Believe In Your Potential To Pop

I’ve spent part of my morning doing something I don’t do often enough, reading other blogs. I recognize that I am part of a community of writers on WordPress, but in my daily struggle to find enough headspace to write and publish one post of my own, I usually neglect to read others’ works. It’s not a great plan, honestly, because other writers can provide food for thought, inspiration, and unexpected wisdom. I recognize I need to employ the Ted Lasso way of being. I need to be more curious with regard to other people. I am already a curious person regarding most things, but I’ve never been very curious about others because my childhood taught me human beings are unreliable and not necessarily worth my time or trust. This year, however, I decided to take more risks and that includes taking more risks in my experiences with others.

I found this quote today while reading someone else’s blog, and I thought it was brilliant.

I wish I had seen this quote when our sons were young and I was trying to figure out why they couldn’t do what other children their ages were doing. Parents read the What To Expect series of books about childhood development and, if our children don’t measure up according to the charts and graphs, we immediately assume something is “wrong” with them. There is nothing wrong with our children. They are simply on their own path. Some will be on target with the milestones in those books and some will not. They are individuals, and individuals come to this life with their unique set of gifts and challenges.

Because my sons are mostly grown now, I am looking at this quote with a different perspective. I learned that lesson about my kids, that they would eventually find their stride on their separate and beautiful path. It never occurred to me when I was giving my children the grace to get where they were headed in their own time to do the same for myself. From the beginning, I’ve imposed unnecessary, stringent guidelines on myself with regard to what was appropriate in my life and when. I cried hard on my 25th birthday. Why? Because I was upset I reached that milestone without having my master’s degree. Shit. I’m still aiming for unnecessary and contrived goal posts. I wrote the other day about what a person my age “should” be wearing. I am an adult. It doesn’t matter what others think is age appropriate and acceptable for me to wear. It only matters what I feel comfortable in and what I feel makes sense for my life. I don’t even have a job with a dress code. I could wear a Disney Tigger costume every day if I felt like it and not get fired. (What would I fire myself for? Being too cute?)

We are all popcorn. Some of us don’t pop as children, however, so it’s unfair to put that expectation in place. We will pop in our own time or we won’t. There are those among us who will remain the same coming out of the pot as going into it. Maybe our goal should be not to worry about when the pop will happen but to believe instead we will reach that potential when we are ready. Some of us might just need a little extra time in the pot to get there. Patience is key here. Don’t count us out.

Posted on 09/04/2022 by Me 1

Sadness Is On Me, But I Am Not Sad

Senior year for our youngest has flown by. I know this is how it works. Senior year is heartbreaking, expensive, and fast as hell. I tried to keep it together while standing there watching the photographer take his senior photos. I struggled when I had to compose his senior page for the yearbook. He applied to five private colleges (University of Denver, St. Olaf, Reed, Whitman, and Skidmore), received acceptances to all of them, and then committed to attending Whitman in Washington with his brother, which gave me a measure of comfort while still making me sad. With that decision made, I designed his graduation announcements. And today I created a graduation collage for display at his high school in May. Jesus help me. It feels like the universe is trying to break me.

I would like to think all of this is preparation so I can cry myself out before the actual graduation ceremony, but I know that is a false hope. Graduation is rapidly approaching. So I went ahead and made a countdown clock to the ceremony because I need to prepare myself. As of today, we are 60 days out, which means I have 60 days to cry myself free of tears lest I end up an ugly-crying, embarrassing, Alice Cooper look-a-like at the ceremony. I don’t want to be that momma. Luke deserves better.

I have a distinct memory of a time when Luke was around six months old and woke up in the middle of the night. I remember sitting with him in a rocking chair in our living room, rocking and waiting for him to drift back off to sleep. When Joe woke up in the night, I would get so frustrated about the sleep interruption. As he was my first and I was not used to missing out on sleep, it was a struggle for me to be present when all I wanted was some damn sleep. With Luke, though, I knew it would be my last time to hold my sleeping child, so I tried to focus on the moments, to appreciate that this little person needed comfort and I was that comfort. It’s such a different feeling now as I focus on my present moments with Luke because I know he is almost finished needing me. I suppose this is what drives the sadness I am feeling. We have come full circle, Luke and I. My baby is ready to launch. And although I knew this day would come eventually and have been preparing for it since Joe’s graduation, the reality of it happening now is something I’m not sure I would ever be able to prepare for.

So, perhaps, I will go to graduation and cry like the soft, mushy person I am on the inside because this too is part of the experience. I don’t have to like it. I don’t have to stay dry-eyed for it. I have to be there in it because there are only two constants in life, growth and change. Wait. I forgot taxes. So I guess that makes three constants. Growth. Change. Taxes.

I found this on Facebook the other day and it offers a different perspective of sadness:

So I am recognizing now that sadness is upon me. It doesn’t have to live here. It’s just here now. It doesn’t define me. I am not a sad person. I am a happy person with sad moments. And it’s okay to be sad sometimes. We’re meant to be sad sometimes. It means we’re fully experiencing what life offers. Sometimes we want it to be offering lollipops, unicorns, and rainbows, and it instead presents us with pain, overwhelm, and darkness. That is when we need to remember that if the sadness can be upon us, so too can the rainbows. I have 60 days to figure out how to find those rainbow-covered unicorns that hand out lollipops. If I can’t find one, maybe I’ll just have to become one. I’m sure the other parents would appreciate a lollipop at graduation. I think they’ve earned at least that.

Posted on 03/04/2022 by Me

The Box Of The Me Who Was And Is Still

I was going through a plastic tub of memorabilia today. It’s full of things I collected while growing up. I dug the box out of the basement hoping to find some remaining buttons from bands I liked when I was in high school. I did find some, definitely not as many as I had at one point, but some.

The box contains some items my mom saved from my childhood and then other items I held onto for myself. There is an album someone else compiled with cards given to my parents both when I was born and on my first birthday. There is a local newspaper with a photo of me in 1976 when I was 8 and won a coloring contest sponsored by a bank. For that feat, I earned a $25 savings account and a liberty bell bank. The headpiece to the veil I wore at my first communion is in there, as is the memory card from my confirmation and photos from church trips. There is my Brownie uniform, my Girl Scouts membership card, and all the Girl Scout badges I earned but never sewed on my sash. There are report cards from elementary school, junior high, and high school. There are two random field day ribbons, both for the high jump, one fifth place and one third place. There are the literary magazines I contributed to and edited in high school, along with information about the band trip I took to Florida my junior year. There’s a letter from my orthodontist about how to care for my braces. There are wallet-size photos given to me by friends in junior high with their written dedications to me on the back, along with some notes that they passed to me in classes. My eighth grade yearbook is in there, which is odd because the rest of my yearbooks reside in a separate box. There is the corsage I wore to prom. There is a Junior Passport for Disneyworld from 1983, cost $9.50. There are envelopes containing my ACT, SAT, and GRE scores. There’s the letter I received when I was waitlisted at the only college I applied to. So many parts of my life that would be forgotten if I hadn’t saved the specifics to remind me when I hit 50 and discovered my childhood memories fading like the ink on the photographs from my youth.

Of all the items I unearthed, among the poems, paintings, and artifacts, I found one that stood out. It was a note I wrote to my mother when I was 7 years old. On a morning when presumably she didn’t wake up in time to help get me ready for school, in my second grade handwriting and with my second grade spelling, I wrote a note so she wouldn’t worry about me when she woke up and realized I was no longer home. It read:

“Dear Mommy, I got Kathy and Julie quiet. I left the house. I wost up and brust my teeth. I got my cloths on. Rigth now Im in scool.”

I wrote my name at the bottom in case when she found the note it wasn’t completely obvious it was written by her seven year old and not her five year old or two year old.

Everything you need to know about me is contained within this short note. 1) I started my writing career early. 2) I have always been quite responsible and self-sufficient. 3) I look out for people I care about. 4) I don’t want to be a bother. 5) There’s a reason why I didn’t go into art.

I’ve changed a lot over the years, but the person at my core remains the same. I’ve been writing for too long to stop now.

Posted on 02/04/2022 by Me

Bless His Little Heart

A little over a decade ago, we had young children and a young dog. So it was a happy accident when we discovered that our border collie loved chasing the bubbles we blew with our kids. It makes sense. Bubbles float carelessly on the breeze, disorganized and wayward. They are a herding dog’s dream chase. I was pleased to learn that little herding dogs like to herd bubbles as much as their larger counterparts.

Herding bubbles is pure joy for Loki. He loves the chase and will stand on hind legs trying to reach one that goes too high. I found it so charming when our border collie, Ruby, ran after bubbles. She was so determined, focused, and dignified in her pursuit. But there’s a different energy when Loki does it. He’s fast, but his height is a hindrance. He’s accurate, but not always the most graceful. Still, his spirit is in it. You can see it in his eyes.

He tries so hard. Bless his little heart.

Posted on 29/03/2022 by Me

Loki’s Big Adventure

Loki enjoying some free time on the deck

Our seven month old corgi puppy has been getting more and more free time out and about in our house. We started with thirty minutes to an hour of supervised run around time. As time has gone on, we’ve worked to stop watching him so closely. Often, after an initial trek around the house to check out his usual haunts, he settles down with some toys and plays nicely by himself. So we have slowly allowed him more freedom.

Tonight we let him out after dinner and a visit to the yard. He did his usual rounds and then ran off towards Luke’s room behind Luke. With Luke watching Loki, I was free and so I went back to practicing my Italian on DuoLingo. Awhile later, I looked up and saw Luke at the kitchen counter. He and I began having a conversation. About five minutes into said conversation, it occurred to me. If Luke was in the kitchen, where the hell was Loki? Crap! We had a left our puppy unattended for at least five minutes. Do you have any idea how much damage a freaking corgi puppy named after the Norse trickster god can cause in five minutes? You should see what he can do in thirty seconds. Let me enlighten you. His usual run once he gets free is first to pull down all the dishtowels that hang in the kitchen. Then he runs straight for the hall bathroom where he unrolls some toilet paper and drags it through the house. Then he will tear over to the entry bench where he will grab any glove or hat someone has left behind and run away with it. After that it’s off to his toy bin from which he will pull every single toy out onto the floor. In. Thirty. Seconds.

We tore down the hall to Luke’s room and from the doorway we began to see the carnage. Some cardboard had been gnawed near the door. The roll of toilet paper that had been on the wall was shredded all over the bathroom floor. He then broke into Luke’s Closet of Shame (which is filled with Legos), and that was where we found him. We’re not sure if he ingested any Legos, but we’re impressed that he realized that plastic Legos were a higher value prize than the cardboard and toilet paper. As soon as Loki understood he’d been caught up to no good, he got a case of the zoomies and sped out of Luke’s room. When we finally managed to recapture him, he was panting heartily. And, if I’m being honest, looking a bit smug.

Puppies are something else. Loki is somewhere between a cranky toddler and a rebellious teenager right now. Sometimes he’s one, sometimes he’s the other. Either way, he earned his trip back to his pen after his free-for-all in Luke’s room. Loki tells other dogs he gets put into puppy jail after he tries new things. But, he’s just being dramatic.

Posted on 07/03/2022 by Me

On Simon, Anna, and Trust Falls

A few nights ago, my husband and I watched “The Tinder Swindler” on Netflix. I followed that up (while I was ironing, of course) with “Inventing Anna,” another Netflix show. I mean, who doesn’t love a good, juicy story about a conman/conwoman? When someone has the audacity (or mental illness) to buck society’s norms and use their friends, lovers, and coworkers as pawns in their own personal chess game, without any regard for what will happen to these people, we get curious. Curious about what makes them tick. Curious about how they planned and executed their cons. Curious about how their victims didn’t see it all as plain as the brown on a paper bag. Humans love a sensational story. If we didn’t, TMZ wouldn’t exist.

Much has been said about the naiveté of the victims of these hustlers. In the case of the Tinder Swindler, people have called his female marks slurs like gold diggers, idiots, and sluts. When we were watching the documentary, I admit I sat there agog that these women would send a man they had only known a matter of weeks photos of their passports. What on earth could they have been thinking? I remarked to my husband that in a million years I never would have done something like that when I was dating. I grew up feeling anxious and unsafe in my home environment, and there I learned I could trust no one but myself. As a young woman in the dating world, I was cautious and independent, so the idea of meeting a guy for coffee and then agreeing to hop aboard his private jet bound for another country seems insane to me. While these young women were thinking, “Oh…this is like a fairy tale movie,” I would have been thinking, “This is like a serial killer movie. He’s going to lure me to another country with his private jet and then murder me and dump my corpse there.” I mean, really. Fairy tale? Come on. And call me crazy, but a young, handsome heir to a diamond fortune doesn’t need to find women on Tinder.

Once I got over the preposterousness of it, though, I felt for his victims. They wanted to believe the best. They wanted to trust that this man was what he said he was, what he was actively working to present himself as. They were being flown all over Europe in private jets, wine and dined, presented with lavish gifts and attention. All of these things seemed legit. In the absence of skepticism and a stunted, cynical heart like mine, you are primed as a human for this trickery. So these women lost tens of thousands of dollars to him, and they are still paying off their losses.

Trust is necessary for people to coexist. For societies to work, we have to trust each other. We have to assume when we drive that other drivers will also pilot their vehicles according to the rules of the road and act to keep themselves, as well as others, safe. When we go to the hospital, we trust that the doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to help us. We trust our teachers to be kind and helpful. We trust our neighbors will be decent and responsible. When you don’t trust others, you limit your ability to participate in the world around you. Ask Vladimir Putin.

So as you watch The Tinder Swindler or Inventing Anna and find yourself being deeply critical of those who fell for the ruse, just remember the victims of these cons are not pathetic, gullible losers, but human beings doing what human beings do: trusting others and believing that good still exists in the world. Conmen have for millennia taken advantage of the human need to trust others. We use the term “snake oil salesman” as a cautionary tale for a reason. But we need to believe in the inherent good of others. Trust in others is part of what makes our survival as a species possible. It’s a shame there are those bad apples out there who insist on reminding us there is evil and unmitigated gall for our species to survive too. And it only makes for entertaining television when you aren’t the one who got dropped in their trust fall.

Posted on 25/02/2022 by Me

Cookies Are My Love Language

As I was once again making homemade chocolate chip cookies for my family today, I started thinking about love languages. Acts of service is at the top of my love language list. If I take time away from doing something I would like to do so I can do something for you, that is my expression of love. Making cookies is a perfect example of this. I am gluten free for health reasons and rarely eat baked goods or make gluten free baked goods for myself. Baking a batch Toll House cookies consumes about an hour and a half of my time in a day. So if I make you some cookies from scratch, you matter to me. End of story.

Out of curiosity, I went online and took the love languages quiz to see how the five love languages land in terms of importance to me. They went in this order: acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, physical touch. I sent this list to my husband and asked him to take the quiz as well. These were his results: words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time, acts of service, receiving gifts. Hmmm…it appears hubby and I might have to do a little adjusting so we can ensure we are meeting each other’s needs in the best possible way. It would appear I need to be more affectionate with him, and he will need to help me out a bit more.

People innately understand the love language of physical touch, even if it isn’t their thing. But, acts of service can be a bit confusing. It may sound crazy to say, “I know my husband loves me when he takes my car for its oil change or when he washes out his coffee mug so I don’t have to,” but those small acts make me feel worth the effort. It can be difficult to get people to understand how doing something small can make a big difference making someone feel appreciated, acknowledged, seen.

My sons will not be thrilled about this, but I have decided they also need to take the love language test so we can compare notes and make sure we are showing up for each other in the best ways possible. I might ask my sisters to take the test as well. I grew up knowing love mostly via an intellectual understanding of what love is supposed to be. I did not grow up in an affectionate household. Words of affirmation were few. I thought if my parents worried about me and made sure I had dinner to eat and clothing to wear that must mean they love me. Although I am certain my sons have experienced love from us (they have told us as much), I want to make sure that we are all doing our best to communicate our feelings in ways they can best be received and internalized.

The older I get, the more I have realized love is all there is in this life. Making sure the people who are important to me hear and can absorb my love for them is everything. What if my message isn’t getting through because I’m delivering it via a sub-optimal method? I think it warrants a conversation.

Posted on 22/02/2022 by Me 2

The Lost Boys And Girls

I have over the years written here about our sons and their struggles and triumphs with education. Joe was diagnosed with ADHD at 8, and then we discovered he also had some dyslexia-adjacent issues with math (dyscalculia) and writing (dysgraphia). When our youngest was 9, we learned he had severe dyslexia and needed immediate, intensive tutoring or placement at a specialized school to remediate these issues. It was hard to take in all this information as a parent. It was harder still to recognize and accept that our sons were atypical. They struggled to thrive in a traditional school setting. Whether we liked it or were comfortable with it or not, our sons needed something else.

To that end, we placed them in a special school for kids with learning disabilities. They started when they were in 4th and 6th grades, respectively, and they improved so much in this new paradigm that we moved them to a high school that allowed them to continue along this same pathway. Our recognizing and accepting our children as they were and where they were changed their trajectory entirely. We knew they needed help. We also knew we had no clue how to help them. So we found people who could.

Now, we were in the fortunate position to be able to afford a specialized education for them, and I recognize not everyone has the means we had to make a difference for them. Before we had them in private school, we used our insurance plan to get them occupational and speech therapy. After that, we tried private tutoring, but the overwhelm for them of trying to keep up in traditional school plus spend hours a week with a tutor was untenable. They were exhausted and frustrated with being “different.” So we looked for schools that would use school time for the catch-up help they needed. And, again, we were in the fortunate position to find not one, but two, such schools in our metropolitan area. These schools, with their student bodies comprised entirely of kids just like our boys, helped them see their own potential and proved to them that they weren’t anomalies. This made them feel capable and it taught them how they learned and how they could advocate for themselves to get what they needed in other settings as well.

I have been thinking a lot lately about how parents of younger children handled working at home and having their kids do school from home during the pandemic. I believe a lot of families have spent the past two years struggling with their children as they tried to learn and complete work at home rather than in the school settings they were accustomed to. I found a pers pective piece in the Washington Post that seems to suggest as much. I assume some parents, when witnessing firsthand their students learning at home, may have realized for the first time that their child or children have difficulties learning that they were unaware of. While it is hard to determine the exact number of atypical learners because not everyone who struggles has been properly diagnosed, the statistics run somewhere between 10-20% of all individuals. Not every child is cut out for traditional education. Some need something different or, at the minimum, some extra attention. And not every child will go on to higher education. Some children will excel at trade schools or art schools or in local, associates degree programs. There are many paths through this life, but every child should be getting the help they need to get through their formative educational years. No child should be struggling because they have brain differences that make learning in the traditional paradigm less than optimal.

Our schools are struggling. I read just today that an estimated half of teachers are looking for an off-ramp from their teaching careers. Not only do we need to attract more people to the teaching profession and increase pay to retain the quality teachers we have today, we also need to bring in professionals to help the kids who are getting lost, be it due to learning disabilities, poverty issues, or social issues. We are failing our children. Every day I am grateful our sons were to be born into a family where they were able to get all the extra help they needed to grow, thrive, and move forward with their dreams. I wish other children had the same access to the type of schooling our sons received. We have so many issues in our country right now, but the children who have lost time in their education due to Covid, who might also be battling other issues outside their control, will still need to launch into their futures someday. I hope we find solutions for them or this latest generation might come to be known as the lost generation.

Posted on 15/02/2022 by Me 2

The One Where I Haven’t Changed A Bit

I found these two old photos today while going through my closet. They were taken in March 1977 just after my First Communion. I was eight. Aside from our fetching 70s attire, the best part about these photos has to be my expressions in both. It’s like I haven’t changed at all. Well, wait. I have changed, but my face hasn’t changed. Well, obviously it has changed. I mean, I am like waaaaaaaaay older now. I just mean my expressions haven’t changed. I make those same faces today. Perhaps the thought behind those expressions has changed, but the face is the same.

I’ve provided, below, two potential meanings these expressions would have for me today. Feel free to share any you think seem more appropriate.

Posted on 03/02/2022 by Me

Name Your Son After Luke Skywalker And You Just Might Get Someone With Jedi Power

And so it begins. Luke received his first college acceptance. Today, the University of Denver sent him an acceptance letter stating that he is recognized as a Chancellor’s Scholar. So, I’m going to take a moment to shine a light on my son, not because I want to brag (although I kind of do) but because I’ve never met anyone like him.

Luke has always been a hard worker and a helper. Despite having been diagnosed with severe dyslexia in third grade, he has found ways to rise above. He started fourth grade at a first grade reading level. Reading was hard for him, but he worked at it. A lot. Instead of shying away from reading, he made it his job to overcome his dyslexia. He did such a good job that the only way you can tell now that he is dyslexic is his reading speed. He is a slow reader, but he is exceptionally good at it now. At the end of his junior year, when his IQ and skills were last tested, Luke was reading at graduate school level. Luke went from barely being able to read Magic Tree House books with help in third grade to reading The Iliad and The Odyssey the summer before his freshman year. Luke never quits.

He is organized, focused, and structured in his approach to everything. He needs 25 solo volunteer hours to graduate in June. He is already beyond those hours. He has a project due for Western Civ this Thursday. He created 26 slides for it and finished it this afternoon. There is no such thing as minimal effort from him. He does nothing half-assed. In eighth grade, he became an ambassador for his school, giving tours to prospective students and their parents. He became a lead ambassador his sophomore year. He’s the president of his school’s National Honor Society chapter and has served on the Student Senate as an officer as well. He ran both track and cross-country. Luke submitted five college applications. The first three were due November 1st. He had those completed three weeks in advance. He went ahead and submitted the two that weren’t due until January 15th at the same time.

But, Luke’s effort doesn’t simply apply to school. He is like this all the time. When he makes his mind up to do something, he goes for it. He decided a while back that he wanted to be a better singer. So, he took voice lessons for a year. He was struggling with anxiety (pursuant to his work ethic and built-in need to excel) and started therapy to work on it. Despite not being thrilled at first with having to admit he needed some assistance, he grew to appreciate therapy and has been going regularly for years. He has so valued the experience that he is currently considering earning a PsyD (Doctor of Psychology) degree so he provide therapy to others. He contributes at home without complaint. And at the end of his day, he says good night to us and heads to his room to do some free reading, spending upwards of an hour on that each night to unwind.

I have to admit the most fun part of all of this for me is seeing Luke’s hard work pay off. Two years of middle school and four years of high school with honors classes and straight A grades and tonight, for the first time, he seemed satisfied with his efforts.

Luke has taught me so much. He has always been unstoppable. He has self-confidence to spare, but it’s his work ethic that makes him who he is. Luke has taught me there’s no point in underestimating yourself, and the only thing that can hold you back is you. For this reason, Luke is limitless. He will reach his goals, even if he has to use a machete to cut his own path to get there. I have no doubts or concerns about his ability to do anything he sets his mind to.

We had Luke Skywalker in mind when we named our Luke. It was a good way to go. As it turns out, our Luke, like his namesake, wields a lot of power. Unlike Luke Skywalker, though, our Luke didn’t need Yoda to tell him, “Do or do not. There is no try.” “Try” is not a word in this kid’s vocabulary. He’s got Jedi power.

Posted on 14/12/202115/12/2021 by Me 2

Live Now and Zen

Because even when it seems like a gag gift, the present is still a gift