iPad. She was giddy to be looking at me - real time - on the tiny little device that she is also using to retrieve her e-mail and check recipes and take photos and videos and and live stream Netflix. While I walked around our house and showed her the girls who were in bed sleeping, and the boys who were in bed wrestling each other,  my mother told Jim's family (who were visiting), "Would you look at this? This is Jen! She's calling me from MY OLD iPad to MY NEW iPad! Isn't this amazing? I've never seen anything like this!!"



Yes M'am. It would appear we have a winner.

Don't tell me persistence doesn't pay off!

it's electric

Following the incident where Louie bit our neighbor's puppy, I called two professional dog trainers in order to have them complete an assessment of Louie.

Neither one of them called me back. So I met two dog trainers at two pet stores and told them about what has happened with Louie and asked for their advice about dog training.  Both of the dog trainers told me that Louie never ever should have turned on me and given his history of showing signs of aggression towards other dogs, they would strongly recommend that Louie be trained by a private trainer - in our home. That sounded like a great idea. If the dog trainers that offered private sessions would call me back. 

A few days later, we were at a festival in town and we met a private dog trainer at a booth she had set up. And she said she would come and do an assessment on Louie. So three weeks later, after trading several voicemails and e-mails, she came by our house.  When she came in, Louie ran over and jumped up on her and was so excited because peoplepeoplepeople he loves people!   Within a few minutes, the children had drawn him in to another room and were working with him on sit! stay! down! roll-over! while feeding him dog treats.  The dog trainer was duly impressed with our children's ability to direct him, and his obedience to their commands. 

Then the trainer told me a little about her training technique. I was expecting that she would be a dog trainer just like our last dog trainer was a dog trainer.  But now what with all the advances in technology, she uses what is effectively a shock collar that is controlled by a small hand held remote. She fit Louie with a demo collar and firmly said, "OFF!" when he jumped on her again while giving him a gentle (non painful) vibration. The next time he jumped, she again said, "No, OFF!" before cranking up a little juice on the collar.

Because she'd allowed me to feel the voltage of electricity that she'd be subjecting our dog to before she but the collar on him, I knew what he was feeling and it wasn't entirely pleasant. 

Once she zapped him, he immediately obeyed and stopped jumping. Not only that, but he seemed to become more attentive to her and what she was directing him to do. Sit, stay, down, heel. When she walked out the door to her car, she had control over his every move.  I could see that the possibilities with this thing were endless, not just for the dog - but for our children and difficult co-workers - and I couldn't wait to be her next customer! 

But then the trainer told us her pricing schedule. It would cost $300.00 for the electric dog collar and $600.00 for her to train us how to use it. Alternatively, we could purchase the collar and send Louie away with her for 14 days so she could work with him, and return to us a completely obedient dog at the end of two weeks.   The cost for that package was $1,600.00. Plus the price of the collar.  

When she went out to her car to get us a sample of some dog food that she uses, I pulled out my iPad and did a quick search for electric collars.  Within five seconds, I found an almost identical collar for $150.00 and it came with a book.  I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but I know how to read. So for a savings of $750.00, I could buy a collar and learn how to use it on my own. 

Of course during that two-minute internet search, I saw all kinds of stories about how electric collars are animal cruelty and the lazy way out of training your dog.  But then I saw that my friend, Cesar Milan, has endorsed using them in certain circumstances, and then I thought about the Invisible Fence that we were thinking of getting and how it works on the same premise, and then I decided that fitting Louie with an electric dog collar was probably LESS animal cruelty than shipping him back to the shelter - so we told the dog trainer "We'll think about it..." 

Then we bought our own "e-collar" and had it shipped to Michigan so we could bring Louie with us on our trip. Granted, we were a little hesitant to use the dog collar in front of Eileen's friends, especially her friend who is a veterinarian for fear of what they might think. But as soon as her friend, Tom the Vet, saw the dog collar he said, "Hey! We have that one, too! Isn't it the best?!" 

The dog collar really was impressive and we could see a dramatic improvement in his behavior with just the stimulation, not even the "shock" component.  Last year on our trip to Michigan, Louie ran away from us several times and was a pulling nightmare on leash.  This year, he never left our sides. All in all, things were going great. 

Until.   Elizabeth approached him when he had just stolen a rawhide from his dog-cousin, Star.  I was sitting right there and was watching when Elizabeth went up to Louie and with her hand outstretched, tried to pat his head. He eyed her for a second and then he growled and yapped, yapped, yapped at her.  So I flew out of my chair and I grabbed him by the collar and I brought him downstairs, and a very teary Elizabeth followed me, as I had him lay down. Then I had him roll over.  As he lay on the ground, on his back in a passive position, I had Elizabeth give him the rawhide and then take it away.  We repeated this several times and all the while I had my hand on that zapper because if he so much as showed one tooth to my child, I'd turn him in to a POODLE. 

Two days later, Charlie was on the ground stretching and Louie came in for a pat. As Charlie was patting Louie, Star - who is completely harmless - entered the scene and growled at Louie. Star grows at everything, though, including her own shadow.  Maybe it was because Charlie was in the middle of it, Louie growled at Star and then nearly lunged at her, and Charlie had to grab him by the collar and flip him over on his back. My mind was instantly made up.  

Louie has to go. NOW.  This instant. 

It's not worth the risk. It's not worth the anxiety. It's not worth the stress. 

That night, Emily came home from college. Remember Emily? Our sweet Emily Rose who we nearly lost two years ago when she had a terrible bicycling accident?  Well, she just finished her junior year of college and is interning at a hospital and planning to pursue a career in medicine. 

Just as I'd suspected! 

Anyway, Emily loved Louie. And Louie loved Emily. She swung him up in to her arms and he nuzzled her face and I couldn't believe it.  As she sat with him in her lap for the rest of the evening, Emily's good friend told us that her beloved 13-year old black lab had just died the week prior. So I asked her if she'd like another dog, another dog that looks just like a black lab puppy except he is already housebroken and will never get any bigger, and she said YES.



Then she called her father and her father said, YES.  And her sisters said YES.  So Charlie and I mentally prepared ourselves that Louie would be staying, forever, in Michigan with a family that loves him and can focus all of their attention on him and our children will be sad, sure, but they'll quickly get over it when we bring home a dopy yellow labrador retriever named Daisy. Or Duke.  Or maybe Daisy Duke and we'll get a kitten named Luke and have flashbacks to corny shows from the early 80's.  

The next morning, the family called to tell us that their mother, who had been sleeping the night before when all this scheming had been going on, was now awake and she didn't want another dog. So they wouldn't be coming for Louie after all. 

Ugh. Rationale women.  They always throw a wrench in things. 

So Louie is still with us.  He is doing well and hasn't shown any other signs of aggression and is walking beautifully - both with and without a leash - and will come and sit and stay and heel and lay down and roll over and children are putting things in and taking things out of his mouth and I don't know if I really believe he's a changed dog or if he could flip at any moment?

My co-worker told me that I was an IDIOT for getting a puppy and it took almost two years for him to not want to abandon his dog somewhere.  Maybe what we've been going through with Louie is just puppy stuff? He's had a track record of being snippy, but maybe he's outgrowing it?  Or maybe I'm a dope and I'll kick myself when he bites someone and say, "Just as I'd suspected!" Or maybe Louie really has grown past this stage of defiance and at some point in his life he'll pull a total Lassie stunt and do something amazing to save our lives. 

While I think about these things and wait for a potential new owner to find us, we're keeping him and contemplating how his behavior really has seemed to change over the past few weeks and the only word that can be used to describe that transformation is shocking. 

No pun intended. 

toasted coconut are my favorite

While we were in Michigan, my sister hired a personal trainer to come to the house and give us a workout.  The personal trainer's name was Duncan and he was chiseled. 

The first day that he came by, I was eagerly thinking, "I can do this ... I can so totally do this!" so I did it and the next day I couldn't really do much of anything except breathe because every inch of me hurt.  The next time Duncan came to the house, I'd been up the night before thinking I might die from a raging virus, so I took a pass on bringing that thought of dying to fruition right there on my sister's front lawn.  As for the rest of the group, they subjected themselves to another round of torture while my mother and I sat in comfy chairs and took pictures.  Here's the group is scrambling as fast as they could up and down the hill like crabs. Oh, this might look easy enough ... but trust me, it's not. Especially the 12th time you do it.



Here's the group with beach towels, saturated with lake water, that they had to vigorously swing around...



... and then toss to each other.



The first group started to run in the water - raising their knees above the water line, while the second group had to pick up the pace on their towel saturation - throwing exercise, before shifting locations with the first group.



Then they ran around the sand, sped walk across the dock, jumped in to the water, and did some kind of alternating exercise of jumping and swishing before they did another lap.



They dug deep holes in the sand using their forearms, and then made piles of sand in a circular motion, before smoothing it out and digging more holes, 'round and 'round.



After 45 straight minutes of this fitness fun, they wrapped it up by doing several dozen donkey kicks and jump push-ups in the water.



When they finished everyone showed off their biceps and shouted, "Bodies by Duncan!!" So I held up my not-quite-so-impressive bicep and shouted back, "I have a body by Dunkin, too. DUNKIN DONUTS!" 

It was quite funny at the time, but now it sounds kind of pathetic.

the family with 12 red shoes

What can I say ... the shoe store was having a big sale and now our whole family has a pair of red Vans.  Next, we'll be buying matching skateboards.

and the moon did shine

For the past several years, my mother and Jim have rented a beach-front condo in Florida. The condo immediately next door is owned by a couple, Kate and Rich, and each year during the winter months - they lend the condo to Kate's mother and stepfather, so they can escape the chilly Connecticut winters.



My Mom and Jim are very close friends with Kate's mother and stepfather...



While my sister, Eileen, and her husband, Clark, have become best of friends with Kate and Rich.





They've forged such a strong friendship, that Kate and Rich have traveled to Michigan several times for various parties and events that Eileen and Clark have hosted.  Their travels for the 4th of July were the third (or fourth) time that they've been to my sister and brother-in-law's house in three years.

Kate and Rich are a fun, fun couple.



They're a sampling of some of our friends who are living an intentionally child-free existence and have traveled extensively around the world and are enjoying life and each other, as much as possible.  Now I mention this because on or about Day 3 of our trip to Michigan, Eileen informed us that Charlie and Rich would be having a Pizza Cook-Off and all the people in attendance, over the age of 10, were to serve as the judges.



Charlie loves to cook and is quite good at it.



Rich also loves to cook and he is quite good at it, too.  The difference between the cooking skills of these two men is that one cooks in order to serve food as quickly as possible to four constantly hungry children ... whereas the other has been known to take several days off from work (three to be exact) so he could perfect a specific dish.



And that specific dish turned out to be his fig, date, chicken, broccoli, goat cheese pizza and while I was unsure how exactly this would turn out .... Sweet Caroline, it wound up being the best pizza I've ever tasted in my life.



Now for a quick backstory... 

When I first met Charlie he was running for the President of the Geology Club and was telling people that he was buying votes. As a poor college student, I was completely broke so I told him that of course I'd vote for him ... if the price was right.  We both laughed because he wasn't actually serious about the bribe, and I wasn't actually serious about my vote.  You see, I'd promised my vote to Charlie's opponent - this student named Adam - who I'd met earlier in the day when he asked if I'd vote for him and I'd already told him yes.

If I recall correctly, there were around 100 people that voted on that election. And on the day of the election, when they tallied up all the votes, Charlie wound up with 98 and Adam wound up with 2.  Charlie won on the premise that he was the coolest guy in the Department, he was smart, handsome, outgoing, funny, athletic, and an all-around respectful gentleman.  He was Captain of the Softball team, financed the pizza parties after every game, and threw outrageous Halloween parties. Adam was a nice enough guy, but he was no Charlie. 

I'd never divulged to the man who would become my boyfriend, fiancé, husband and father to my children that my vote was promised to someone else.  Until ... the first night of our honeymoon.



Charlie and I were sitting at a romantic candlelit dinner on Nantucket Island, reminiscing about how we first met and fell in love.  Charlie told me that he fell in love the moment he laid eyes on me when he was bribing people for votes.  And I told him that I fell in love the minute I watched the way he interacted with people. Then we talked about the election and my new husband speculated on the results.  He pondered aloud, "I've always wondered who the other person was that voted for Adam. I mean, I know he was one of the votes ... but who was the second?"  

So I nibbled on some bread before sheepishly telling him that it was me, his new bride that cast the vote for his opponent. Charlie was stunned. "Really?" he kept asking me. "You're kidding, right?"

Even now, I can remember that feeling of betrayal. It was terrible, me voting for another man. Some might ask, "How were you to know that you'd wind up marrying Charlie?" I didn't, of course. But I do know that when I voted for Adam, it just didn't feel right.  My mind said one thing, my heart said another and if there's one thing I've learned in life it's that you should always follow your heart.

Since then, I've sworn that I'd never vote against my husband again.  And I'm happy to report that I kept my promise. Unfortunately, the rest of the crowd that was gathered on my sister's patio slowly sipping Moonshine, didn't share my sentiment and Rich's pizza won by a landslide.  Here's Charlie getting a group hug...



After lamenting that his pizza looked SO SQUARE.



"I don't understand! How did you get your pizza so round?" he kept asking, incredulously.



Kate said that she sat on it, but I think (or rather, hope) that was the moonshine talking.