Reflections of a Seven Year Old Sitting on a Toilet

Every month my son has "share" day at school.  He brings in his prized possession and shows it off to his class.  One day he brought his Transformers Bumble Bee arm that makes powerful noises and lights up.  For this month's share day, we had it all planned that he was going to bring his Cardinal's honorary "contract," signed by Tony La Russa and stamped with an Official Seal of Excellence.  This document confirmed that he did indeed catch a foul ball on the day of September 5th and included a guarantee that "at no time will the holder's loyalty to the St. Louis Cardinals be traded to any other Major League Baseball club."  I had it framed and on the table ready to go.  This was going to be special.  Not many other kids had a contract to show off.  Our little hero in the making.

But, this hero's loyalties were in a different place.  "Mom, I was thinking of bringing the pictures of the baby instead."  Tyler was very excited about his new little brother or sister to come, and I had recently shown him the scroll of ultrasound pictures.  We got out a ruler and I showed him that the baby was still only 4 centimeters long.  He was amazed.    

"I already told my class that you were pregnant mom."  I'll bet he made an announcement in front of class.  My seven year old has told more people than I have told... Yikes.  This little guy sure was special. 

Sitting on the toilet, thinking, passing time, he inquired out of the blue, "Mom, do you think it will be a boy or girl?"  Turning to his upturned face, I answered, "That's something that God decides.  Did you know that?"  He nodded in the affirmative.  "Yep.  I know."  I went on, sensing this was a good teaching moment for the little hero on the john. 

Did you know that God decides what you are going to look like, act like and be like?  He decides everything about you!  Tyler's eyes light up. "It's like the Wii where you get to pick your character!  Only he has tons more choices."  I can imagine God holding his numchuck scrolling over the thousands of choices he has on his Wii.  "Yeah, that's exactly what it's like."  He's got a big job.  He picks your hair color, your eye color, and all of your gifts and talents.  He made you really special with a lot of gifts to use.  Thinking this over, he had to agree with me.  He was good at a number of things. 

"Why did he do that mom?" 

"Because he wants you to use those gifts to make him happy.  Do you know he has a plan for you?  He has a plan for everyone." 

"What's his plan for you mom?" 

"That's a good question bud.  I'm still figuring that out, but I know one of them is to take care of you and make sure you know how to use your gifts." 

"I think his plan for me is to be a hockey player mom."    

"It may be, but you're good at a lot of things, so you just have to keep doing what you're good at and figure out how you can help people with your gifts.  This makes God happy." 

"I think I can help a lot of people being a hockey player mom." 

So, as I work on expanding my son's career choices, I realize that he has no lack of confidence and resolve.  He just needs direction on how to use his abilities to achieve God's plan.  In fact, we all need direction and a bit more confidence and resolve.  Maybe we all should take a moment, whether it's on the toilet or not, and ruminate over our plans and gifts and how we are using them.  It got me thinking that maybe some of my gifts are buried and not producing anything.  While I look at my son, I see that none of his are buried.  He is jumping into anything that he can get his hands on, not looking back, with no regrets.  But, all of this running and gunning could turn selfish if he's not guided to help others and think of how to make God happy.    

As we approach this season of reflection and hope, I hope we all get guided into using our God-given talents and make a resolution to find more of these talents that we have hidden away.  Why do we hide them away?  Why don't we have the same confidence and resolve we used to?  Because we stopped believing.  Again, we can take a note from our smaller counterparts.  Believe that there is a Guy up there who gives us gifts for a reason.  He may not have bells and a sleigh, but he has a still small voice in our hearts.     

A Thanksgiving Tradition

I love Thanksgiving... spending time with family... eating lots of food... watching the rest of the leaves fall.  This year on Thanksgiving, we all trooped over to my sisters' house, where she had painstakingly orchestrated her first official hosting of this carb-filled holiday.  Twenty-one people submerged her granite countertops with spreads of cranberry stuffing, marshmallow sweet potatoes, pecan cheesecake, perfectly cut carrots and cucumbers, red eye dressing, and gobs of turkey and ham.  

To keep us all busy, my son exercised the spirit of giving by asking each couple if they would like a check for one thousand dollars.  Of course, no one turned down this spectacular offer.  So, he busied himself with making out his fake checks and signing them...

He soon realized that he was going to run out of checks and came back to his old standbys.  "Mom and Dad," he whispered through his cupped hand.  "I think you're going to have to split a check."  We nodded solemnly and he bounced back to finish his John Hancocks. 

At the tables, we each had a sheet of paper with a quote about gratitude on our plates... a nice touch.  The quote read, "Gratitude turns what we have into enough.  It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion to clarity.  It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.  Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow."  This is why I like this holiday so much.  For a day, we all focus on the good, the possibilities, how precious the present is and how promising the future is. 

By definition, gratitude means an awakening of the heart.  My son seems have to have these little awakenings throughout the year and voices them regularly.  When deciding between the homemade apple pie, pumpkin pie and pecan pie, he turns to my mom, his grandma, and states, "I'm going to have what you brought because you do everything good."   He's grateful to me on a regular basis - "I have the best mom ever!  I just love my mom!"  While part of me wonders what it is he wants in return for these fawning phrases, another part of me marvels at his easy transition into an "awakened" state.

It seems he looks at the bigger picture more than me.  He is thankful at the drop of a hat... sings songs in the backseat about how much he loves his mommy and daddy.  He declares out of the blue, "My teacher is just fantastic!"  and doesn't stop there...

Why is it easier for kids to tap into their gratefulness and wonderment more than adults?  They seem to be very certain and not easily confused.  Yet another lesson we can learn from our successors.  "Don't let the past weigh you down.  Allow yourself to be happy in  the present.  And look forward to the future." 

The chaos and confusion we let into our lives only block our view of what really matters.  With gratitude, we still have dilemmas to sort through and problems to fix.  But, it helps us sort through the difference between the facts and the truth.  They are two very different things.  The facts can change with circumstances and come and go... The truth never changes, and when we hold onto this, facts don't matter as much...  

The Reality of Ideals

One of the many things I dislike about getting older is the slow deterioration of my idealistic perspective of life.  I used to be a hopeless idealist.  Now, whether is it experience that comes with age or living through more trials and errors, I am sliding into a realist.  Life becomes muddled with busy work schedules, deadlines for bills, and getting through the work week.  My rosy outlook on life that good intentions always win has become less absolute and more pragmatic.  Oh, dear... I'm becoming pragmatic in my middle age... like my grandmother Vivian.  She had a realistic perspective on life.  Never pie in the sky.  Never missed the mark.  And, she was respected and feared because of it.

So this leaves me to wonder what do we live for if we know that our ideals are not always going to be upheld?

We live for those who still have those ideals.  We live for the inspirations and moments in life where we see those ideals win.  My son, like most children, is absolute and idealistic.  I try to live up to his ideals of me as his mother. 

Last Thursday, I picked him up from school.  We did our errands and headed home.  Out of nowhere, he makes one of his famous from-the-gut observations, "Mom, every day is a new you.  I like it!" 

"What do you mean every day is a new me.  I'm the same person aren't I?"  I look in the rearview mirror as he's biting his lip thinking.  "No, mom, every day you do something nice, and it's like a new you!"  I'm skeptical that this is his way of putting a positive "spin" to saying, "Gosh mom, I sure am glad you're not crabby today like yesterday."  But, I take it as a compliment.  It's his "ideal" of his mom.  A new mom who is nice every day.  And, he likes it! 

I realize that even though my perspective is jaded and a bit more "Vivian like" as I grow older, I do still get to live up to my son's ideals.  That is an inspiration in life and a great purpose.  I get to strive to be as good as my son so undauntingly believes I am.  Living up to his idealistic perspective is not only inspiring and encouraging, but meaningful and hopeful.   

Life's inconsistencies, burdens, and injustices pale in comparison to the new goal of living up to our next generations "ideals" of us.  They don't see the realistic side of life yet.  And I think that's a good thing. 

In the car, I ask my son if he got a star today.  He gets a star from his teacher, Mrs. Custard, if he does something extra special and well behaved at school.  These stars are given out judiciously and take a lot of effort.  He is excited about his fifth star that month. 

"Mom, how many days are in October?" 

"Thirty-one." 

"I'm going to get thirty one stars this month!"  he announces from the backseat. 

Knowing that this goal may be a little unrealistic considering he won't actually be in school all those days, I hold back my concern.  Why burst a bubble that is full of so much hope and determination. 

I just give my encouragement.  "That would be great bud."  And I realize that sometimes holding a balloon of hope and ideals is more fun to live for than sticking a pin in it with reality.    

A Star is Born

We have a little star on our hands.  A Kirkwood Star to be exact.  My son is officially a member of the Kirkwood Youth Hockey League.  They wear the star proudly, and we watch as shivering and elated parents with stars in our eyes. 

My son officially began as a "mite" two weeks ago.  It is very exciting, as they are currently in "try outs."  The thirty six and seven year old kids are being judged and placed by their ability level.  The parents watch on the sidelines nervous with anticipation.  Down the length of the ice there are red, white and blue teams, each team scrimmaging across the ice.  The red team is fast and superior.  They have real goalies and jet across the ice effortlessly.  The white team is not quite as good, but better than the blue team.  They don't have goalies.  But they have heart and guts (and small nets.)  The blue team is made up of  beginners. 

Our son falls between the two teams.  Placed in the lowest team first, we watch as he scores four goals and skates circles around his teammates.  They move him up to the white team.  We try not to yell out loud for fear that the blue team parents will give us the evil eye.  We try to inconspicuously move over to the white team bleachers.  The next practice, he is back on the blue team.  We are confused, but resume our space in the last bleachers.  He takes his turn on the ice and the coaches quickly check their clipboards.  They move him up again.  We breathe a sigh of relief.  Oh, good.  He hasn't gotten worse.  I feel like this is college tryouts...  

Since last practice, we have given him our most constructive advice.  No diving for the puck.  Skate fast.  And no pitching hay.

Pitching hay is our new term for Tyler's bad habit of standing upright and holding his stick parallel to the ice up in the air across his body.  He does this to look cool.  He glides toward the puck and waits for it to come to him.  He has one hand on each end of the stick, and the end that should be in contact with the puck is parallel with his waist.  "There are no pucks in the air," we remind him.  Then we show him the movement of "pitching hay"... very similar to the movement he is making on the ice.  Yes, he looks cool.  But, he is not making contact with the puck.  He has to bend down, put his stick on the ice and go after the puck.  He has to earn his star status. 

It's the same in life.  We have to earn our stars.  There is no gliding.  Nothing comes to us that isn't earned.  Diving in the way of the puck never works.  And scoring is hard work. 

This early in his career, they say it's all about how much "ice time" he has.  It's about the basics and how well he skates.  I notice that more than half the drills involve skating hard, falling down, and getting back up as fast as possible.  After the basics of skating are mastered, the rest of the game comes more naturally.  It's his competitive drive that makes him fake out his opponents with clever stick-handling and score.  But, skating is work and requires d discipline.  Talent takes over after the discipline is established. 

I notice this in life as well.  Once we have our "feet under us," and the discipline necessary to succeed in our "sport," our talent can flourish.  But, the fun stuff - the flair - never comes without putting in the long hours of practice and drills.  Skating in hockey is like dedication to a purpose in life.  The dedication and discipline it takes to fulfill a purpose may be behind the scenes.  But the final product will end up starring.  Talent will prevail if discipline holds it up!

Catching Life's Moments - Big and Small

Out of forty two thousand fans in the Cardinals Stadium on Labor Day, my son was one of the more excited ones.  He had his glove (which he almost forgot in the car) his Cardinals cap and jersey, and a great seat almost behind home plate in section 148.  We were ready to go!  The older ladies next to us joke with my six year old.  "Will you protect us from the foul balls?" they ask Tyler.  He nods assuredly.  I looked down the row.  All women.  He had a big job. 

Every time a player came up to the plate, Tyler would punch his fist into his glove and focus intently on the pitch.  "Foul tip."  "Strike."  "Ball," he would color commentate through every play.  In the third inning, rookie Allen Craig came up to bat.  We all watched - my husband, my sister, and my son.  We had to.  We had already seen several foul balls ricochet through the stands.  One bounced off the box and into the seats to the right of us.  Another one beelined into the crowd behind first base.   Ouch.  That one looked like it hurt...someone. 

Allen Craig, number twenty-one, swung and popped one up...high up... behind home plate.  I looked up and realized that ball was flying high up over our heads and then coming down straight towards us.  My eyes are peeled but I shield my face with my hands.  Tyler stands up, lifts his gloved hand over his head, chin in the air, head up.  I do not have enough hands for shields, so I pray under my breath.  Oh, god, please don't let that thing knock us out.  My husband stands up, protectively, and tries to anticipate where it might go.  The guy behind us leans forward with his hat turned upside down.  We are all poised in various ways to see where this darn ball is going to land.  Every second is like an eternity.  I am holding my breath, hoping no one blacks out.  I wince as it gets closer.  Then I hear a pop. 

It's a clean, round pop, right next to me.  I look over and realize my son just caught the ball.  He looks in his glove surprised.  He is right next to me.  I heard the pop, but didn't actually see him catch the ball.  He shows it to me in his glove.  My husband yells, "He caught the ball!"  The older ladies look over.  "You caught the ball?" They can hardly believe it.  Someone in front of us yells, "Let's see it!" 

What happened next, I couldn't have orchestrated better had I been whispering in God's ear, "Please do this next if you don't mind."  More people turned at the commotion and another person yelled, "Show us the ball!" 

Tyler rose from his chair, still stunned, but slowly letting the revelation of what he had done wash over him.   He raised his hand with the ball in it and proudly showed everyone.  Three rows deep on every side turned, clapped and cheered.  He was a miniature hero, a symbol of what this game was all about. 

It was a dismal game.  One to four Milwaukee was the final.  But, our little section didn't care.  We couldn't stop talking about the six year old kid who fearlessly caught the sky high foul ball.  I asked him, "Were you scared before you caught it?"  He shook his head.  Another lady asked him if he went to many games.  "Only five or six this year," he said.  "Is this the first ball you have caught?"  she asked teasingly.  He was serious.  "Yeah, this is the first one," he replied, "for now." 

Of course, since the game had just begun, my son thought that surely he could catch another one in the next six remaining innings.  He had no concept yet that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.  He will remember this for the rest of his life. 

And so will I.  I will remember it not so much for the novelty and skill.  My husband can't stop talking about the skill.  "I can't believe he caught it.  That is a professionally hit foul ball.  This kid is something else."  No, I will remember  this moment for the look of pride it put on my son's face.  It wasn't a haughty pride.  But, a shocking pride and a realization that he can do anything he puts his mind to. 

It wasn't the fact that the ball was caught that was memorable to me.  It was the effect that it had on my son that was special.    

It made me realize that life happens in moments.   Some big.  Some small.  Some once-in-a-lifetime.  What threads them all together is what we learn from life's moments and how we use those lessons to better ourselves and the people around us.   The more lessons you learn and lessons you can teach, the more you will have to commemorate, light up, and show off in shadow boxes on your wall.  Shadow boxes like the one that you can bet I'm going to get to show off that ball.  It will be a great story to come.  But, in my heart it will be a great milestone.  And it will remind me of a lot more than just a catch at a game.       

Take Life For a Spin

My son is really getting into the Game of Life...literally, on my computer, he scrolls through the Hasbro game collection until he finds it.  For hours on end, he is consumed with spinning the wheel, collecting houses, wives, children, deeds, mortgages, raises, money, and finally, a debt free retirement. 

The first question would pop up on the screen - "Career or College?"  On the first few games, he always went for the Career... wanting to forge ahead and get on with it in his typical not-a-care-in-the-world flair.  But, then he realized that not going to college didn't get him very good jobs and enough money to win. 

In his first game of life, he was a Mechanic with twin boys and a wife living in a an RV.  Then he became a hairstylist, and accrued 5 children, 3 grandkids, and a small cottage.  Finally, he wizened up and picked college and became a surgeon and veterinarian. 

Another question popped up on the screen - "Play it Safe or Take a Risk?"  Of course, he always picked the latter.  Never the path of least resistance.  After game number 10, he had figured out how to become wealthy, not over extended, and finish ahead.  "Mom, I am awesome at Life!"  I had to laugh.  Yes, if only it were just a spin of the wheel. 

In the real game of life, he was spinning another wheel trying to learn how to ride his newer and much bigger bike.  It's a red flashy Monsoon made for doing tricks.

As we give our two cents on the best way to start pedaling, braking, and stopping, I can't help but laugh at our instructions.  They are universal.  Just like in the Game of Life, a few pointers go a long way. 

Feet in the right place.  Head up.  Don't start on a hill.  And you are going to fall. 

First, my son straddles the bike and starts attempting to take off uphill.  "Tyler, don't go uphill when you're starting out" we coach.  "You're not going to get enough speed to stay on the bike."  "I can do it guys" he retorts.  He calls us "guys" like we are his buddies.  It's a generic term, but we've come to appreciate the humor every time he addresses us like his friends on the playground.  "Hey guys, do you want to go swing on the monkey bars?" 

Next, I tell him that if he going to fall, head for the grass, so it breaks the fall.  He looks me square in the eye and emphatically states, "Mom, I am not going to fall."   "Okay, bud, but if you do, head for softer ground." 

Finally my husband tells him where to place his feet on the pedals so that he gets the best rotation to take off smoothly.    

I notice he follows our advice.  Feet in the right place, start on level ground, and keep your head up.  And, darn it, if he doesn't fall, as he breezes past me going way too fast for a beginner and grinning ear to ear.  "Look mom, I'm doing it!" he yells proudly. 

I guess the saying, "It's like riding a bike," is true.  So much of life is about the basics.  But, when we confuse ourselves with our second guessing and doubts and worry, we end up in the wrong place.  My son had no second guessing.  He mounted that Monsoon and took off flying, happy as a lark. 

If you have a good foundation with your feet in the right place and your head up, your gut will tell you what to do next.  It's those moments where we know we are doing what we are meant to do that we need to hold onto.  We have to live like we're not going to fall and be prepared for when we do.  In life, the falls are inevitable.  It's what we do after them and how we learn from them that creates a legacy.  It turns out life is not a game.  It's not just a spin of a wheel and pure luck.  It is a legacy that we get to create and impart to our family and friends. 

A Life Worth Living

School starts soon.  I am elated.  He is ecstatic.  Together, we can't wait to start this new chapter of my young son's life - first grade.  While I'm sure our motives are different, we are both equally enthusiatic about finding the perfect bookbag for Mrs. Custard's class.   While on our quest, we stroll through Kohls, looking through the toy section and clothes aisle.  My son spots the bags first.  "Mom over here!"  He runs to a row of bookbags and is overcome with emotion at the large selection of every cartoon character on the Nickelodeon channel.  He cannot decide between Phineas and Ferb and Super Mario.  We settle on Super Mario.... and he trots off excited about his new find.  "Mom, this is the best bookbag ever!"

Lately my son is commenting on everything.  Every emotion, thought, and wonder is expressed out loud and waits a response.  We look through picture frames, and he is pointing out all the words he can read.  I wander off to another row, and he comes over to me with a picture frame.  "Mom.  Look.  This would be good for dad.  "The picture frame has a caption on the bottom: "Dad's little hero."  "Yes, it would son."  Encouraged, he hops over to another aisle.  "Mom, look.  This is a nice one.  You should get this."  The frame reads, "Little Angel."  "Hmmm" is my only response.  I am not paying too much attention looking over my own selections.  He disappears and reappears for a third time.  "Mom."  I'm calulating discounts and don't look up.  Tyler is unfazed.  "Mom, look at this one."  "This is what life is all about," he says dramatically.  I look up.  He is standing there grinning ear to ear in that knowing look.  The frame says simply, "Love."  I'm speechlesss again.  This little boy makes me speechless more times than I can count.  "Yes, Tyler, you're right.  That is what life is all about.  How did you know that?"  "Because, love makes people happy."  He is unbelievable.  I've always contended the kid is a walking commercial.  But, he may be a walking prophet as well. 

The night before at dinner, we taught Tyler different words for love, like the difference between romance and affection.  We said romance is something that happens between two people who love each other but are not your sister or mother.  Affection is what you have for the people you are related to.  These basics had to covered, as he was getting them mixed up.  We asked him if he understood the difference.  He nodded assuredly and used his new vocabulary in a sentence to confirm his comprehension.  "Mom and I have are having moments of infection!"  Close enough. 

I realize that my son has more basics covered about life than a lot of adults.  He knows that life is all about love and everything worth living for in life revolves around love.  This is why he lives life to the fullest - because he loves to the fullest. 

Maybe this is why God said to us adults to come to him like children.  Because children know how to love.  They know how to express themselves and live life to the fullest.  They know how to live in love.  They know what life is all about.  While he may need a lesson on the different definitions and variations of love, in his world, there is only one kind of love - the love that makes life worth living. 

 

Midnight Conversations with God

Have you ever had your child preach to you?  And they made more sense to you than any preacher ever had?  My son spent the better part of twenty minutes after Sunday night dinner answering a lot of questions I had about life.  In his mind, the meaning of life is simple.  It is all about making God happy with the things we do in life.  He says that, “I wake up in the middle of the night and talk to God.  My eyes are open.”  “My heart and my soul are happy when they are talking to God.”  These are the words coming out of his mouth, while I listen with my mouth hanging wide open. 

The conversation starts with a common question that I pose to him frequently, “What am I going to do when you get all grown up?”  I figure he is going to shrug and answer, “I don’t know” just like he usually does and any kid would.  They think in the moment and don’t waste time on reflecting on the past.  Or so I thought. 

But, instead he answers without hesitation, “Mom, I will always be littler than you.”  I correct him.  “No, Tyler, one day, you will probably be taller than mommy.”  “No mom, that is not true,” he counters.  “I will always be your son.  I will always be littler.”   

I still think he is confused and continue my argument by reciting the facts that genetics are on his side.  He is most likely going to be at least 6 feet tall.  That is 5 inches taller than his mother.  “Tyler, one day, you will be all grown up and will look down to mommy.”  “No, mom, you will always be my mom, and I will always be littler than you.”  Then I realize that I am not having a literal, black and white conversation with my six-year old son.  We are speaking figuratively.  And, figuratively, he will always be littler than me.   In his mind, he wasn’t thinking about statistics of height.  He was thinking about my role in his life… that being my son was never going to change and that he was always going to look up to me. 

I stopped arguing and hung on his every word.  With each new point, he would pound his right fist on the marble dinner table. The fist pound was extra loud, because of his newly casted hand and forearm. (He broke his arm rough housing with his young uncle by being catapulted in the air and trying to land like a cat… only to land like a human and crack his human bone connected to his human wrist.  Another story for another time.)  “Even when I am all grown up and big, I will still be your son mom!”  Fist pound.  “Even when you are old and I have to take care of you, I will still be littler than you mom!”  Fist pound.  “Even when you die, your soul will be alive in my heart.”  Fist pound.  “Your soul will never die mom.  You will always be alive to me.”  I have to wonder what kind of conversations he is having in the middle of the night?? 

I interject, “How did you learn all this Tyler?  Who told you all of this?”  Surely he has heard this from someone.  “God told me!” he states presumptuously.  Of course I am supposed to know that he speaks to God on a regular basis.  He moves to a new subject with his didactic speech.  “God speaks to my heart mom.  This is what makes the heart and soul happy mom.  Helping people.  Just like you are doing with that girl at work.”  “What girl Tyler?”  He recalls the name, “You know, Ricky’s mom.”  He remembers when we were collecting unused toys around the house for Ricky, a boy his age who didn’t have as much as him.    

So my son deduced an absolute truth that many adults have yet to grasp about what makes the soul happy.  He shocked me with his comprehension on how we will always be connected as mother and child and he morphed that into a greater good… that we can become even happier by helping others. 

“Mom, you have learned a valuable lesson today,” he states matter-of-factly as he gets up from the dinner table.  He is abruptly finished with his speech.  He has laid out exactly what he thinks about life and death, and he is scared of neither.  In fact, for him, he thinks he has the inside track.  He listens to his heart and knows how to make his heart and thus, God, happy. 

Later that night, he comes up to me again while I am doing dishes.  “Mom, you should tell everyone what I taught you in that thing you do.”  “What ‘thing I do’?” I ask.  “That thing!” he repeats emphatically, like I should know by now how to read his mind.  He remembers the word he was looking for.  “That ‘blog’.”  “Okay, bud, I will,” I tell him.  Because we are connected and I want him to read this when he gets all grown up.

One Woman's Vision

I’ve met the most courageous, gracious woman who is a mother, a survivor, and a hero.  Five years ago, late in her pregnancy, she lost her sight to a rare disease called uveitis, an inflammation in the eye tissue.   She had to choose between medication that might treat the severe inflammation and her unborn child.  She chose the latter.  Today, while she has lost her physical eyes to this disease, she has gained a spiritual insight that knows no limits.  She lives for her son and struggles to carve out a better life for them both. 

She talks about her past and her journey.  She ran away from home at 16, lived on the streets, sold her body for drugs, and became an addict.  She tried to turn her life around, finished high school, started community college and got a fast food job.  Then her life suddenly changed.  She lost her eyesight when blood vessels burst in her eyes late in her pregnancy.  She states matter-of-factly, “Everyone has a journey.  This is mine.”  She looks at the bright side, counting her blessings, “If I would have never lost my sight, I would still be working at McDonald’s.”   After her loss of vision, she earned her GED.   She started a street ministry handing out sandwiches to the city’s homeless.  She won awards as a case worker helping people with disabilities find rewarding jobs.  Today, she is writing a book about her experiences.   She raises a five year old child, Ricky, who adores her and acts as her “eyes” in this world. 

Though her eyes are prosthetic and can be easily removed, as she showed me, I find that she does not need these organs to be the windows to her soul.  Her soul is wide open for all to see, through her smile, her speech, the tilt of her head.  She is a treasure to talk to and an inspiration to listen to as she uses her gift of communication to touch the deepest parts of one’s heart. 

At work, she hangs up a picture of her son, a son she has never physically seen.  As I look at the picture, I see that he looks a lot like my own son and l feel honored to share the same motherly love with this amazing woman.  I cannot imagine the daily struggles she has to overcome.  I watch her fight to stay positive, upbeat, and always moving forward. 

My troubles fit in a thimble compared to what my new friend faces daily.  But, her soul shines like a candle in a dark room.  The flood of problems that would normally drown someone in grief and self pity only makes her stronger against the current and triumphant in the end.

She wins in the end.  Yes, she has many difficulties to overcome.  But, she has what so many of us do not.  She has found her true self.  She has found her strengths, talents, and soul.  She has been driven to the end of herself and knows what it is to be lifted up from disaster and hopelessness.  She has hope and desire and passion for something bigger than herself.  Though she cannot see, she has more foresight than so many of us.  She has a vision more important than her physical vision, a vision of the soul. 

She is creating a new life for herself and her son.  She is singlehandedly breaking the generational cycle of addiction and abuse that she was subjected to as a child.  She is teaching her son the true meaning of love through her powerful example.  She is teaching a great lesson to everyone she comes in contact with – a hero is someone who sees beyond reality into the impossible and makes it possible.  In reality, she is the farthest thing from blind.  She sees the world and people for who they really are – people who need a chance and need to be loved. 

Riding Into Bushes

Every year, my extended family goes on a well deserved summer vacation.  They rent a house called the “Lighthouse,” tow a trailer stocked with bikes, beach chairs and umbrellas,  and high tail it to Santa Rosa Beach for a solid week of family fun.  It’s like the Griswalds only without the station wagon.  (We’ve upgraded.) 

After thirteen plus hours in the car, they spill out like bugs, claim their beds, and organize the first bike ride of the vacation.  Each event is a group event, equipped with plans, directions, and our mixed drink of choice.    

This year, my son and I shared a slice of this adventurous undertaking. 

We were fully entrenched in the whirlpool that is my family’s vacation.  It swirls and dips and sucks you in like none other.  I sometimes feel sorry for those that have married into the madness.  J 

Going on vacation with my large family is a lot like going in the deep end at the Raging Rivers wave pool.  You know there is a giant machine manufacturing the waves with the suction force of a plane engine; you just can’t locate its exact location.  So, you give up, have fun bobbing up and down like fishing lure and concentrate on keeping your head above water.      

The first thing my son mastered was riding a bike without brakes.  This could be another applicable analogy for going on vacation with the relatives.  It’s akin to riding a bike without brakes.  All go.  No stop.  Don’t look down. 

This was not actually his bike.  It was a little big for him.  But, he was intent on riding around the quiet neighborhood.  “Mom, just hold the bike,” he directed me while he climbed onto the seat and reached for the pedals.  “Okay mom… now just hold on while I start pedaling.”  So I trotted awkwardly with him for a few paces while he found his bike legs.  “Okay, let go mom.”  And released I did… “Be careful!”  No response.  He was already out of earshot or choosing to ignore me.  Either way, I was nervous on two fronts:

A.      He didn’t have brakes.

B.      He wasn’t looking out for cars.

“Watch out for cars” I yelled in vain.  He was racing down the street going faster than the 12 MPH posted speed limit.  I watch helpless as he jets, head down, around the bend.    

More relatives emerge from around the corner.  They are jogging their first lap around the neighborhood.  Exercising is much more exciting in a breezy, beachy setting.  Midstride and nonchalantly, my sister yells to me… “Tyler is riding into bushes to stop.“  She finds this humorous and stops to elaborate, “He finds a bush and rides right into it to break his fall.” 

Great.  We are going to be asked to leave… probably by the same people who posted the pretentious   12 MPH speed limit.  The neighborhood bylaws outlaw bush mangling I am sure.  These neighbors are not going to be happy. 

Tyler rounds the corner and I witness his technique first hand.  “Hi mom!” he yells like this is perfectly normal and crash, there goes the bush.  He brushes himself off and strolls the bike over to me, very proud of himself. 

He has mastered a bike that is meant for someone twice his age because he is fearless.  He needs a little help getting started and a bush to break his fall, but besides that, he enjoys the ride for all its worth.  “Mom, look at me!” he yells as he glides down the middle of the street, pedaling away. 

I am fascinated by his tenacious drive to succeed.  And I want to bottle it. 

He set a goal to ride that bike.  He found help, got up, and overcame the weaknesses.  Each step along the way, he could have let fear take over and ruin his bike ride.  But, he didn’t.  He believed in his ability and resolve too much.  Lack of brakes – a minor detail – didn’t deter him. 

But for so many of us, we lose before we even begin.  We could take a few pointers from a fearless six year old.  Don’t be afraid to ask for help.  Don’t be afraid to try something that looks too big to master.  Don’t be afraid to fall down.

My son wasn’t concerned about stopping or falling down.  He was enjoying the ride.  He got faster and more confident with each bike ride.  Pretty soon, I just had to the hold the bike upright while he climbed up and sailed out of my hands.  “Thanks mom!” he shouted.  “No problem bud” I yelled after him.  “Watch out for the rose bushes!”     

Enjoying the Teasers in Life... Big and Small

To commemorate my son’s first year of school, a lively musical was held at his school.  On a Tuesday night, I rushed from work to change my son’s shirt, slick his hair back, change my shoes and hightail it to Valley Park gymnasium.  Teacher of the Year Mr. Ketterman, whom all the kindergarteners adore, is on stage with his microphone and guitar.  He commands the attentions of the 100 kids on stage.  Together for the next thirty minutes, the darlings sing their hearts out to top 40 hits, like “Dynamite” by Usher, Justin Beiber’s, “Baby,” as well as their own original creations. 

One song was cleverly repetitious.   They had to pick an animal and rhyme it with a thing or object – like a cat in a hat.  These words would then fit into the song. 

“Oh a hunting we will go

a hunting we will go

we’ll catch a bear

and put him in underwear

and then we’ll let him go.” 

This went on and on with different animals that were placed into the song, like a dog in a log or a brontosaurus in the chorus.

Parents around me have their souped up video cameras on tripods, and I have a four-year old malfunctioning camera that is running out of battery.  I’m feeling low.  My son is in the back row trying to see over the puffy bangs of the girl in front of him.  He’s looking all around for us, and I’m waving frantically.  We are all elbow to elbow in loud, metal folding chairs straining to see our children.  The lady sitting next to me struggles to keep a baby quiet while her husband is zooming in with his video camera on their adorable red headed daughter, Kennedy, in the front row.  I’m feeling even lower.  This mother with three kids can get it together enough to bring her video camera so that they will have a video they can treasure for years.  Their daughter sings the songs perfectly and mimes the motions precisely.  Mine is goofing off in the back row. 

I am silently kicking myself.  Why couldn’t I leave work early enough to charge my camera’s battery?  The iphone camera I am using is crap.  It doesn’t zoom and all I can capture is the top of his head.  I’ll have a really good picture of his spiky colic.   

But, in the end, it’s the memory that counts.  The night before the “big show” I was tucking my son into bed asking about how prepared he was for his musical.  “Can you give me a teaser?”  “What’s a teaser mom?”  I explained that it was giving me a taste of what songs he had planned so that I can look forward to it. 

So that night, tucked into his dinosaur sheets with his bumble bee pillow pet, he serenaded me with various different vignettes of the songs to come, stopping just short of giving away the whole song, and leaving me wanting more.  “That was very good Tyler!”  

I thought back on those special moments at bedtime while I was craning my neck to see the last song.  This event was for my son to feel special and accomplished, not for me to catch perfect video or pictures.  So I put down the camera and just enjoyed the show.  He was having a blast in the back row.  He found me in the audience and sang harder and louder.  I clapped ferociously, not caring that I was probably waking up the sleeping baby next to me.   

I realized that sometimes the small moments in life are more special that the big moments.  I got a first row seat to my son’s “teaser” in his bed the night before.  I could hear him loud and clear.  That was a special moment.  That was when he was felt accomplished and proud to belt out everything he had learned.  That moment was just as important as his moment on stage.  He could care less if I was recording it or not.  He just wanted my attention – the same attention he had when I tucked him into bed. 

As adults, we could learn from this lesson.  We spend so much time managing our lives for the stage, thinking that the “big musicals” are the only thing that’s going to matter in the end.  That’s when the video is rolling, the credits come out.  That’s when everyone is watching. 

But, I think it’s the small moments backstage that really make us who we really are.  We forget in the busyness of life to cherish the serenades, the bedside chats, and the anticipation of achievements.  As working women and moms we are so goal oriented, type A, overworked and perfectionist strived that we miss the “teasers” in life, the small moments that give life meaning and an overall theme.  Looking back, had I not experienced the serenade of the kindergarten musical, it wouldn’t have been nearly as special.  That is the tragedy.  Our overcompensating attitude toward life covers the crux of what we are working so hard for.  Life is made up of small moments and big moments.  Sometimes it’s the small moments that give so much meaning to the big moments.  Let’s not forget to enjoy the teasers.

Mother's Day, Moles, and Mantles

“Mom.  Come here!  Quick.”  My son is squatting down by a rock pointing at something black and furry with a tail.  It scurries under a rock, darts over the grass, and starts burrowing in the ground.  I squat down too and take a closer look.  Uggh… It’s a mole.  And it’s responsible for the mounds of dirt and tracks we get in our yard every year.  I hate these things.  “Give me the bat Tyler…” I regretfully request.  He hands it over; his eyes peeled on the enthusiastic rodent. 

I lift my arms to swing the bat, but lose my resolve.  I can’t do it.  I can’t crush a mole in front of my son.  His eyes are still peeled and I can tell the thing is gaining ground…literally.  I’m torn between letting the thing reek its havoc in our front yard or getting over my fear of squashing a live thing to its death… in front of my son… with his bat.    

So, I do what any woman of sound mind would do.  I call for back up.  We are screaming in unison, “Hurry!  Come here!” as the thing sinks lower and lower in the ground.  My husband arrives… almost too late.  And he has no problem banging that bat down on the moving earth.  He has patting down more molehills than I have. 

“He’s dead…” he remarks casually and hands Tyler the bat.  My son is in shock… “Dad, that’s one of God’s creatures…”

 “Well he’s with God now” my husband replies. 

My son is still squatting down, watching the now motionless, belly up mole.

I’m happy as the innocent bystander and only a witness to the crime.   

That answer seems to work.  He can dig molehills up in heaven, and we soon get distracted trying to figure out how to dispose of the animal and marveling at just how long its claws are. 

I am happy I made the right decision.  We moms have to think twice about what to bang in the head and when to do it. 

Had this been a head of lettuce, I would have had no problem banging the heck out of it. 

But, I start to think of my immediate impulse as a woman, mom, and gardener… On Mother’s Day, I wanted to bang that thing that was rooting through my ground in the head with a bat. 

I wanted it dead.  Not captured or stunned, but dead. 

I think this is how all moms are wired.  We plant the seeds in our children’s lives, we water the seeds, we watch them grow, and we sure the hell don’t want any trespassers chewing through it! 

Earlier, not two feet from the alleged misdemeanor, I was having a nice conversation with my neighbor.  She brought over a late Christmas gift, which made for a wonderful Mother’s Day gift.  It was a wine holder with the bottle swinging in a small hammock strapped to palm trees on a beach… It’s going on my mantle.  Everything about the gift says, “Relax.  Lay down.  Drink me.” 

I have to laugh that fifteen minutes after receiving this relaxing, symbolic gift I am poised over a mole with a bat and my bug eyed son yelling, “Don’t kill it mom!”   

It’s the story of our lives as mothers.  What we deserve and want more of (sleep, wine, and a vacation) sits on our mantle, while the unexpected reality (a live mole crawling through our garden) waits for us around the corner.     

It’s all how we swing the bat that gets us to the next inning. 

What Life Throws Your Way

You haven't really lived until you've sidelined a T-ball practice for kindergarteners. 

Their first game is tomorrow and coaches Jeff and Bobby Jo struggle to teach eight little kids with varying skill levels the organized game of baseball.  The only girl on the team, Lilah, is up first with a white flower barrette pinning back her massive mound of frizzy jet-black hair.  Lilah is headstrong and whirls her pink polka dotted bat defiantly through the air with style but no contact. 

Another boy, Connor, screams at the top of his lungs when he runs from base to base.  Logan prances up to home base in his spanking new orange helmet and Old Navy tracksuit, but struggles with swinging the heavy bat across his body.  The bat's momentum whirls him around in a full circle.   

Loudmouthed, older sister, Trisha "coaches" from the sidelines as she pushes her little brother, stroller and all, onto the field in the direct path of the pitch.  She gets shouted off the field and play resumes. 

Coach Bobby Jo yells, "Get in your ready positions," and all eight kids squat and perch their elbows on their knees with gloves aimed at the batter - a batter who has his legs spread so far apart he almost loses his balance.

Tyler swaggers up to bat chewing his Dubble Bubble, confident in his obvious superior grasp of the game.  "Something tells me we have a slugger on our hands," Coach Jeff yells from the pitcher position.    Veteran player, Carter, yells from first base, "I'm going hard on you Tyler!" 

Tyler is up for the challenge.  His eyes gleam as he addresses the plate with authority.  The whole field grows quiet.  You can feel the anticipation in the air.  "Get in your ready positions!" The kids squat down in unison.  Crack.  Tyler makes contact and jets off to first.

We parents on the sidelines are doubled over in tears at the organized chaos.  We have our own hilarious real life version of "Sandlot" and have to wonder if the other team's are as bad as we are. 

I'm a little worried.  Will my competitive, aggressive, perfectionist athlete son be happy playing on a team with a bunch of happy-go-lucky kids who could care less about baseball? 

I have to wonder if their are teams full of other aggressive, competitive and talented athletes.  Are we going to be the laughingstock of the league? 

But, when I look out at the field, my son is having a blast.  He's enjoying the game for the fun of it.

We could all take a lesson from this ragamuffin crew.  They didn't have to be perfect or beat anyone.  They weren't playing for the points.  They just had to express themselves.  Lilah didn't care if she missed the ball every single time.  She just liked swinging her polka dot bat!  They didn't worry about each "at bat" and whether of not it would be good enough for the onlookers.  They just tried to make the best of each throw and each opportunity. 

Maybe we adults should take some pointers.  Instead of worrying about the score and our "batting averages," we should concentrate on getting to know our team, developing team spirit, making the best of every opportunity, what life throws our way, and maybe running from 1st to 2nd base yelling at the top of our lungs. 

If we did this, I think life would seem a little more enjoyable and in the moment.  We could take our eyes off of the unreachable goals and back on what is happening right around us.  Because, sometimes what is happening in the present, everyday life is really what life is all about. 

Forty-five minutes later, we've gone through the lineup and head to the dugout.  The team receives their game gear - kelly green hats and matching t-shirts.

Tyler is excited for tomorrow's game.  He doesn't seem worried that other teams may be better and more prepared.  He's happy in his place on the team and confident that he will make the best of whatever life throws his way.           

Jellybeans and Good Intentions

“Your son is so well behaved!” a lady in the paper towel aisle expresses behind me.  I look around me, sure she is not talking to me.  My “well-behaved” son has been wheeling the cart around corners, cutting people off and is now perched on top of the Diet Pepsi 24 packs drinking a chocolate milk we have yet to pay for.    

“He is?” I ask pertinently.

“Yes, I was watching him in the candy aisle and he was so careful to pour every last one of the jellybeans in his hand back into the canister.  I was so impressed!  If that were my son, he would just stick all those jelly beans in his pocket and walk away.” 

I was skeptical to say the least.  The questions ran through my mind.  “How did he get the handful of jellybeans?  What other buttons did he push?  And where is he now?”  The tower of 24 packs was empty. 

But, I smiled and said, “Thank you.  He is something.”  And went to go find my six year old. 

Later that day, I was retelling the story in front of Tyler and my husband.  “This lady at the store was so impressed with Tyler!”  The story had sunk in.  I was proud.  Maybe he was putting all those jelly beans back, knowing that stealing was wrong. 

“Is this true Tyler?” my husband asked.  He nodded. “Yep, I tried one but I didn’t like it.  So, I poured them back.”  Aha…. 

Tyler nodded approvingly of his actions, not thinking that he may want to take credit for the first story. 

He was a hero in the first story – conscientious, thoughtful, and careful not to take something that wasn’t his.  He made that woman’s day!  She had hope in the world for all six year olds that there were a few well taught ones.  She was raving about him.  “He is so cute!” she said, “He was so meticulous about putting every one of them back.” 

“Well, at least he’s honest,” my husband remarked, trying to think of another good character trait we could hang our hats on as parents. 

So the action was not completely benevolent.  It actually was entirely self serving.  He did not mistakenly push the button and have to put them all back.  He purposefully pressed the button, tried one, and put them all back. 

Same end action.  Those manhandled, sticky jelly beans are back in their rightful place.  But, different intention.  

It’s the same way in how we live our lives.  It’s not always about the end result or what is in the eye of the beholder that matters.  It is the intention of the heart.

Sometimes, what is perceived is really different than what is real.    

As a six year old, Tyler didn’t know to cover up his real intentions like so many of us non-six year olds do.  His only way of living is to intend something and express his intentions, good or bad.

When we cover up our true intentions, we grow unhappy.  We grow out of ourselves and become a bystander to a life we are really not living. 

Not my son.  He is living his life to the fullest.  Jellybeans or no jellybeans, he stays true to what he thinks and believes. 

It’s just my job to make sure he pushes the right buttons.