Gratitudinously yours

Available on etsy.

I like the annual November trend where people spend time reflecting on the gifts in their lives each day in November, a nod to Thanksgiving. But I’m pretty bad about sticking to a schedule (you may have noticed I haven’t updated this blog in 8,000 months), so I’m going after this in one fell swoop and I’ll just trust that you believe me when I say I try to practice gratitude on a daily basis. If you don’t believe me, I can probably live with that, too.

1. Waking up every day as part of my imperfect family. I’m grateful that my little family is healthy, even if we include a hardiness that allows for my boys’ very healthy full-throttled screaming on a near-daily basis. I’m thankful for the Super Nanny, who taught me the proper time-out technique that keeps us all a (relatively) safe distance from the brink of insanity. I’m especially thankful that I am number one on my kid’s top ten list of most beautiful women in the world, including Princess Leia and all of his grandmothers and even his aunt and two of my best friends, Jo and Melinda.

I’m also grateful for a husband who gets me, who loves us in both word and deed, and who is uncommonly patient about irksome quirks. For example, people who have a really hard time sitting in the passenger’s seat and not completely freaking out. I have heard about people like that, and he’s really understanding.

I also count my blessings when it comes to extended family. We are way more than lucky to live a life surrounded by supportive people, who are not only interesting, smart, and loving, but on whom we could call, and have called, for help in even the most asinine situation.

2. Friends, i.e. sounding boards, support systems, hilarious companionship, sources of baked goods and fruity adult beverages. People who care about you, not in spite of your various flaws or just because you always feed the meter when you go downtown together, but just because you are you.

3. The Intangibles. No, not that movie about Al Capone. I’m talking about those often unnoticed bits of human interaction that do more to keep the world turning than anything we could actually measure. Interpret as you will, but I want it noted for the record that I’m grateful for these moments:

That time when I allowed someone else to be gracious and kind instead of commandeering the situation and trying to save face.

That time a stranger stopped by our table at a restaurant, told us we have a beautiful family, and then paid for our meal before she left.

That time we paid it forward.

That time my 6-year-old made my gravely ill grandpa well up with tears when he shook his hand after losing the peg game.

That time my dog visited that same grandpa and just laid her head on his lap the entire time, as opposed to doing her usual routine of leaping around the house knocking things off tables with her perpetually happy tail.

That time my baby boy told me he wasn’t a baby anymore but that he would pretend to be one if it made me feel better. It did.

The sound of crunchy leaves.

The way the hills pop up around my city whenever I return from out of town, from every direction.

Snort-laughing.

The unexpected gifts that grief brings.

Being a big sister, a future aunt, a granddaughter, a daughter, a mother, and more, and recognizing that despite the days when it doesn’t quite feel like it, that I’m a part of something more than this.

But also, I’m grateful that I’ll never have this all figured out, and that I have so much more to see. I’ll never really grasp how tiny our lives are in the grand scheme of the universe, or how fleeting the existence of the human race really is. Astronomy totally freaks me out. I’m also grateful to have grown up in the ‘80s, because phrases like “totally freaks me out” come out so easily.

Really, though, I’m just grateful to be here with you.

What really matters

Phew. It's been a whirlwind of multitudinous... stuff here. Sorry. After coming up with "multitudinous" (which I spelled correctly without the help of Mr. Sheldon T. Squiggly Line), my creativity well dried up like an egg white omelet at IHOP. Those people seriously do not understand omelets. Stick with the cakes.

So anyway. Stuff happened! Chief among the stuff was my best friend's wedding. Note I did not write My Best Friend's Wedding, which is an altogether different, and much more unfortunate situation.

No. My friend-who-was-never-going-to-get-remarried is now a Mrs-who-changed-her-mind, and I couldn't be more swollen with pride and happiness if I finally discovered that Mother of the Millenium Mellinnium Millennium (thanks, Sheldon) award in my mailbox.

It is not easy to take a leap into something scary after you've been through something awful. It would have been easier in 1100 ways for my friend to never take the chance again, and for a while I almost believed her when she said she never would. I had sat beside her during dark days, and she had stood by while I heaved with awkward, room-clearing sobs after my own first, young marriage dissolved. I was more than willing to be there again, but I was pretty sure I'd wind up in prison the next time someone hurt my schmoopie.

And then, one day, she practically floated into my house after their first date, all flushed, her eyes sparkling, the whole deal. The book was written long before she'd own up to it, but a true friend knows. I fretted at first. Cautioned. Worried. Rubbed my temples a lot. Planned for what I'd say if things went south and he wasn't as great as he seemed. It was going to be something like, "OK, here's your passport, a liter of rum, and a bag of toiletries. The plane lands in Jamaica at 8 a.m. and I have a cabana boy scheduled for 10. Godspeed."

Happily, very, very happily, the book just kept getting better and I didn't have to spend my life's savings on a ticket to a coconut island. He was "good people" - generous, fun, easy going, doting, protective, and above all and most important in my book, kind. Eventually I gave my nod, not that it would have mattered, but because I wanted it on record for later, in case they decided to write a will or something.

I was fortunate enough to stand close by and witness these two kind souls confirm and celebrate their commitment, to reaffirm what is important in this short life, to bravely and earnestly own everything that had come before, and welcome with open minds and hearts, whatever is yet to come.

I'm pretty bad at predictions (I'm still scraping that Ralph Nader for President sticker off my car), but in my estimation, two kind souls facing the world together, will result in good. I know these two will inspire more kindness along the way, because it's infectious. I know they will bring smiles and laughter and reminders about cherishing what is important in this life, to the people who surround them. It's what happens when true love is permitted to thrive, and I'm so proud that these two people have chosen that path.

Thank you for letting us be a part of your day, my friends.

My kid is not better than your kid and I'm OK with that

Easter on etsy is a dangerous search term. Find this here.

This article about aggressive parents ruining an egg hunt in Colorado got me all riled up earlier. This is a pretty easy feat, so don't be too intimidated by the power of the words here. They probably won't cause you to vent to your 3-year-old (who patiently stares at you with "oh great, here we go again" plastered clearly across his cherubic face) about the state of the world. But me? I'm still going strong.

Here's the thing. I get it. I get why parents get aggressive sometimes. Life can be hard, unfair, and competitive. It's hard enough to be the one getting the bull's horns in the groin every day, and it's that much worse when it's your kid. I can even get all bristly if one of my kids gets a well-deserved stink eye for kicking the back of someone's seat at the theater. I'm instantly all "Oh, no, you did not. This is a child." In my mind. In reality, thankfully (so far), the Golden Rule kicks in and I realize that I wouldn't be too happy about this, either, and my kid isn't made of glass, so I make my kid stop it and tell them to apologize. And if I manage to do it kindly, the kickee will usually soften considerably, and my kid isn't scarred for life (and stops with the kicking, already). We all want need to be treated with kindness and respect.

But. Here's the other thing. I'm sick of events like an Easter egg hunt for kids turning into an ultra-competitive free-for-all for adults. Stop that. Not only are you tromping all over the smaller kids to grab eggs for your own kids, but what, exactly, is the lesson here? Is it:

A. If everybody else is behaving badly, you need to do it, too, to "even the playing field"?
B. Life is about getting what's "owed" to you because you are entitled by your very existence?
C. I don't have faith in you to get out there and find your own eggs because you can't do anything well enough on your own?
D. In this family, it is shameful to come away empty-handed or with anything but the blue ribbon?
E. Having fun for the sake of just having fun isn't worthwhile?
or maybe
F. It's more important to me that these other parents don't "win" than it is for you to enjoy this experience?

I'm very worried about the helicopter parenting trend. I certainly participate to a degree, though it's an ongoing, conscious effort to relax and stop it. As a homeschooler, I try especially hard to make sure I back off when I can, favoring a lot of self-directed learning. While it warms my heart to hear Anderson talk about wanting to open a store so the whole family can work there together while we all live in the same house together forever, I'm even more excited when he talks about becoming the first astronaut to go to Mars or a chef who travels around the world selling worm-and-chocolate-chip ice cream and hot dogs with any topping anybody could ever dream of ever. I glean a lot of inspiration from places like Free-Range Kids.

I totally get the part about wanting to shield their hearts and shape their experiences so that they are all pain-free. I sincerely do. If I was forced to cry on cue, I'd just conjure up an image of someone hurting one of my son's little hearts.

But it's not our job to cushion their world, and it's a futile exercise, to boot. All we can really do is promise to love them, no matter what. To promise to be proud of them, even when the Easter basket comes back empty, for getting in the game.