When You Grow Up

Your face was rocked off yesterday when you got to Preschool and a whole new Veterinarian's office was set up for your class. Complete with needy, stuffed pets, stethoscopes, and white lab coats, you were in your element.

On the way home, you starting talking about college- it's your new obsession. College, college. We talk about your plans for 13+ years from now like it's something you'll do before the thaw. You definitely decided without a doubt yesterday that you're going to be a Vet when you grow up. You're quite sure you'll attend the same college as your father- because it's where you currently take swimming lessons and is close to home. Makes sense. Yes, you can go there to become a Vet. Or at least lay the ground work towards such ambition. Yes, you bring your own clothes, laptop, music, and learn to make your own food (but not drinks; ahem) in your room. You can have bunk-beds, you have to have a roommate, yes, she'll be a girl, and yes, without a freaking doubt, you can bring your NaNa with.

{Your mother brought her baby blanket to college; she was unapologetic about it to anyone who asked. And look at how awesome she turned out}

As I tucked you in last night you asked, What if I want to be a princess? Can I still go to college? Do they teach girls how to be princesses at Daddy's College?

You have plenty of time to decide what you want to be when you grow up, babe. Princess Veterinarian as a double major? Absolutely.

Courtside

The day came.
Finally, you could say.
I bet your Daddy could say ... finally! After five years, one month, one week, four days, and 22 and a half hours ... you took to the basketball court ... a day he had been looking to since December 7, 2007, at 12:37pm.

(Even if you were a girl)

And I was just as excited as he was; I started basketball as a first grader. It was love at first uncoordinated, gangly dribble. And walking into that hot, stuffy gym on a cold winter Saturday morning sent my nostalgia into hyperdrive. I spent hundreds of Saturday mornings in a gym in Nikes.

And you were enthusiastic about your new sport so long as you could continue gymnastics- we promised. I would say this to anyone I love; if you're having a bad day, please go watch 11 four and five year olds scrimmaging on a basketball court. It made my 2013.

You're an outgoing kid all of a sudden, we overheard you telling anyone in earshot what your favorite color is (purple) that you're in gymnastics and can't be in swimming until basketball is over, and what you were doing that night (going to a Timberwolves game in your Kevin Love jersey "even though he is not playing,") so you might need to work on focus this season. When the Blue Team had 6 players and your Green Team only had 5, you followed the opponent you were guarding to the sidelines when it was his turn to sit out. You told your coach, you told me to follow my guy; this is my guy. 
2013; made.

And I have said it before and will continue to do so. I don't care what you do in life so long as it's not illegal street drugs, or hockey. I really don't. I'd be proud of a spelling bee champ. A lifeguard. A singer, songwriter, baton twirler, or peace corp cadet. It makes no difference to me what your passions are. I just want to cheer for you. I also want you to be part of a team, I think teams are essential to life.

I moved to my hometown as a fourth grader. I had a mullet.
That detail doesn't necessarily matter in this story, I just want you to know life sucks for everyone, at some point.
Anyways.
I moved to my hometown when I was nine. I had no friends, lived way outside of town in the woods, liked to read, and knew I wanted to play basketball at this school, too. I had the Nikes and elastic-bottomed sweats to prove it. My parents signed me up for the town's youth basketball association, and we played all winter long on Saturday mornings. There wasn't much participation from my elementary school, so my team merged with the Catholic elementary school to form one team.

It was there, in fourth and fifth grade before entering middle school, I met five of my besties, your Fairy Godmother included, on an opposing team. Back then, 24 years ago, those girls were the WORST. Their team, from an elitist, newer elementary school, was good. Like, embarrassingly good. They had chemistry, from being schoolmates since kindergarten, from having parents as coaches who had a clue about the game. I had a cobbled-together team comprised of complete strangers, plus some prep school goody-goodies and rotating and clueless coaches. Watching that team together made me jealous. Of their skill. Of their camaraderie.

When I entered 6th grade at the middle school, our district's seven elementary schools dumped into one school. The girls from the team I had just spent two years loathing were suddenly my new teammates. And, as sports and teams go, we figured it out, and fast.

As 11-year olds, we shared scrunchies in team colors, LipSmackers, silk shirts, Espirit bookbags, and lunches on cold buses on game night. We learned each other's weaknesses and strengths, knew which buttons to push, which to respect. We traded secrets and boyfriends and Algebra answers and thought we ruled the world. And we did. We made Jock Jams our anthems, wore tall socks, signed casts, ran Killers when we were late, stood up for each other, and ate JellyBellys on the bench. We made bad, bad decisions and heartfelt apologies. We had braces on our teeth baring the blue and white of our school's colors. We coordinated our outfits off the court, on non-gamedays, and sent flowers to the girls with broken hearts; legitimate or not. We crashed our cars, looked for our boyfriends and crushes in the bleachers, and made up ridiculous cheers and chants. We drove our coaches crazy, and made our parents proud. We learned how much we needed each other and how to handle all the shit in life nobody tells you about, ages 11 to present day.

I graduated from high school 15 years ago this year. Those girls are buried in my heart, and run through my veins. To this day.
We cried buckets of tears at our basketball banquet senior year, the year that was so hard for all of us on that team. We were tan by graduation that June and smiling together, arms around each other, wrists full of scrunchies, charms around our necks with our jersey numbers on them. We ruled the world.

And we still do. Ask any one of us, and we'll tell you. Even your two Aunties who weren't on the team, but became the best Super Fans of all time remember those days and that team.

So yes, longest story short. I hope for you what I hoped for me.
Have a team. Meet your people. Find your niche.
Ballet, speech, Habitat for Humanity, band, soccer, ceramics.
I don't care.
Just find it.

2013

To most, 2013 is the year of the snake.
But to me, 2013 is the year of Kindergarten.

I was cleaning out closets, drawers, and nooks and crannies in all this January newness when I found a bottle of baby lotion I used on the lil' dude when she was a newborn. Just flipping open the cap, catching one tiny whiff ... there I was, in the winter of 2008 with my tiny pink swaddle on maternity leave. A kid who slept all day, a stack of novels, a lot of coffee, and as content as I'd ever been.

Those were the days. And yes, these are the days. I'm quick to count my blessings.

I know nothing will change when she enters elementary school. She'll still be the child the Dad and I have raised. The same child who has an iron-clad memory, already understands sarcasm, sings every song on the radio, eats CheezIts for breakfast, sleeps with 47 stuffed animals, and is calmed by ancient episodes of Scooby Doo.

And it's not a separation issue; I've spent more than enough time away from her in five years. She's been in daycare full-time since she was 10 weeks old, in preschool for two years, and spends weeks away from home every summer lounging with her peeps. I kiss her face goodbye just about every month for travel. She goes, I go, we miss, we survive, we come back. I used to miss her as a mother's purpose; I missed her weight on my chest, and her space in mine. Now I miss her as a human; as my tiny friend who tells me enough with the daily scarfs, and that my marinara sauce needs more brown sugar (and she whispers it, because it's our secret ingredient).

And she'll come back a bigger and better person than she already is. She'll come back with arcade jewelry belonging to her friends. She have the wrong artwork in her backpack she'll rightfully return the next morning. She'll lose the baby enunciation's of those last words she hasn't been able to pronounce correctly. She'll read to me at night.

2013 was the first year out of the past many where I didn't wake up on January 1st and wonder when my life was going to change. When I'd get the sign. When I'd announce the news. And it actually feels really, really damn good to wake up, start the coffee, and look for the blonde head buried in its bed and know ... my life has already changed. So all I want for this year is to live, love, and be grateful.

I'm well on my way.

And yes, Kindergarten is out there- way, way out there past several Thursday nights of gymnastics and post Subway dinners, beyond March Madness and long, long walks in the slush. It's at the end of the return of the Koi fish at St. Ben's, birthday cakes baked for the Beagle, the summer week spent in an old, red cabin, and even after new shoes and State Fair corndogs.

No matter how long or how quickly it gets here, I promise I'll be ready.

Reflections at Christmastime

Lil' Dude's Mama, circa 1982

One of my Besties began her email to the group of us this morning;
Hi friends- back at work today. boo. The growing pains of getting older and changing traditions suck. I miss being a kid sometimes! ha
I know what she means.

Yesterday was perfect, Christmas magic here at the Casa de Lil' Dude. Just the three of us, four if you count the one with a tail. It was the first time in my adult life I've spent Christmas Day home just as us- as in, where I live and with whom I live. The year the lil' dude was born, my parents and brother brought Christmas to us. But yesterday was a first.

And at first, I balked at not traveling after Santa showed up. I'm so accustomed to organizing, packing, and schlepping an entire truckload of holiday cheer to someone else's house. I'm a diehard traditionalist; I love upholding traditions and reveling in repeated, repetitious joy year after year. But I eventually embraced the change of routine ... and it was perfect and the first of our new Christmas Day tradition was born.

Who knew I'd love it so much.

And we weren't short of family time this holiday- one big Christmas December 15th, another December 22nd, and some mini celebrations the 16th, 17th, 20th, and 23rd. Christmas Eve was at my Grandma's ... that's unmissable. Unless in the event of a newborn baby or snowstorm.

This year, I really felt what it's like to straddle that line of child/adult, of daughter/parent. I realized how much I owe it to my own Mother for the past 33 Christmases she continues to make for me. I realize how much goes into ... everything.

Perpetuating myths, magic, Christmas traditions
Shopping, shopping, budgeting, shopping, wrapping, presenting
Remembering everything & everyone from teachers, coaches, aides, dogs, and friends
Handling travel, menus, grocery stores, recipes, adjusted routines
For never, ever saying or acting like any of the holiday mayhem was anything except worth it
Managing expectations, ridiculous wish lists, ungratefulness at times
With gratitude, exuberance, and grace

Clearly, traits she learned from her own Mother, My Grandma, who at 81 years old, invites all 55 members of her family, from her eldest daughter down to her great-great granddaughter to Christmas Eve dinner at the Fellowship Hall at Zion Lutheran Church mentioning in the invitation please bring a bottle of soda or juice to share, I'll have all the rest and very true to her written word takes care of all the rest- all 55 of us and our specific holiday favorites including Swedish meatballs, Lutefisk, ice cream roll, pickled herring, Lefse, Rosettes, white dinner rolls, and her legendary mashed potatoes. She became a Mother 64 years ago and she's made Christmases- each and every single one, perfect and memorable despite circumstance ever since.

This year, in my traditional handwritten thank you notes post holiday, I will make more than a brief mention to both of those women how much I appreciate their continued effort toward family celebration and Christmas in general. How I know it pained both of them to celebrate when it meant doing so without my Grandpa, or when new work schedules meant my Mom had to work Christmas Day for the first time in her kids' lives. How they both forged on with a song in their hearts despite heartache, overwhelmingness, sickness, fatigue, and circumstance.

Because that's the true meaning of Christmas.
And I learned it from the best(s).

#26Acts

Kid Rock's teacher always emails parents on Sunday evening to layout the week ahead.
This time of year, it's basically to let us know which days the kids will be playing outside so we can pack their appropriate gear.

Yesterday was an intended snow day. She had her snowpants, boots, and mittens at the ready in her cubby.

At pickup time, the kids were still outside. I noticed my daughter's jacket, boots, and Princess bag of gear still intact inside. The rest of her class was out in the snow. I wondered if she was sick or ... in trouble. She hearts snow days.

She came out to me from the classroom- looking fine. I asked her why she wasn't outside.

And she said, Mama, CeCe is sick and can't go outside to breathe cold. So I stayed in with her to be her friend. I didn't want her to be alone. My eyes instantly filled (and are again, right now!); my throat burned. I made eye contact with her teacher and held her silent gaze. We obviously had the same exact feelings about the lil' dude at that exact moment. #26Acts

#26Acts is a hashtag phenomenon taking the world by storm. Started by NBC News correspondent Ann Curry (whom I have always admired & adored) after she visited Newtown, CT last week, it's simply finding the good in each day the rest of us have with our children. It's random acts of kindness, mostly anonymous, some not. It's paying it forward, it's lighting each of Newtown's 26 victims memories ablaze by being the people and humanitarians we are.

I have always said it's the little things in life that bring me the greatest joys. It's Kid Rock's artwork on my walls. It's the Beagle's undying love of fleece blankets. It's text messages from my husband. Letters from my Grandma. Whipped cream on my coffee. Music ready to be retrieved from the library. Mint lipgloss. Gray anything. Songs on the radio that remind me of my Besties. Happy hours. Clean sheets. Fresh fruit. Target runs. Instagram. Goats. Hallmark Channel movies. All of them; little things. The littlest. The little things that make my heart big.

#26Acts is about the little things. Think of what brings you the most unadulterated joy and do it for someone else. Pay for someone's drive-through coffee. Look at the stack of wrapped gifts under your tree, and pick one or two to donate. Leave a balance on a giftcard for the cashier to surprise the next patron with. Leave a 50% tip. Plug meters. Salt sidewalks. Leave handwritten notes in mailboxes, under windshield wipers, on computer monitors. Send text messages to six people, right now, with a favorite memory the two of you shared. Be present. Listen. Absorb. Appreciate.

And there is no expiration date on kindness and intentionality. This isn't an Advent calendar. It's a life calendar so begin your legacy right this second. Do it, be it.

#26Acts
Have fun!

Mama loves.

In Green

I didn't want to write this post. I still don't.

Newtown, CT.

I won't make it political, I won't make it wordy. God, I'll even leave out the cliches. Or most of them. No promises on the swearing.

I have written about some pretty awful things in the past. Parenthood and humanity ain't all rainbows and unicorns. But, the rainbows and unicorns are what makes it worth living.

My 5-year old doesn't know what happened in Connecticut last Friday. How ... How would I even begin to explain that to her? She is scared of spiders. She cries when her boots come off in the snowbank. She's just a little kid. Just like those 20 children. She's just a little kid.

And she is my whole goddamned world. I'm hellbent on making her know that every single day. That didn't start because of Friday, either. That started when I received the call March 23, 2007 from my doctor ... pregnant.

And because she's my whole goddamned world, I have to protect it; protect her.
And that means I cannot become cynical, jaded, complacent.
I have to instead focus on the rainbows and unicorns.
I have to find them when they're buried. I have to find them when they've been overrun by everything dark and disgusting. I have to present them to my girl, my only child, in order to foster and maintain her own faith in humanity.

This country and its people are amazing. We're lucky to live here. We have nothing to be afraid of. We simply cannot live like we do.

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty. -Mahatma Gandhi

 

Wordless Wednesday