Sunday, January 6, 2019

Stages Of Parenting Boys On Ski Trips



Stage One: Sweet Misery
Activities include: 
-At least 30 minutes of wriggly prep including wrestling on onesies, thermals, socks, snowsuits, hats, gloves, boots and helmets and then removal of half that due to a stinky.
-packing up of diapers, binkies, Goldfish, sippy cups and woobies, followed by hauling uphill of the all the aforementioned plus one’s own skis, boots, etc. up to the slopes.
-approximately 20-30 minutes of straight up adorableness on the bunny slope 
-hot chocolate and cookie break while watching in awe as the big kids come down the mountain
-snowman building and snow angel making
-sweaty haul back to the room where either a hat or a mitten or a beloved woobie is discovered lost forever out in the snow. 
-Tears, baths, nuggets for dinner, fall into bed.

Gamut of parental emotions: Excitement, frustration, exhaustion, frustration, serious doubt at one’s fitness to raise children, delight at how cute they are in snowsuits, discovery of unconditional love, excitement, exhaustion and more exhaustion.

Stress Level: 11 out of 10

Stage Two: Snowboarding Younguns
Activities include: 
-boarding le$$ons 
-trying to keep up once they’re coached up and officially faster than their parents
-breaks for blue Gatorade, candy bars and sugar diabetus
-hot tub shenanigans followed by jumping half naked into a pile of snow 
-missing your sweet babies in snowsuits who have somehow been replaced by two cocky, hilarious neon and cammo-clad mini Shaun Whites.

Gamut of parental emotions: Shock and awe, resignation that you are no longer cool, exhaustion.

Stress Level: 6 out of 10

Stage Three: Teens a.k.a. Meet You For Lunch 
Activities include: 
-shelling out cash 
-watching them lose it reading ski run names like Organ Grinder and Beaver Run
-texting where to meet up for lunch
-shelling out more cash
-yelling that you are not a maid would you please throw away all those water bottles and pick your wet ski clothes up off the floor and give me back my phone charger
-amusement at their comical recounting of the day’s gnarly wipeouts and shweet victories

Parental emotion: Relief that you don’t have to keep up anymore.

Stress Level: 5 out of 10, but only at night when they go into town.

Stage Four: The Payoff Years
Activities Include: 
-downloading their playlist “Shred Gnar Pow 2019” on your Spotify 
-gratefully sitting back and letting them read trail maps and lead the way down the mountain
-collectively losing it over ski run names like Devil’s Crotch and Clamhopper   
-enjoying apres ski beverages together
-playing card games they’ve learned in college
-laughing at all the old stories from the ski trips you’ve taken together over the years.

Gamut of parental emotions: Amazement that they actually want to hang out with you, sheer bliss flying down the mountain together, warm fuzzies watching them genuinely enjoy each others company, gratitude for their sweetness and patience, pride that you haven’t messed them up too badly over the years, desperate hope that you can all do it again next winter.

Stress Level: Zero


Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Please Do Not Feed the Fears

I dream a lot. And like many people, I've had a recurring dream since I was young. Okay, it's not normal. Quite a humdinger of a nightmare really. I'm alone, afraid and trapped in a house of multiple rooms, confusing stairways and hallways. Something sinister is lurking out of sight, enjoying my powerlessness, mocking my struggle. The last time I had this dream was a few years ago. Once again, I had been stuck in the house for a long time and was frustrated and exhausted. Stairways led to solid walls and small doors led to smaller doors. I knew that something horrible was hidden deep in the house. Something that had to do with me. I didn't want to find the horrible thing, I just wanted out. Usually about this time I woke up. But not this time, not yet. Words are going to fail miserably here, but here you go... I rounded a corner and found myself face to face with what felt like pure evil. A malevolent being, about eight feet tall, with wings (not kidding) bore down on me. I froze in terror. For about one second. Because something in me finally snapped. I exploded in rage, lashing out at the top of my lungs, "LEEAAAVE MEEEE AAALONEE!!"

It felt incredible, purifying. What happened next was unexpected.

Bizarrely, the thing's head bowed as it turned quietly away, disappearing like smoke. I swear I detected a hint of hurt feelings. It was as if my outburst, my sudden change from fear to righteous anger, drained it's power.  I wanted to laugh with relief and wonder. My fear gave it life. Without that, it was nothing. I woke up in a twist of sweaty pajamas and the sound of my own yelling still ringing in my ears. That was the last time I had the dream.

The subconscious is a powerful thing. It's very subtle, but since then I have felt less frozen, less guilty. Definitely bolder. Once again, I can't find the right words. I don't know how to describe it. It's as though something in the chambers of my heart that was rusty and stuck was given oil, like the tim man, and finally settled into place.

To anoint with oil is a sacred form of blessing. I now look at that nightmare as a blessing. A gift from God. I will carry it with me always.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Statue of Liberty - You're Fired

At a rally in February 2015, Donald Trump was asked by an audience member if he could "look at Syrian children aged five, eight, ten, in the face and tell them they can't go to school here." Without hesitation, he said "I can look in their faces and say 'You can't come. I'll look them in the face." Friday, he made good on that promise.



Pause for a moment and look at this boy's face. There but for the grace of God go my boys. Or yours. I am all for keeping out those who seek to do us harm, but keeping out those WHO ARE FLEEING ACTUAL TERRORISM?? This man, our president, has no qualms casually turning his back on the most vulnerable and desperate of the world who have been through our already quite extensive vetting system? I'm floored. Note that Syria has produced exactly zero immigrants/refugees that have done us harm. Saudi Arabia - where Trump has business interests and where we rely on oil - has. But they were not part of his ban. Syrian refugees are afraid of exactly the same thing we are - Islamist terrorism! They are doing exactly what you or I would do were we in their shoes. Our president just slammed the door in their face.

This is not what America is about. This is not what we stand for. We are SO MUCH BETTER THAN THIS. Aren't we? Please tell me we still are.

I GET that our schools are over crowded. I GET that we have our own homeless, our elderly, our veterans, our own poor and sick to take care of. But what kind of people have we become if we let fear rule our actions? If we turn our backs on those who have suffered horrible atrocities, those who were simply unfortunate enough to be born into different circumstances than us? We have a legal obligation as a country - the 1951 Refugee Convention - to accept refugees. I believe we have a moral obligation as well.

One of the most repulsive things I have heard since the election is that my husband and I will be better off financially with Trump in office. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I refuse to sell my soul to the devil in such a way. I would gladly pay more taxes and give whatever I could potentially gain with this creature in office to those who need it so much more. This life here on Earth is but a blip in time for me. For all of us. My life here will end, I'll shed this body and the trappings of the life I had, but I know for certain my soul will endure. I've tried to stay positive about this president and wait and see what happens. But this has shaken me. I can't imagine the thought of coming face to face with God and having to explain how I stood by and said or did nothing while my country, no longer a beacon of hope to the world, turned away the suffering. I will not bury my head and sit quietly. We have a president who is perpetuating fear and division. So I'll resist. Annoying and uncomfortable as it may be to some, I will speak up and go on record as saying No, this is wrong.

YALL, when Dick Cheney, Lindsay Graham, Michael Moore and the Pope all agree that banning immigrants is wrong, well, strange times we are living in. If we stand by and allow this ban to happen, may God forgive us for being so horribly selfish and cowardly.



Pope Francis washing the feet of Muslim and Hindu migrants to Rome.



Thursday, February 11, 2016

Dear Winter, Go to Hell. xoxo, Me.

It's 23 degrees and windy as eff outside. I'm standing at my kitchen window clutching my third cup of tea for warmth. There's a package of chicken breasts on the counter put out to thaw this morning. Eight hours ago. They're still frozen. I just heard a bumpety-thump and skid in the driveway. An arctic blast has blown the trashcan over and about twenty feet away.  I look to see if it's blocking anyones ability to drive up. It is not. Who am I kidding, I wasn't going out to move it for nothing. Peering out the window and contemplating my fourth cup of tea, I hear a tiny shrill whistle right next to my ear. I look down and realize wind is hissing through the little slits of an electric outlet. Winter hates me. Good. I hate it too.

I wouldn't make a very good pioneer woman. I've read Little House on the Prairie and Cold Mountain. I saw The Revenant. I turn into a champion, Grade A, all-conference complainer in the winter. Not proud of it, but I just can't deal. Not when my hands are blue, my shoulders perma-hunched and my nose runs like a mountain stream. Things like getting out of a warm bed are monumental feats of inner strength. From the minute Christmas is over, I go into an irritated funk of pouting. I'm a preschooler, basically -loudly sighing, throwing a tantrum or two, pretty much seeking sympathy. Expressing my utter misery isn't optional. My sanity depends on it. I'm incapable of suffering quietly. So yeah, I wouldn't last long on the prairie. The townsfolk would shoot me dead and have a party around the bonfire celebrating the blessed silence. Ding dong the witch is dead. Fine by me, at least it's warm in hell.



Nope. Not gonna.
Satan's mouthpiece





Thursday, November 19, 2015

Faith the Size of A Mustard Seed

I will admit I have been mad at God this week. Maybe one day I will have the kind of rock solid faith that doesn't budge in the face of evil and injustice, to have my first thought be to pray, resting in peaceful assurance that everything is in God's hands. But I don't. Instead I get upset, toddler style. Internally, I rant, rave, jump up and down, cry, kick and scream at the unfairness of it all. I am not proud of this. I truly hope to grow out of this and become a wise and steadfast old woman one day. For now, I appreciate his patience. Here's the thing, when I have exhausted all that emotion and finally collapse at his feet, He wraps his arms around me and I know He understands exactly how I feel. My brothers and sisters are hurting. He feels it seven billion more times than I do. They are His children.

I'd love to say that after my outburst, God and I have a great talk and He explains all about giving us free will and why there is evil in the world and I'm okay with it and go skipping on my merry way. Tra la la la la. If only. Jesus didn't sugar coat it. He told us "You will have suffering in this world." (note: you will not you might) It's not paradise, this life. Now we see through the glass darkly but then we will see face to face. Right now our perspective is limited, but it won't always be. I have so many questions that I hope will be answered one day. For now, I will be grateful to be alive on this crazy and beautiful planet.

So when I fall at God's feet and surrender my anguish, what happens is this - a bit of a paradox - I feel both small AND powerful. I feel small because, well, He's God. I am reminded of my place in the vast universe. There is comfort in that. I also feel powerful. Why? God has given me, and you, a job in our time here on Earth. Love others. There is immense power in that. Maybe right now I can't comfort a Parisian man who has lost his wife or a Syrian child who has lost her home, but I can love everyone I come in contact with, friend or stranger, right where I am. Every day. And I can chose not to get sucked into the fear. Because as hokey as it sounds, our energy and our attitude is contagious. So I will keep my eyes open and my mind alert in our dangerous and complicated world. But I will not be paranoid. I will not live in fear. I will not become skeptical and bitter and negative. I will choose faith, love and yes, joy in the face of terror and sadness. It feels good, this small rebellion in my heart, to deny the terrorists what they want. Why? Because I can.






Thursday, June 25, 2015

Love Prevails In Charleston


They welcomed him into their Wednesday night Bible study. He sat with them for an hour as they studied, worshipped and prayed. Then he stood, took out his gun and said "(black people) are taking over our country, you have to go" and ripped another ugly, irreparable hole into the magnificent tapestry that is the American people.

I hope he is halfway right and that one day it does happen, that people of such exceptional character as those nine beautiful souls do take over this country. We should be so lucky to have people just like them in charge. One was a beloved pastor, a "peacemaker" and a "moral compass", whose wise counsel was sought by many. One was a 45 year old mother of three and an inspirational high school track coach. One was a quietly giving librarian dedicated to helping others acquire knowledge. Another was a war veteran, retired pastor, scholar, and grandfather. The eldest was an 87 year old grandmother who, according to her grandson, "had no animosity toward anyone." All fine people. All contributors to the world. All cherished by friends and family. All dedicated to their faith. All shot simply because they were black.

The deranged shooter and racists like him, hiding in the dark behind their imbecilic ideology, are the ones that have to go. There is no place for them in society anymore. I pray they are rooted out and exposed for who they are: a fearful, ignorant minority. As technology connects us and the world gets smaller, we have better insight into our fellow human beings around the world, I see us moving forward with curiosity, acceptance and a desire to understand each other and to be understood. We are beginning to see that our similarities and our common humanity far outweigh our outward physical and cultural differences. Racists have a choice. They can cling fearfully to their false sense of superiority and get left behind. Or they can open their eyes and face the truth that no one race is better than another, just different. That our souls are what we truly are, what matters, our bodies just a shell. I pray they can change. For those that refuse, justice can't come swift enough. 

What happened after the shooting is nothing short of miraculous. The shooter said his intent was to spark a race war and bring back segregation. The exact opposite quietly unfolded in Charleston last week. Two days after the massacre, the families of the dead faced the killer at his bond hearing. Broken hearted, hurting and angry, they rejected hate. Through tears, they forgave him. They told him they were praying for his soul. That Sunday, over 15,000 people - black, white, brown - peacefully gathered together on the bridge that spans the Cooper River. Families, neighbors and strangers held hands, embraced, sang songs and marched. They held up signs that said "Love thy Neighbor", "Only Love Conquers Hate", and "My Race - Human." Dozens of boats from Charleston harbor formed a line and dropped anchor under the bridge, honking horns in support. As the sun slipped below the horizon, the activity paused for nine minutes of silence. The Holy City has shown the rest of the world what love, grace and courage in the face of evil looks like. May they be an example to us all.









Thursday, January 15, 2015

Je Ne Suis Pas Charlie

I am not Charlie. What I am a is wholehearted supporter of their right to free speech. I admire their bravery and persistence, but on a personal level I just can’t relate to the desire to provoke rather than engage. I don’t see the productivity in mocking the religion of an entire population of my fellow human beings, knowing most will find it in poor taste and the batshit crazy minority will find it grounds to commit murder. I get that it’s satire, and I sincerely hope there is always a place for that kind of humor to be expressed freely, but to me it simply wasn’t funny.  It came off as juvenile and irresponsible. I’m grateful I have the freedom to buy or not to buy and to agree or not to agree with political satire and I hope Charlie Hebdo will always remain in print. I didn't even know they existed until last week, but now the whole world does thanks to the terrorists. And I imagine their audience has multiplied tremendously. To that, I say comme il faut, vous aves ce que vous meritez, des terroristes.

Personally, rather than igniting the rage of a murderous few, I’d like to see journalists create work that sparks an honest dialogue with the millions of sane Muslims on our planet and those of us that seek to understand them better. I believe if we could do that, we would find we have a lot more in common with each other than we have differences.