Lucky 13

On the day that you were born, your Da held you in long arms and loving gaze. He then went home and wrote you a letter. In that letter he said that the world was a better place for your being in it.

      

This is true.

Sweet Colleen, your very nature comes from the kindest of souls somewhere in our family tree.





Or perhaps you are the one to create its first root or its strong hold.

I have never known someone so calming as you.








I have never wanted to better myself in someone else's eyes as I have tried in your warm, deep blues.

I know I can be demanding.
I know that you are the reason I have learned to apologize.
I know that, for you, I have learned to outwardly accept myself.

You are quietly brave.
You are so amazingly funny!
You keep that close to you and I often dream that the world would see what we do.

Then I stop myself.
The world sees you as you want.

You've got this.

 

Your voice is so simple and sweet that when you sing, people listen to your warmth and feel your ease.







You are the best company one can keep.
You are the lighthouse in others' storms.

You question everything except your loyalty.

If I were 13, I would eat lunch with you and thank the world for you as my friend.

                          

I did that 13 years ago when it was you and I in a new town.
I did that 9 years ago when your siblings were napping and we could sit together in the quiet.
I did that 4 years ago when we were starting in a new school and were both adjusting to it.

You accepted your role as big sister as you accepted your next breath. 

You are the peace-keeper.
You take the smaller slice.
You sit in the middle.
You give up your turn.

  
     
You suggest.
You encourage.

You are as selfless as humanly possible.

You have never been asked. It is simply your nature to nurture and appease.

Colleen.
You are the hearth of my heart.

I will always look for you.

In every school hallway, even after you have graduated.

On every couch with blankets and pillows on it, even after you have moved.

I will always look for you who became, in one day, my every breath, every joy, and every hug.

How did we get so lucky?

I'm Caught

I am caught between 2 ages.

I am too old to feel this young and I am too young to feel this old.

It shows itself in my acne
and in my gray hair.

In 6th grade boys hurting my feelings
while "in my day...." trumpets in my head.

In the relish of leaving children alone at home
and watching them sleep in bodies too big too fast.

In needing a drink well earned
and being too sleepy to stay up for it.

In dancing around the house to music
and pressing hard on a counter to get up out of a chair.

It shows itself in wanting my Dad to hug and to listen to
and remembering I have been his pallbearer.

In talking my child through a tough social situation
and having to be talked through a tough social situation.

In my wolfing down of an ice cream cone
and in my inability to process it...politely.

In my waving my hands between two kids flirting to re-focus them
and in my running off to share what two kids were flirting.

In my excitement for Summer break to come
and in my need to schedule my Summer break

It shows itself in my tantrums
and it shows itself in my tantrums.

Feel free to add on......

Teachers

The 6th grade Poetry unit is wrapping up at school. We had just finished reading "Laughers" by Langston Hughes. The original title of the poem was "My People". I assigned my ELA class the task of writing a poem about who they felt their people were. The variations were wonderful and surprising. I explained that we have many different people with whom we identify as we are many people within ourselves. I didn't want them to feel they were excluding any part of themselves in this one poem.  

I am never one to skip out on a writing assignment, so I share with you a poem about who make up one group of my people.

Teachers ~ inspired by Langston Hughes’ "Laughers”

Knowledge-givers,

feelings-healers,

speakers,

believers in the future in a closed in box-

my people.

Secret-keepers,

notebook-finders,

students’ fans,

pencil-sharpeners,

nurses,

parents,

friends,

supporter of dreams,

implementors of consequences,

laughers,

lesson writers,

lighthouses in the storm

and hand-holders in the background-

goal-makers, all-

my people.

Tireless-workers, all-

my people.

Talkers-

God, what talkers!

Dreamers-

God! What dreamers!

Dreamers and talkers

talkers and creators.

Creators?

Yes, creators...creators...creators-

stepped-on believers in the future in a closed in box.

To Those in My Child's Life

When I think of the beginning of her life, I think of the joy of having her with me, on the outside of me, attached to me and looking at me, right at me, all the time. I remember, too, needing support and help.

I remember feeling alone and inadequate. I remember feeling I was not enough when I was all she ever wanted.

   


I remember feeling gifted and humbled and unprepared.













I remember feeling surprised, enthralled, and experiencing a searing love so different than I had ever felt before.

Thank you, Mom, for holding her when I needed my arms for myself.


                                                                         

Thank you, Dad, for having the calm tone of voice and patient way about you to give her the break from my energy.











Thank you, Grandma, for being at the ready the whole first year of her life when you were near by, and for recognizing her spunk so you could both celebrate her and pat my hand in understanding.




                                                                   

Thank you to my best friend who shhhussshed, shhhussshed, shhhussshed her by the screen door so I could run about and get things done. Thank you for loving her as if she was your own.

Thank you, Colleen, for being the best and most caring person and sister with whom she could grow.




Thank you, Brendan, for knowing how she will feel about things, and for being her little brother so that she can be your big sister.

Thank you to all of her Aunts and Uncles who know just how to love her and hug her and support her as she grows. Seeing her as remarkable as she is.


Thank you to her cousins, and in particular, one cousin who is a kindred spirit without their realizing.

Thank you to all who have taught her, who have coached her, and who have hugged her when I was not available.

Thank you to her friends who are kind and funny. Who are such good people. I am excited to watch them grow with my child.

                                                                        


















Thank you to her dad who holds all the patience when needed. Who shares her genetic make-up to such a degree that he can fill in the gaps where I have lost all understanding. Who supports every geekness that peeks out of her since The Brains have inherited the Earth.

                


Thank you to Cookie Von Nummins who, not that we are saying this out loud, has chosen her human and will stand by her human as long as she is able.




.



Thank you for helping to create a girl who knows she is strong, believes that she is right, and sees every bump in the road as a challenge rather than an obstacle.



You have made her boundless, as she was meant to be.

Love in the Time of Kohler

Living in the woods with a well leads to lots of mineral deposits on one's shower head.
My husband took ours off, soaked it for a while, and then went to Lowe's to see what new shower head creations had come out in the past few years.
He came home with a double headed situation on which both heads had choices of streams and power and whatnot.

This is where the Opposites Attract Theory comes into play for the 972nd time in our marriage.

So after checking all settings, on my tiptoes trying to reach the thing, water spraying in my face, I decided on the: All of it come out of just one of the heads-strong enough to get soap and conditioner out of my thick hair- efficiency setting because LET'S GO PEOPLE! I GOT THINGS TO DO!

The next day I went to take my shower and both heads had water coming out of them again. One had a rain-like setting on and the other held a little more pressure. Very: Hey-Good morning-hang out and wake up-soothing you to a mode of awakeness to allow for a drive to work.

Up on my tip toes again, I switched it back to Kate. The next morning I, again, switched it back to Kate. Then, the next morning, it was still on the setting I preferred.
I thought, a-ha!
He has seen the light!
Mine was so much better.

A week later, the husband setting was occasionally re-engaged and I finally asked him,

"How do you decide which setting to use each morning?"
"I use the same one each time."
"No, sometimes I get in and it is still on my setting."
"That is because I love you and I switch it back for you."

"oh."

"Sometimes I forget to, but mainly I try to put it back for you."

"thank you."

"Because I love you."

hm.

So the next morning, when I had finished my shower, I set the shower heads to the way he liked them. By that time in my shower, I wasn't as light-headed and winded standing on my toes with arms over head first thing in the morning, so the struggle was gone. And as I did it I thought,

"I love him."

There are mornings we both forget to switch it. We sometimes joke that night how we weren't loved when we woke up to shower. It is the silliest and stupidest thing ever- and it is the realest and most important thing ever.

In our lives of long work days and children shuffling and cooking and cleaning and crisis fixing and exhaustion wrangling, we sometimes barely see each other. And when we do, we blurt the first thing we had to remember to tell each other. It isn't always, "I love you." It should be, of course. But...

I pass out at 9:20 pm. He goes to bed at 2am. Some days nothing was said or shared, and no hug and sometimes no goodnight occurs as we are trying to get our kids to bed and listening to their fears and worries that only come out at 9pm.

But in the morning I turn on the shower, and the water is all business and single-headed and I think,

"He loves me."

And then as I am about to turn off the water and switch the setting to the relaxing, it is going to be ok setting, I think,

"I love you, too."

And I know he hears it a few hours later when he wakes up, turns on the shower, and I am already gone. And I know he smiles, too.

"It Doesn't Make Sense"

"Mommy? Can I have a hug?"

My room was dark at 9:15 last night. I was ready to be alone with my sadness at losing a friend and all the grief that it had stirred up from the past.

My middle child had gone to bed in a huff. She was probably thinking how mad she was and how mean everyone was and how unjust the world is.

Then she probably thought just about how unjust the world is.

Then she probably thought, I need mommy.

She bent over the bed for the hug and began to sob, so I pulled her in bed with me and held her quietly while she filled my pillowcase with those tears reserved for sadness. So big and full of grief that washes down the face.

I let her cry.

After a few minutes she caught her breath.

"It isn't fair that people can be fine and then be gone!" she shook out.

"No. It isn't."

"And it isn't fair for people to die after a long time being sick because they are so tired."

"That is true, too."

"It doesn't make sense. Anyone can die at any moment."

And there it was. What a lot of us have been thinking.
You can hear that tomorrow isn't promised  and understand it, but you don't get it until you say "See you tomorrow," and that tomorrow doesn't come.

"Well, we can live our lives afraid of dying or afraid someone will die, but then we don't get to live our lives. We don't get any promises. Death is a part of our lives. And it is sad. It can be shocking which can take a lot longer to process. It can be time for someone to pass. It will always be sad. Sad also shows us what happiness is."

The tears quieted and soon I got a very wet kiss on the cheek. Her big sister came in for a hug, too, and then walked her little sister out of the room.

I know that this acute sadness will pass, eventually. I wear it in honor of someone who earned to be mourned so completely.