Let the Angels in...

It's Advent- The time of preparation for Jesus' birth. I am bound and determined to be prepared for Christmas. I've been to Cabela's and Harbor Freight tools. Places I've never associated with Christmas- for hatchets, yes hatchets, and a recurved Bow with cams and arrows. Who knew what that meant  two weeks ago. I get e-mails from SANTA for crying out loud (and the Elf on the shelf) reminding me/taunting me with how many days until Christmas. The cards are ready to be addressed. And there's been this nagging voice- "Zib, what exactly are you Prepared for?" The pressies? the cookies? the ribbons? the cards? And on Facebook of all things- I got my divine intervention for the day. A friend from long-ago posts the essential responsorial, "For you, O Lord, my soul in stillness waits. Truly my hope is in you." And I get that beautiful song in my head from the depths of my ever-busy-scattered soul. And there is stirring.

William wore a tie to mass yesterday. A nice clip-on number with stripes to accent his already very striped plaid shirt and khakis. Ben razzed him up one side and down the other. "It's the first day of Advent, Ben, it's special to me." My heart full of pride. Good for you Will. Mornings like these are conflicting for me. There's the relaxed wake-up. Ben scrambling eggs with the swag of Top Chef. Will scrambling to finish homework. But we have time together. And it's quality time. And I'm relaxed.  Enjoying coffee. Bustling to start chores. Answering the door for the Banner furnace man in yoga pants (never once used for yoga.) Planning to not leave the house all day. Because I'm more or less prepared for the day to come. Checking the freezer for a cut of meat for my beloved Mrs. Crock to make. Not the frenzy of last year: "Get in the car! Where is your BACKPACK? For the love of Jesus brush your teeth!" Because now the boys are in charge of walking to school, checking their watches to get out the door on schedule. Packing their homework. Finding their shoes on time. It's their show.

But there is a conflict for me in the teensiest little way. Echoing from the hollering of yesterdays gone by, "For The love of Jesus." I miss walking up the stairs in St Aloysius and hearing the entire school singing "O Come, O come, Emmanuel." My heart stirring with reminders constantly of what is really important this time of year. How long until Will and Ben forget what Advent means without the Parochial school influence? Or stop caring? Can our family influence preserve those memories and moments so dear?

I hope so.

It's the balance. My mom, the Catholic school teacher, bless her heart, with the best of intentions sent a chain mail sort of way to welcome 5 Archangels into your home. She is very excited about it to say the least. I'm overwhelmed. There's a prayer you say at the front door, a candle to light, a white flower to have and you pass it on to three other friends... the angels need their address apparently. You make wishes for you and Mother Earth and on and on with these details. Too much.  Not the type of Advent I'm craving. Stressing about finding a white flower and making an altar for angels. A good thought, but not the thoughts of preparation I want to focus on. But there's guilt. Always the guilt. Not wanting to hurt her feelings. Not wanting to miss such an obvious evangelizing opportunity.

And then I found it. I'm all about the signs. Or random coincidences or whatever you want to call it. Will's Angel coin. In his drawer- as I'm sorting through too-small jeans and swooshpants and attempting to organize. The coin I once bought to stash in his pocket when his stage fright was so overwhelming he didn't think he could sing in the ever-gorgeous St Aloysius pre-school concert. "This angel will help you, Will, to give you courage to sing in front of all those people." And he did. Facing the class- not the audience. He helped direct the kiddie choir with the teachers, but he did it.

The stirring remains. And I realize. The preparation is up to me. And it's not the cookies or wrapping or cards. I need to get it right. For me- and these beautiful boys.  There needs to be some stillness. There needs to be enough peace each day to let the Lord in.  Of course, Archangels are always welcome. They know our address. But for now I'll just focus on one small moment at a time. Prepare ye, the way of the Lord.

Dandelion Hunter

I wish that I had more time to write.
Or at least think like a writier. Analyze. Appreciate. Sharpen my senses so-to-speak.
It's gratifying.
Perhaps with the boys back in school? I miss them.

I'm outside doing yardwork. I'm a little more enthusiastic with my new snazzy nitrile purple gloves. I wore out the right index finger on my last pair. And that just wasn't going to work. I'm prepping to mow the lawn. So I carry around this tool that looks like a giant snake tongue with a handle that helps jimmy those dandelions right out. But, unless they're blooming, they're hard to spot. Even the big buggers. They're just green on green. I'm really hunting. Walking like a crazy-lady zig-zagging across the yard with her head down.

And Tyler, who's supposed to be napping, but who is instead attempting to carry on a conversation with me through the open window from his bed on this balmy afternoon. "Can I get up yet, Mahm?" pause "Can I get up yet NOW, Mahm?"

I see the wind lazily toss his gauzy curtains towards his bed giving him that pocket of sunshine and his peek-a-boo view.
"No, Ty, not 'til after I'm done mowing the front."

He asks, "Whatcha doin, Mahm?"
"I'm hunting dandelions?"
longer pause

He knows this ritual. Hunting dandelions. That delicious kid feeling from either (a) picking one to lovingly give to your Mother and she'll make an entire production out of how lovely it is or how sweet you are, or (b) blow like the dickens and scatter those seeds everywhere. (Hence my chore pre-mowing I suppose.)

"But why you wanna do that?"
"I'm pulling them out. They're fun and all. I just don't like them growing in our lawn."
"Oh," he says  "Dang it."

And I know he is bemoaning this loss more for my sake than his. Dang it. Dumb grown-up. She's missing the point. She's missing the fun.

And I think as I spin the mower back and forth.
It's been a week of transitions. New teachers. New school for William. New responsibilities for the boys. And our 13th anniversary.

It wasn't what I was hoping for. Our anniversary. I guess that's because it's been Thirteen years.
"I was going to get you something on the way home, but I didn't"
I cleaned his closet, ironed 1,231 pairs of khakis and organized drawers. Not super romantic either.

We had a nice dinner. A babysitter even. Nice place. Good food. A $10 glass of California chardonnay. I dressed up. Put on make-up. Earrings even.

It doesn't seem that long ago that I longed for the familiarity of marriage. The dependability. The built-in date. A partner. Live-in BFF.
And now look at the dandelions. It's funny what I'd give to be back there. 13 years ago. And blow my fool-head off trying to spread those puffy parachute seeds. All over the place. The swooning. The romance. The butterflies before the date.

But, what do you do?
Dang it.

Runner up

Bloomsday 2012

The monotony of everyday is where the magic is happening. And I relish that. I've been thinking of events and milestones and pinnacles of child-rearing: graduation- birthdays- making a team-winning an award. And these things are great. Truly great. And the hard work and dedication that goes into it even greater. That's where the lessons are. But, perhaps even more is to come from the lesson of what happens when life doesn't go your way.

Tyler and his buddy Elliot playing a hilarious game of cat and mouse for the Little edition of Fund Run 2012

The Merritt boys lead a pretty charmed life. Healthy. Secure. Loved. I think they have a good handle on how blessed they are. And they're used to succeeding. Having things go their way. Whether it's spelling tests or making a team or having friends. And, of course, these are things all parents wish for their children. But how do they react to failure? How do they react to challenges beyond their means? How will they handle adversity? Life isn't all roses and butterflies.

And yes, childhood is a time for building up and encouragement. And character. Is it nurture or nature? this character that defines who we are as people? Will just finished a school project on "Who do you want to be when you grow up?" And that's great. I'm all for dreaming and planning and wishes and hopes. And maybe someday he'll play on the MLS circuit for the Timbers. Likely not. So this week I've been asking them, "Who do you want to be now?"

The lessons of respecting Mom and Dad. Taking care of your stuff. Doing what you're asked the First time. Having your voice heard. The exhaustion of parenting consistency- even when it's easier to just do it yourself- let it go- give in. We can't. I want our boys to own up to their character now. Not just in this future life of maybes. God is guiding you. And you're not to young to listen. Grounding. Privileges revoked. Stair-sitting time outs. Sigh.

I'm reading the Narcissism Epidemic. Fascinating. About Generation "me" and raising kids in what they call 'the age of entitlement.' Touche. Kids who grow up and their parents attend their job interviews or call professors to refute their grade. Wow. Stand on your own feet. And stand tall. That's how we're trying to raise you boys. Hoping and trying.

Last week was the St. Al's Fund run. Of course it's supposed to focus on fun and fitness and raising money for our school. What do 8 year old boys focus on? Winning. Yes. The most laps. And Will of course the most competitive of competitive is in it to win it. And granted he ran Bloomsday in 1:10 minutes- and kicked my ever-loving-tail. This was his to lose. And he did. Got a side ache. 13 minutes into the 15 minutes. A case of self-destruction exacerbated by loss of pride. That was my nursing diagnosis anyways. And the Moms flock around- are you okay? I know he's okay. I know it's his pride that's hurt. And he's crying and grabbing his right side and I say all tough-love-frustrated. 'How are you going to handle this Will? Everyone is looking at you... what do you want them to remember... what do you want to remember... can you get it together? I know you're upset. Breathe. That will help your side ache. That will help.' And it does. Eventually. Scene not withstanding. When you're 8 it's a big deal. I get it.

And we come back from lunch for the Awards Ceremony. And I'm talking to my good friend whose daughter has won for her grade and she says, "You know, We made them this way." Referring to their competitive nature. It's true. 'In it to win it' has it's time and place and it can be hard to differentiate when this life lesson has merit.

Will's classmate's name was announced and he went up to receive his medal. And Will, bless his heart, didn't skip a beat. Came right up beside him. "Good job, bud. Can I see your medal? It's so cool- it's different from last years. You ran so great. I'm proud of you." And I'm choking up. That... is so hard to do. I don't know if I could muster that strength. That grace. And I think, Definitely yes, we made them this way.

On the ride home I tell Will how proud I am of him. The medal doesn't matter, but they way he handled himself inspires me. Makes me more proud than any win ever could. And he smiles while he tears up himself. 'It was so hard Mom, but it really helped that he's my friend.' Runner up. That's a good place to be.

Tyler signing shirts- like a big kid. Impressive T-Y's

Some love for Spike, The GU mascot

That's what it's all about

The Moment that Defines Us

All day at work I've been hovering around an experience....
Trying to figure out just what yesterday's performance of  'Listen To Your Mother' was.

Why was it so raw?
Why was I so nervous? a feeling I haven't truly felt in years. Or maybe NEVER in its truest sense.  Butterflies-- yes. Anxious-- of course. Adrenaline- um, yes please, (that's why I love my world of labor and delivery nursing) Giddy-- come on, we all crave that.
But flat-out barf-your-socks-off Nervous... no. Haven't felt that. I mean, really felt that EVER I think.
And I was nervous.

I'm sitting there. Watching women just kill with these stories that are rich beyond comprehension. Diverse beyond expectation. Soul-provoking. And I'm thinking- why didn't I go funny? Why didn't I just go with something I knew I could pull off? Why am I so panicked about when and how I am going to cry as I bear this intimate piece of me. Why? Why did I think I could pull this off- no. big. deal. What was I thinking??? Just get through it. Just be in the moment. Just relish in this story and the movement and the rich texture of the listeners who want to experience this with you.

And now...
I finally get it.
I get why I was feeling so crazed- in my human fight-or-flight sympathetic nervous rush--

This was a moment that defined me.

We talk a lot about defining moments. The first breath of a child. The "I do." A goodbye. Turning the other cheek. And there is a time and a place for all of those. Whether we want them or not.

I love defining moments: Clear. Concise. Wholesome. Vigorous.

But this moment, This Moment, on stage defined me.

It defined who I am. It was vulnerable. It was putting it out there- all the way out there.
This moment defined my past-- a cherished lullaby with my mother- my family's cabin hideaway- a daughter I never had. The silent wishes of my heart. The yearnings of a mother.
The moment defined who I am.

Well, no wonder.

Now, I know.

We share defining moments.
And then- and then, there are moments that define us. Us Alone.

And those are scary. And real. And ohmyGod embrace them.
Because that... is why we're here.