I miss my kids.
I’ve never feared an empty nest. In fact I’ve often fantasized about it, but…my house is mighty quiet this week. Too quiet.
I am not a helicopter parent. I don’t worry that my raison d’etre will be gone when my role as mother wanes. I relish not having to drive or cook or beat back the invasion of dirty clothes and floors, but I really like my children – a lot. I enjoy talking to them, eating with them, listening to the hum of their presence as I read or write or work.
They are the salt of my earth. I don’t want to gobble them up exclusively, but I want a little of them in everything.
Everything’s OK #reverb10
Everything is going to be OK. Everything is going to be OK. Everything is going to be OK.
I didn’t learn this lesson this year, but I continue to be reminded of it on occassion.
I really learned this lesson almost ten years ago. Shortly after September 11th, when the world seemed to have been knocked off its axis, my father became suddenly, inexplicably, critically ill. A simple cold became pneumonia that landed him in the ICU of Georgetown University hospital for over two weeks.
I had two young children and a job that required my presence daily and for long hours. My father was over 2 hours away fighting for his life.
He had never really been sick before, so this was new territiory. I had to work, but found myself dropping everything to drive into the nation’s capitol as military helicopters patrolled over every bridge into the city and stories of anthrax unfolded on the nightly news.
It was surreal. The national and global crisis was merely an enlargement of my own personal family cirisis. How could my tower of strength and stability be so suddenly brought low?
On September 11th, I was working at a childcare center. I took a call from an unidentified parent that morning who asked if we would be closing early. I did’t know what he was talking about. He said, “A plane has flown into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and we are under attack.” I called the police to report a crank call. An officer came in person shortly thereafter to inform us that this call was no hoax.
Waves of incomprehension, fear, disbelief. Everything I thought was important, everyting I thought was absolutely necessary, every ball I thought was my sole responsibility to keep in the air – I walked away from it. The river kept rushing by, and I just stepped out of it, virtually unnoticed.
It was then I realized, “Everything is going to be OK. I don’t have to hold the world up.”
So even now, as I get caught up in waves of anxiety about my obligations, committments, and expectations, I am reminded: everything is going to be OK. When I am completely and utterly stripped down to nothing, I know nothing can separate me from the love of God (or my husband, children, parents, siblings). For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[k] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God. [Romans 8:38,39]
Yeah, I have love, so everything is going to be OK.
Weekend Update
Just the beginning of what would become a nice shiner.
Friday night’s alright for fighting.
Went to the drive-in. While waiting for the movies to start, I read a nice book on the meditative practice of writing. Meanwhile, the husband and children ran around the field with assorted balls and a horde of other kids, the end result being a boy (mine) with a black eye. Well, at least I got to say, ”It’s all fun and games ‘til someone gets hurt!”
My movie review: Toy Story 3-great, a worthy addition to the franchise. Prince of Persia-if I had three hands, I’d give it three thumbs down. Even my husband said, “Too much action, not enough dialog.” Just goes to show what happens when you make a movie from a video game. In all fairness, the artful character development and unexpected plot twists may have occurred while I was dozing, but I doubt it. I ate a lot of popcorn and a huge ice cream cookie sandwich and got to bed after 1am.
Saturday, we were on the run.
Not good prep for a 6am run. I did what needed to be done, however, and had a great run with the Women’s 4 Miler Training group, and then a second run around UVa by myself. The morning was too beautiful to waste it NOT running. Meanwhile, my husband ran his first race ever – the neighborhood Spirit Run 5K. It was perfect for him as the course went thought the Lake Monticello golf course. He came in around 22 minutes – ridiculously fast for an old man AND a first timer. I’d be really bitter except that now I know he’s set the bar so high, he’s made every subsequent race that much harder for himself. The 10 year old got a medal for third place in the 12 and under group in the same race.
Next stop: City Market for dinner fixings and donuts. The donut folks weren’t there, much to the consternation of the Fulton family. Alrighty then, how about honey bunches from the Cville Coffee guy? Nope, sold out. We circled again to take a second look at all the baked goods we dismissed on the first pass and ended up with lemon ginger popsicles and shiitake cheddar scones. Not a bad consolation snack.
We spent all afternoon at the pool. It was crowded and hard to find a parking spot for the car or our butts due to the holiday and all the extra games, contests, and activities going on. By the time we got home to fix our market fresh dinner, the skimpy 4 hours of sleep was starting to take its toll. Made some quick birthday greeting videos to post on Facebook and mark my baby brother’s 40th birthday. Went to sleep to the sound of fireworks over the lake.
Easy like Sunday morning?
Sunday morning (a.k.a. day of rest) I spent 8am-1pm at church. Fellowship, coffee duty, class to teach, people to love, God to worship, and a meeting to discuss final details of my 15 year old’s upcoming mission trip to Guatemala. It’s starting to feel real now – my baby is leaving the safe confines of both mother and country. Prayers for her protection are in full swing. A little beach time and another day of over-eating in the name of patriotism – God bless America.
Gotta love a Monday holiday.
I fully intended to get some household chores done, since the weekend was pretty well committed to family fun. Nope. I never got out of my PJs nor did I put down my book, Echo in the Bone, the last of the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. It was timely being set against the backdrop of the revolutionary war. I love these books, but I felt a little ripped off at the end of this one. There are a lot of loose ends that demand another installment. When will it be coming out Ms Gabaldon? Hmm?
Now I’m ready to get back to work before all semblance of order in my life unravels. Whew!
What We Pass on to Our Children
One time when my oldest was asked what motivated her to volunteer, she said: It’s just what we do. She had never considered that one might not want to share themselves with those most in need.
Recently, we had the opportunity to participate in a family project for Project Linus, a non-profit organization that distributes blankets, hand made by volunteers, to needy children who are sick or have been traumatized in some way. We had a great time picking out fabric and making our blankets. As I boxed up our blankets for mailing to Project Linus headquarters, I included some pictures of the children and their works-in-progress (seen here), and I was feeling pretty pleased with the whole business.
I showed the pictures to my oldest daughter, whose immediate response was: OMG! I look awful!
Uh, oh. Looks like I passed along more of myself than I thought. 
Volcanic Anger
This amazing photo captures the dramatic volcanic eruption on the little island nation of Iceland. The lightning and billowing smoke and ash could be seen from space.
I can’t help but think how representative this is of human anger – this explosive event succeeded by a blanket of toxic ash. The dark lingering cloud of ash has drifted across continents with surprising mass, obscuring light and vision, disrupting operations.
Check out the rest of the photos in this group. Imagine that choking ash cloud as anger or unforgiveness that hasn’t cleared the air yet. See how it makes a mess of everything?
Posted via web from Bite Size
Deep shower thought for the day: The problem isn’t the financial crisis, it’s a value crisis.
I’m always a little embarrassed to admit that I enjoy watching The Biggest Loser. There ‘s a lot I don’t like: the absurdly shameless product placement, the increasingly convoluted game-play twists and loops, the manipulative editing, and the tears – good grief! – the ocean of tears. I didn’t see that much crying and wailing in news footage of Haiti, Katrina and the tsunami combined.
What I do like is the opportunity to watch people change. Of course I love to see them transformed physically; it is fascinating to watch. But it’s a privilege to witness real change – the kind that completely rearranges one’s view of oneself.
The Biggest Loser usually focuses on one of these break-though moments right after Jillian has tortured the life out of someone. Last night was no different. After a couple of hours of making a nearly 300 pound woman run sprint intervals over and over while shouting at her that she dare not quit, Jillian pulls her aside for her moment of truth.
I’m thinking, “Wait for it…wait for it…” and then it arrives: her moment where she identifies that she never believed herself worthy of better.
As I thought, “That’s what everyone says. That’s the place everyone comes to at some point in this journey (myself included)”, it became clear to me that what have here is a value crisis. We value the wrong things and we assess our own value with the wrong measures. We have an epidemic of self-fulfilling unworthiness.
When we value accomplishment over experience, when we find our value through doing rather than being, then every failure isn’t merely a bump in the road of our life’s journey that we can push past. Instead, each failure or misstep becomes part of a growing body of evidence in the case against ourselves.
What do you value? In whom or what do you trust? How do you identify yourself? What do you believe makes you worthy of love, happiness, joy, or any other good thing? Do you believe it?
Mental Whack-a-Mole
The 35th running of the Charlottesville 10 Miler happened this past weekend, and most people know this race to be one of the best and one of the toughest courses around. I’ve dreamed of being able to complete the 10 miler for 10 years now – maybe longer – but it wasn’t until a year ago that this became a distinct possibility.
Every time you sign up for a race you have some goals in mind. One may be to shoot for a certain time or to get through the whole thing without walking, or maybe just finishing is the accomplishment. I had my goals. I had two time goals: one was my stretch goal and one was my maybe I can live with this goal. My third string goal was to finish. I didn’t really take this one too seriously.
The first half of the race I was on pace for my first goal, but something happened at mile 5. I hit a wall. I can’t explain why exactly, but I questioned how much more I could do and seriously considered quitting. I’ve rarely felt that way in training, much less in a race. This was supposed to be my sweet spot. I’m just getting warmed up at 3 miles – up to mile 8 or 9 is usually the best part of my run – but not on this day.
I rallied a bit and managed to keep myself in the game. I had to dig deep to remember that last ditch goal: to finish. I had to convince myself at various points along the way that even if I had to crawl in, I was going to finish what I started.
I made that goal, and I even made it to my I can maybe live with this goal. But I was really, really disappointed with the outcome. I was disappointed in my performance. I was disappointed that an event on which I had hung so many hopes and expectations, was a huge let-down. Mostly I was upset with myself that I had not prepared properly. I took some things for granted. I cut some corners, and I did not get away with it. Somewhere in the back of my head I must have thought I could get away with it.
Why not? I’ve been getting away with it. I’ve been passing myself off as a runner, while standing in the midst of them I feel like a fraud. The sting was really the feeling that I had been busted.
Of course that’s not truth. The truth may be that I was unprepared to give my best shot that day, but it is not true that I am a fake runner. I’ve worked really hard – too hard – to let these “lizard thoughts” (as my friend describes them) rob me of my faith in myself and the joy of my achievement. I think of these thoughts more like snakes that slither out of dark places. What reasonable person would look at one of these creatures and think I should grab that and hold on to it? No, most of us would grab a shovel and cut its head off.
I imagine these thoughts more like that arcade classic “whack-a-mole”. They keep popping up and I must diligently whack them down as soon as I detect one.
Prelude to a Summer Romance
It’s the first day of spring - a glorious, picture perfect realization of what spring should be. Flowers are blooming, bees are buzzing, the sap is rising, and I have a 15 year old daughter with a boyfriend who is lurking. I’m feeling the need for a new sort of vigilance.
I’ve given the girl some Saturday chores. I should have known that when she had to take a shower to walk the dog that the boy was in the neighborhood. As she went about her housework, the boy started a pick-up game of baseball in the street right in front of our house. I asked her if he was waiting for her. She said, “No.”
Later I sent her outside with the kid brother in tow to work in the garden. The ball game dissolved and the boy moved into the yard to hang out. I kept watch through the afternoon. I saw the way he looked at her and was constantly reaching for her – her hair, the drawstring of her jacket. I knew better than he did what was driving him. The kid brother was great for distraction and deflection, but I kept checking out the window to be sure I could see where everyone was and what everyone was doing at all times.
At one point, little brother came in the house for some reason I can’t recall. I went to see what the 15 year olds were up to left unsupervised by the 6 year old. They were laying side-by-side in the hammock swinging and talking and holding hands. I wanted to casually go out there and make some excuse to interrupt this moment but as I watched, I was moved by nostalgia. Remembering the sweetness of a lazy Saturday afternoon with romance floating on the warm breezes.
I love my girl so much. I remember being that girl. So it is no wonder I am pulled to the four corners by knowing, remembering, longing, and fear.
I let her have this moment, but soon – if the boy is to stay much longer – he’s going to have to start doing some yard work. Maybe wash my car, too.
