Joy

Want to tell a graduate some words of wisdom? Share this:

We go around and spend our days with people at work or school and never really know what it is they are in love with.

Unless they randomly share a story about a family member or a special treat they've made or talk about some tickets they are buying...providing the tiniest window into what moves them.

If we're lucky, they share their love.

They reveal a love for ballet, or theater or travel, or knitting, or singing, or butterfly collecting...

or whatever.

It really doesn't matter.

Whatever they love, 

that is the secret passageway to their joy.

Like a chemical reaction, joy just bubbles up.

Caroline has had a coach for two years that loves soccer.

LOVES it.

He thinks about it at all hours of the day, researches the game, seeks out ideas for making practices engaging and learns methods of teaching very specific techniques.

He writes lengthy emails.

Offers up videos to watch.

Let's us know when the next big professional game is on so we can find a way to watch it.

I happen to have a kid who loves soccer so it's a win/win...no pun intended.

But, that's the big question...

which came first?

The chicken or the egg...did Jeremy love soccer enough to catch Caroline on fire...or was Caroline already simmering with a love that caught fire once she met a coach with the right flame.

Who cares.

What matters is that for two years Caroline has been swimming in the pool of soccer love.

And well, she's soaked.

It makes her smile...pumps her up...fills her up.

It takes a very special coach to aim for the decades after his players are done with the sport.

Decades from now, the goal is that the players will still love the sport.

Still perk up when they hear about a game or an exceptional player.

They will still smile at fancy footwork or a tremendous save all those years later.

Caroline's coach did not focus on winning.

He focused on joy.

His joy in the endeavor couldn't help but seep into the kids' idea of the sport.

His zen energy during a game radiated that joy.

Yes, yes, winning sure is fun...

but there is joy in a hard fought game that was razor close...even if you lose.

There is joy in leaving it all on the field, regardless of the score.

There's joy in a beautiful pass, a strategic kick or an incredible save...

even if the game ends with a loss.

What Jeremy knows is what all coaches who see decades down the road know:

winning or losing are just words, what matters is what you feel.

Do you feel that essential connection with your teammates?

Do you feel that what you are bringing to your team matters?

Do you feel important? Wanted? Needed?

Do you feel excited?

Empowered?

Kids sports today are often drudgery...

practices that go too long or meet too often.

Parents on the sidelines yelling useless tips...caring way way too much about the win.

All sorts of people are taking it way too seriously.

Tonight I'm grateful that Caroline has stood in Coach Jeremy's sunshine for two seasons.

Two seasons of JOY.

Joy in learning.

Joy in striving.

Joy in just playing the game.

There is no way to thank someone for sharing their joy...

except for maybe letting them see the joy that has been passed on. 

Is it the joy of a well placed kick?

The joy of friendship?

Or the joy of climbing trees with friends?

Too many joyful moments to count. 

Thank you, Jeremy, for your kindness, your gentle strength, your willingness to have fun and most importantly for your joy.

It's been contagious.

Coach Stacy...you're amazingly wonderful too...a true partner in sharing the joy.

Your support and dedication and sense of fun made this past season extra wonderful. 

Girlfriends

Susan Branch font :)


Yesterday I was smiling...all day long.
Magically, it had happened again, the calendars were free, pockets of time were secreted away and I could make my way to have dinner with my girlfriend.

I got the kids handed off and properly freshened myself up from the dust of the day and got in the car...
hooked up Pandora...and drove like the wind.
Singing out loud...LOUD...to MY music...rocking out inappropriately, dancing in the car I could feel the tension of daily annoyances, lists of things to do, and chores that hang over my head just melt away...
an hour in the car all to yourself can be a very good thing.

Along with significant time with your dear friend.

This chick and I have been hanging out, spending hours on the phone since high school.
My dad would just be mystified as I laid on my bed and gabbed the hours away with someone I had already been with for six hours at school.

What did we talk about??

Looking back, I have no idea.
(Note to teens today: keep copious notes and journal like crazy so you can remember these things.)
I'm guessing it was:
Boys.
Drama.
School.
Homework.
Life's injustices.
Dreams.
The good stuff of high school.

I feel sorry for teens today who don't dish on the phone.
They are missing out on some serious fun.

We went to the same college and lived together for part of it, but we weren't joined at the hip.
We joined different sororities.
We had different groups of friends.
Our own interests and dreams.
But like a fantastic score for a movie, she was always in the background, making my world better.

We got our jobs, figured out our paths and saw less and less of each other.
We lived about an hour away from each other and would meet for dinner.

We've been doing it for decades.

There is something so magical about a good friend.
Someone who just gets it.
Who's always on your side.
Who cheers for you.
Who cries with you.
Who does crazy things on your behalf.
Who will pray or pay or play whenever you ask...and many times when you don't even say it out loud...she just seems to know.

I'm blessed to have several good girlfriends.
People who have my back...and whose back I cover whenever I can.
It goes both ways.
It's comfort and care...bravery and honesty...saying the hard stuff out loud.
Owning it...and figuring it out...
or sometimes just recognizing there's no solution to be had and finding a way to make peace with it.

It's righteous anger and hilarious mortification and breath-taking beauty.
It's the wonder and sacredness of getting to be a girl and getting to go deeper
and have those kind of friends.

Leisurely eating dinner last night, sharing salads and delicious taste treats and desserts and secrets and hopes,
I found myself so sentimental...so full of gratefulness  for
this right here...that moment right there...
the good stuff.
So so blessed by friendship...long lasting...
all-the-walls-down kind of friends.

It's easy to gloss over it.
So normal to not make the time
or find an excuse to not be together...
but these people are what life is about.

They are only lent to us...we can't take it for granted.
We need to carve out the pockets on the calendar and say out loud:
you are important...too important to act so casually about.
We must make the time to be together.

Time for laughter and joy and friendship --
 those are the real sparkly gems shining in our cave of life.

So thank you, Tara, for finding the time and making it happen...
today, you're my grace-in-the-ordinary...
have been for decades.






more Susan Branch adorableness!

Seventh Heaven

Little girls in a nutshell.

Giggle and laugh...got it down pat.


I've been hearing some new sounds around my house.
She whistles now.  Loud and clear.  Can even carry a tune.
I'll hear her whistling to herself...singing a song too.
It's breath-taking in its lack of self-consciousness.

She's seven.

And I don't care what people tell you about five, or six or even eight.
Seven rocks.

She is itching to play games.
She's an Old Maid card shark, that one.
I'd teach her poker but I'm pretty sure I'd lose my shirt.
She loves board games and counting up her money, saving up her get-out-of-jail free card and rounding the bend.

She's creative and sassy and funny and full of joy...bubbling, oozing, crazy joy.
She's tapped into that divine source, effortlessly, and I try to stand right by her just to rub shoulders with the source...
sometimes it works.

Seven.

A reader.
A thinker.
A curious cat.

Asking questions.
Yesterday's: "Mom, when you go on your walk with Buddy, can you pick up that litter?
Me: Huh?
"I want to have this...and she points to a sticker that says "pick of the litter"."
(Our world is so confusing.  How do I explain that this litter is good and that the "pick of the litter" is the best of the bunch, regardless of the word's proximity to trash?)

I smile at her and try not to snicker.
"Oh baby, you definitely have the pick of the litter.  Buddy's the best."
Careful, trusting acknowledgement.  She knows.

On Sunday, we had a few minutes together with no one else around.
I asked her if she wanted to go out to lunch...but the enthusiasm was lackluster.
Pause.
How about a tea party?

Eyes B.I.G.
Instant hug.

*Jackpot*

Houston, tea party it is.

So we made our egg salad sandwiches but improvised with tortillas -- we had run out of our delicious sourdough bread -- California problems.
We steeped our ginger peach tea.
We peeled baby oranges.
And found ourselves pausing and resting and truly being leisurely with our tea.

Must.do.this.more.

Seven.

It's a little slice of heaven.

So tonight I'm grateful for the dancing, singing, twirling little girl that graces my days.

Grateful for her exuberant love of living in our amazing world...

where shoes can get tied, mouths can whistle and little girls finally learn 

how to flatten the gum just right to blow a bubble.

There are so many tricks to know.  So many games to play.

May we always stop to dance and sing.

Spinning, laughing dancing to

her favorite song...

Eyes wide open

Always hoping for the sun

And she'll sing her song to anyone

that comes along.

Fragile as a leaf in autumn

Just fallin' to the ground

Without a sound

Crooked little smile on her face

Tells a tale of grace

That's all her own

Spinning, laughing dancing to 

her favorite song...

Seven Years -- Norah Jones

The Wide Open Day

Don't think -- Just GO.

Today we had a wide open day...miraculous, really.

No obligations.

No soccer.

No birthday parties.

No chores that couldn't be avoided.

As Caroline would say, "No, must-dos."

So...what do you do with a wide open day?

So many times I fritter it away...cleaning a dirty bathroom, putzing about the house, wasting time on the computer or just letting time play its game of endless one minute and gone the next.

Because John had something fun he was doing with a friend, I decided I wanted to try a hike.

I decided this late in the day...after lounging and putzing.

I prodded the kids along and went to my favorite deli to get a picnic to go.

In my mind we were going to go on a hike...something that is not our normal but something I'm hoping to make a real part of our lives.

I found the name of a trail,

The Independence Trail.

How could we say no?

My life vest was that it was a completely accessible trail.  

The first wheelchair accessible wilderness trail in the United States -- and it was only 2 hours from my house.

If someone in a wheelchair could do this hike, we could too.

So, armed with some bottles of water, a yummy picnic and some willing participants I started driving.

We made it about halfway when Caroline piped up that she was hungry.

Patrick too.

So, using my GPS in my phone I found a random park in a random town.

Turns out it really was only a patch of a park.

It had a path, it had a creek and some pretty fall trees...but not for long.

It was pretty tiny.

And it looked like some homeless people thought it was their park.

Of course, I had two hungry kids, both on a mission, so they just walked right passed what can only be called the homeless encampment's brunch, with a look of determination.

I smiled awkwardly...feeling super self-conscious of my random kids in a random patch of green in a random town.  

It could have gotten weird.

And that's the thing with adventures, 

you find yourself in situations that don't have clear cut lines.  

Your known world doesn't really compare to this unknown one.  

You have to navigate the blurry lines, 

take your best guess and listen to your gut.

Sometimes it gets weird.

To me, the people seemed homeless and dirty but harmless -- I made my best guess.

We chose to sit downstream from them and have a picnic.

It was quiet and peaceful and that untended spot rewarded us with dancing leaves of every color falling into a tiny creek -- playing nature's version of hide and go seek.

We could have called it a day right then.

We could have been satisfied with a smaller outing and a taste of nature...

but it was a wide open day.

We didn't think too much about it...we just kept going...looking for Independence.

An hour later we found the trailhead -- those Internet directions were right after all!

It was clearly my lucky day.

Except well...Patrick had decided he'd had enough.

That picnic was about all he needed for time outdoors.

We could go ahead and hike but he would be staying in the car.

Time was not on our side.

I put on the table his choices...including his cell phone usage in the future...and still he stayed strong.

Finally, I had to pull out his favorite outing at Christmas. 

I told him he would not be attending that if he didn't find his way to the trail.

I let it sit there and then I turned my back and walked to the trail hand in hand with Caroline.

As the trailhead I started counting down from five and somehow, someway he began to run.

With a big smile on his face he started walking.
(A true Grace in the Ordinary moment, trust me.)

We had no idea where we were going or how long the trail went or what we were doing.

You have to make your peace with looking at the world and not knowing what's around the bend.

We just started walking...without any destination in mind.

Just because we could.

Just because it was a wide open day and the sun was shining and we were together and it felt right.

We found leaves that were beautiful.

We soaked in the quiet -- like dry sponges.

We sang songs and found walking sticks and noticed things.

Sometimes we hurried...curious to see what was next.

Hardly ever does this happen...but what they saw up ahead freaked them out...not in a bad way,

in a "No Way! This is Awesome way!"

Without trying, I got this shot of Caroline...

(Notice Patrick running in the background...the guy runs for no one.ever.  He was amazed!)

This amazing trail winds its way down to the river!

You can be in a wheelchair and find yourself able to get to the river, safely and easily.  

It's incredible!

I LOVE whoever had this vision, whoever created this place and the many people who must work hard to maintain it.

Thank you doesn't seem good enough.

Of course I had to go home and do a little homework.

John Olmstead, thank you for dreaming BIG.  Thank you for tirelessly and patiently working to get the property rights and the easements that allowed this trail to become this amazing spot. 

Thank you for finding a way to get to the river from up so high.

Thank you for your belief that ALL people deserve to enjoy the wilderness...really steep in nature...

not the sanitized way that so many people in wheelchairs are forced to do it...the messy, leaf-filled, acorn-strewn, golden hued path that you envisioned.

It really exists.

You did something really awesome.

You gave people who often have something holding them back a real gift of independence.

The Independence Trail lives up to its name.

I'm so grateful I had the chance to taste your bit of the world today.

It was delicious.

Every.bite.

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.  Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.  The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn."
--John Muir

Happy Underwear

"Think big thoughts but relish small pleasures."

-- H. Jackson Browne

I'm going to share a little secret.  

In fact, it's so good, I kind of want to make my own line of it, trademark it, sell it at Target and make every woman's day. 

Ready??

How do you start your day?

I have one guaranteed, sure-fire, way to make your very first moments of the day good ones.

Happy underwear.

No, I'm not joking.

Don't make fun.

Give it a try.

Get an "A" for effort -- go out and find yourself some happy underwear.

Now, I'm not talking sexy underwear.

Although I think we can make the argument that happy can be sexy.

I'm talking underwear that is comfy, perfectly yours and super cute.

When you see those undies in your drawer, you smile.

When you see them in your laundry basket, you can't help it...you just have to fold them up and tuck them away for that great day called tomorrow.

Trust me, 

when you put on happy underwear, 

you can't help it...you get happy.

I just went out and found some more happy underwear...heck, if the kids get new school shoes, the least we can do for ourselves is to find a few new pair of cute, comfy undies.

They weren't expensive.

No, I didn't find mine at Victoria's Secret...although I won't judge you if that's your spot.

I just want every woman to have some happy undies.

Your spouse will thank me.

Your kids will thank me.

Why should the toddlers have all the fun?

It's a simple pleasure and one that can really make a big difference.

If you put on something that makes you feel like a frump, well, then, I guess you give off that frump vibe and you feel like a frump all day long. 

It doesn't even matter how cute that outfit is.  

I can do simple arithmetic.

Frumpy undies + cute outfit = zero.

And, if you're really sad, well, that's OK, stick with some sad undies for awhile...

but, just so you know, there's no downside to happy undies.

I've been on the happy undie bandwagon for years -- decades even.

Life is way too short to have boring undies.

Toss out the utilitarian neutral-colored blah guys.

Anything with snags, (God forbid) holes, extra strings or bad spots must go.

Go ahead.  

Find the time.

 Get some happy underwear and have yourself a great day.

Even you ladies sporting a burqa...bust out for the happy undies.

You can thank me later. :)

He's Going To Go Too

"Sometimes, when one person is missing,

the whole world seems depopulated." --Lamartine

Haven't seen this sleepy face in 5 days...but who's counting.

                                 When Patrick was born I was by myself at my six week check up with my ob/gyn. 

                                   I was feeling ridiculously fragile...already cracked and just waiting to spill out.

My baby had Down Syndrome.  He also had a heart defect that would require open heart surgery within weeks.
My world was rocked.

I kept having this direct conflict with the world around me.  I would look down at my new baby and see nothing but a new baby: delicious in his fresh-from-the-heavens newness; glorious with his tiny feet and smooth new hair and sleepy face.

But the world would keep pointing out his flaws:
Do you see his extra space between his big toe and the rest of his toes?
That's a marker for Down Syndrome.
Do you feel how "floppy" he is?
Another sure sign.

Of course, I could see none of these things.
I was a mother with a brand new baby...he looked perfect to me.
Yes, he did have a droopy eye lid...but that was as far as my nit picking could go.
And, like all new mothers, I loved every tiny morsel of him -- droopy eyelid and all.

So, there I am at my six week check up for myself and my doctor doesn't really know what to say.
It's an awkward space...me with my baby that doesn't make the mark and she with her obvious pity and bias against him.
She summons up some effort to speak and she tells me this:
"Well, you have two other children and you know the good thing about this is that this baby will never leave you and well, you know the other two will."

I'm horrified.
Me, the one who can chat with just about anybody.  The one who can make a quick reply to weirdos or bullies -- all I have is silence.

Actually, I had a screaming, yelling, out-of-control freak in my head
but cultural norms and expectations kept me quiet.
In my head my brain was coursing through options and setting aside disgust.
First there was the distaste of Patrick's reality -- shit, people really will expect him to do nothing but sit at home with me.
Second, came the outrage -- who the hell are you to limit my kid and expect that he will never leave??
Lastly, there was deep sadness -- maybe she knew the truth.
Maybe, with her doctor's education and her intensive training, maybe she knew something that I didn't.
Maybe she was right and having him by my side for the rest of my life was an unexpected blessing
and as good as it was going to get.
Her words weedled their way into my heart.
And, like a splinter, I could feel the calvary come out and begin to push it aside.

Hell no.

This kid was going to have his own life.
I was not going to define his future at a few weeks old.
He was going to get every chance the other two got and then we would figure it out.

*****

Flash forward fourteen years.
Patrick still has a droopy eyelid.
He has freckles and a very light dimple.
 He has a spirit that is simply radiant...and plenty of opinions.
He's an adventurous eater.
He loves Broadway musicals.
He has a wicked memory and often memorizes whole scenes or entire scripts quickly and easily.
He is funny and creative and gentle and interesting.
He is always ready to go.
He can't wait to get his driver's license.  He is itching for a paying job.
He is planning his life after high school and trust me, I'm not part of it...at.all.

That prediction oozing with subliminally low expectations was so far wrong that I secretly wish I could cross paths with that ob/gyn and have her glimpse my world.
But that's the problem with searing memories.
They only usually blaze bright for one person...the other person has long forgotten some side conversation that had no real meaning for them.

Five days ago, I dropped Patrick off at sleep away camp.  He's on his own for a week.
No communication.
No singing from his room any number of melodies from Annie, Wicked, Hairspray, Beauty and the Beast or Peter Pan.

It's quiet around here...real quiet.

I find myself missing his good morning, very sleepy visits.  I miss his voice.  His laugh.  His imaginative games that he plays with Caroline. I miss his teen angst and his daily texts of "I love you" that sprinkle my day ever since he got a cell phone for his birthday.

I miss his spirit and his light.
And, even though I have been hoping to stick it to that OB and prove to her that Patrick would have a life of his own...
the truth of his life, most definitely of his own making, is staring me in the face.

He's going to go too.

It might look different.  It might not be that far away.
But he is never going to feel happy sitting at home with me.
That much is clear.

He tells me routinely that he wants to live in Boston.
He wants to take his wife to Hawaii for their honeymoon.
He wants to teach young kids drama in school.

I don't hear the word "mom" in those plans really anywhere.

Like some preview to a major motion picture, I know what's coming.
Patrick will find his way and have a future of his own...very likely I won't be living with him.
It seems quite possible that I may be in another town.

He has dreams and hopes for a future just like anyone else --
and like any other parents,  John and I will work to support him in those efforts.

He has a life to live.
Like my other kids, I only have a finite amount of time with him in my daily life too.

There is joy and a thrilling sense of adventure in that picture of the future.
But, there's going to be a great big hole left gaping open too.

I'm going to worry about that later.

Right now, I'm going to check over the directions of where to pick him up in a couple of days.
I'm going to listen to stories on the way home and notice all the tiny ways he's gotten a bit bigger in this week away.

I'm going to cherish the view of his big smile and relish his huge hug.
I have about 36 hours to go -- I can't wait.

Look...a fragment of eternity

"I'm saying look, here they come, pay attention. 

Let your eyes transform what appears ordinary, 
commonplace, into what it is, 
a moment in time,

an observed fragment of eternity." 

-- Philip Levine

Caroline -- age 7

Sometimes you look at them and they take your breath away.

What is your normal, routine, just humming along gig becomes frozen in a moment 

and the beauty dazzles you.  

It is exquisite.

You feel suddenly breathless.

You squish it into that memory place hoping it will stick.

You pause enough to really feel and know this "fragment of eternity" and then 

in a whisper of time it has vanished.

There's no capturing it.

Just as quickly as it landed, like a butterfly miracle, the moment has moved on into the sea of next moments and new thoughts or needs or things that must be done.

Today I had one.

I looked up at her with her black spot of missing baby tooth, summer streaks of light in her hair, enveloped in the shade of crocodile green leaves pausing for that moment to give me the 

yes-I-can-climb-this face, and I snatched it right up.

Summer's ordinary blessing of time at a park.

Climbing, playing, exploring and investigating this amazing world.

Plucking trumpet flowers off of vines.

Swinging and sliding and jumping and reaching new places.

All in one moment, it crescendoes. 

I notice.

I wrap my heart around it.

Thank you is all that can come out of that moment.

Thank you for her and for parks and friends and good health and for the will and wonder to climb and thank you for letting me be here right now, in this place, to notice.

Thank you.

Have a Coke and a Smile

"What's great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest.  

You can be watching TV and see Coca Cola, 

and you know that the President drinks Coca Cola, Liz Taylor drinks Coca Cola, and just think, you can drink Coca Cola, too.  A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking.  

All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good." 

-- Andy Warhol

I don't know about you, but where I live Coke is on the way o-u-t.

Nobody drinks it.  

Everyone shuns it.  

If you didn't know better, you'd think it had some actual cocaine in there the way people react.

Around here, children can never have a Coke.

Like chocolate decadence cake, it is hardly ever seen and rarely tasted.

It's a forbidden fruit.

I'm old school.

Yes, I still drink Coke.

(sssshhhh, keep it on the down low...because it is a serious personal flaw)

I have Coke in my fridge regularly.

I do allow children to drink it -- on occasion -- OK, every Friday night.

I'm not belittling childhood obesity.

I'm not a fan of High Fructose Corn Syrup.at.all.

I could use more exercise and could be in better shape...

but there's something about an ice cold Coke that is delish.

And lately, I've been dividing people up into two groups:

those who will have a Coke and a smile and those who don't.

When I visited my friend Beth in the hospital for the first time with her daughter Chloe, I bought her a sandwich at Subway.  I stood there in front of the drink cooler and toiled.  

Was she a Coke drinker or not?

Would she be offended if I offered her a Coke?

What would she think of me?

I chose the Coke.

Turns out I guessed right...she's a Coke drinker.

When the guy who was landscaping my backyard was sweltering under a broiling sun stood up to take a break, I offered him a Coke.  Or a water.  Both would be ice cold.

No question: he went for the Coke.

He gave me a smile.

Yes, we bonded...under the guise of Coke.

When the guy who was crawling under my house and fixing my rogue ventilation came up for air, 

I offered him a Coke.

I didn't even cringe. 

I knew he was one of us.

He guzzled that sucker so fast I felt bad...the man was parched. 

I should have asked sooner.

Turns out that Coke is a pretty great ice breaker.

It leads to conversation.

It helps a busy person to pause, take a break, and enjoy something simple.

It can definitely help strangers reach out to one another.

Just like the smiley revolution, I think passing out Cokes on a hot day might bring about serious world peace.  Or maybe it would help us see we're not so different -- that we really can stop and drink and relax together even if the only thing we have in common is the item we're drinking.

I know, I know.

Coke is bad for you.

It's bad for our kids.

We should be drinking water, or kombucha, or chai or green tea.

Or maybe milk.

I still say that it is a nice part of life.

I'm grateful for the many Cokes I've shared.

I'm grateful for the smiles.

I'm grateful for the fun times, the popcorn, the movies, the pretzels and the deliciousness that Coke brings with it.

I like the way I can break down barriers with a simple question:

"Would you like a Coke?"

More often than not, the answer is yes.

Those are my kind of people.

Come on over any time...free Cokes all around.

Let's Start A Smiley Revolution

"Today, give a stranger one of your smiles.  

It might be the only sunshine he sees all day." 

                                           -- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.                                             

  This...just never gets old, does it?   

I don't know who taught her this.  This smiley face tucked inside the letter "O" but I absolutely love it.  And trust me, if I could somehow place two eyes and a curvy upward smile into my computer "O" I'd be all over it.

I received this envelope just the other day -- at the end of a long day.  I perked right up with those smileys.  I started thinking about where she might have seen those decorated "O"'s and wondered who was blessing her with smileys, besides me.

Back when Patrick was in kindergarten, in 2005, I decided to travel to Sioux Falls, South Dakota for a conference for educators who believed in full inclusion in Catholic schools.  It was the first time I had ever really travelled alone and I was going to a place where I knew no one.  It was a whim.  I felt an urgent need to affirm to myself that including Patrick in our local Catholic school where our other two older children went wasn't just a nice idea.  I wanted to believe that it was happening in other places.  I wanted to meet other people who felt called to this mission of actually living what we know at our very core: all kids deserve to be educated together -- no matter how hard or uncomfortable it might make the school community.
We all deserve to sit at the table.

So, there I was on an airplane journey that had a layover and a long wait in an airport.  You should know this about me, and perhaps you do, I'm a talker.  I love to strike up conversations with strangers.  I love hearing their stories, commiserating over cold coffee or weird TSA agents or sharing the latest book I'm reading. I am comfortable making small talk, actually, I'm good at it.

So it might come as a surprise when I reveal that for two different airplane rides, one multi-hour layover in a strange giant airport not a single person made eye contact with me or made conversation with me.  It was so unnerving that on the second leg of my journey I started to have real doubts about this whole thing.

It went a little like this:
"Beth, what in the world are you doing?"
"Why are you traveling all the way to South Dakota on a lark?"
"What are you thinking leaving your three small children and your husband and just going off -- this is crazy!"

Honestly, by the end of that second plane ride I had convinced myself that if my ride to the tiny (yet gorgeous) retreat center way out in the boondocks of rural Irene, South Dakota looked at all suspicious I would just pack it all in and declare failure.

Off the plane I went searching for my ride and there he was: an older man with a kind smile holding a sign.  All it said was Welcome -- NICE Conference.  And in the center of those two letter "O"'s were, you guessed, the smiley face.  It sounds funny now but as soon as I saw those smileys I knew I was in the right place.  I knew I was with the right people and I knew it was going to be a worthwhile adventure.

All it took was that international symbol of goodwill and welcome.  The sunny smiley. :)

Seeing how the world is right now with outrageous hatred toward others of different cultures or faiths or classes I want to start a worldwide smiley revolution.

I'm not trying to be trite or trivial.

Can you imagine how powerful it would be if we all just held up signs that said "Welcome" with a smiley in the center?  How sinister can we be if we hold up signs that say "love" with a smiley tucked in there...how about the powerful "Thank you"?

I believe we could change the world with a smiley revolution.  If every single person received a smiley, regardless of status or age or wealth or race, we could change a worldwide mood of hostility and simmering anger to one of care and inclusion.

Hey...how about the word "inclusion" holding that smiley too???

Yep, we all deserve to be here.  We all deserve a smiley and while we're at it, let's throw in a heart or two.  It can't hurt and it just might help.

Your job today: pass out 10 smileys and 5 hearts to those you love.
Tomorrow pass out the same amount to strangers.
The next day: try to pass them out to those who you'd rather not give them to, those who bug you, get under your skin or make you creep out.

Imagine the ripple.

Who's in?

Marry the Guy Who Makes You Laugh

***This is another installment in my on-going advice to Mary Kate -- told you that letter would most likely never end! ***

 “Into each day, put in about one teaspoonful of good spirits, 

a dash of fun, a pinch of folly, a sprinkling of play, 

and a heaping cupful of good humor! ” -- Anonymous

Yesterday is was annoyingly windy and it was Saturday.  We couldn't really hang outside, we couldn't go bike riding, we couldn't plant our garden and we were tired of movies at home.  You were busy so we decided to take the two little guys bowling.  We got the funky shoes, found the right brightly colored balls and then I looked up.  Your dad had listed the order of bowlers on the super cool screen up above our lane for all to see...Studmaster was present.  I laughed.  And then I thought about it.  It's a rare, rare day when I don't laugh around him.  Your dad has a hilarious sense of humor. He is Will Ferrell, the Three Stooges, Spongebob and Dennis Miller blended into some crazy hybrid of raunchy, inappropriate, on-the-mark, goofball humor.

I submit my evidence for your dad's lasting humor:

1) First app on his I-phone.  Take a guess -- I dare you.  No, not the special Garmin GPS system.  No, not Pandora. Not the Google app.  It was I-fart.  I kid you not.  To this day, years later, I will find him giggling or all out laughing with farting sounds emitting from his phone.  For months he tried, often successfully, to leave his phone out so that you or Jack might pick it up and it would let loose like some sort of high tech whoopie cushion.  Let's not even discuss Fatbooth.

2) Our first date.  No, it wasn't a romantic dinner for two.  It wasn't a moonlit stroll. It wasn't even to a hip destination.  After our cheap Mexican dinner and assorted missteps, we ended up at a video arcade/bowling alley.  I impressed him with my rad Centipede skills -- (hey who uses quarters for laundry when you can play Centipede in the rec room of your dorm?)  He dominated an old-fashioned pinball machine...love bloomed.

3) Your dad draws cartoons.  He has this creative river just running under the surface.  It is wicked funny.

4) Your dad has brushed his teeth with Desitin.  He has had baby Patrick barf directly in his mouth as he held him up for that cheesy dad-moment of holding him up so high. He had you look him in the eye at age two in toddler fury and yell: "You sshhhtooka!!!"   He's dealt with imaginary bees buzzing in Jack's preschool dream in the middle of the night and ended up convincing our terrorized tot that he had just annihilated the swarm by slamming his hand hard against the wall. Each and every time, he laughs his butt off when it's over.  He high fives himself and soldiers on, gladly accepting every bizarre badge of courage or craziness that fatherhood bestows on him.

5) And the piece-de-resistance: the f-you maneuver.  Once I reveal this, you must promise to give it a try.  But only after you turn eighteen and never with me.  You can only really enjoy the laugh if you have done it yourself and know the absolute freedom that comes with this stealth show of resistance.  It must be done at work or some equally annoying situation -- one where it takes all of your focus and energy to deal with the annoyance. Let's pretend you are at your desk and your boss walks in unhappy with your work.  You listen with attentiveness.  You nod when appropriate.  You look interested. All the while, you are flipping them off under your desk. The boss leaves feeling heard.  You puts your hands back up on your desk equally enthused by the interchange.  You get the laugh, the freedom of rebellion and your job.  It's a win-win.  Oh and you get the story...because there is always a good story that goes with the maneuver. This excellent moment can happen while dealing with a traffic stop, paying your taxes, paying up the lottery-like numbers of your most recent gas bill or any other bothersome situation. Go ahead...I dare you -- but wait a few years and please be convincing in the listening department or you will blow it. :)

And that brings me to my advice: marry the guy who makes you laugh.

It's as simple as that.  That clever mind, genuine honesty and kindness can be discovered by his willingness to laugh.  If he laughs often and openly he shows you his view of the world...it's not so serious, rather interesting and pretty darn funny in the most unexpected of ways.  He reveals his optimism, his lack of ego and his ability to have fun.  Best of all, even in the darkest of times his humor will stay steady.  Trust me, that's important. Because the dark times are guaranteed and it's just so much easier to deal with when someone can find something funny somewhere.

So tonight I'm grateful to the guy who makes me laugh.  The guy who always offers up a simmering pot of mirth.  A funny, funny man who can find humor just about anywhere, any day of the week. Who makes you laugh?  I need to know.

Happiness on Wheels

When I was in grade school I had a green Schwinn Stingray bike with a banana seat -- so cool -- it still makes me smile just saying it.  I lived in a cul-de-sac and could ride and ride the court but that was about it.  My neighborhood was hilly and not too bike friendly so I couldn't ride very far, very often.

In the summer, I'm sure out of complete exasperation with our lazy selves, my mom would give me five dollars and tell my brother and I to go play tennis and get some lunch at the local McDonald's.  We willingly went and we'd ride our bikes down to the local community college.  Brian and I would always play a heated match of tennis and more often than not I would beat him -- I am two years older after all.  Disgruntled, Brian would follow me on his bike and bang my bike fender with his racket calling me a cheater all the way to the McDonald's.  As soon as we spied the Golden Arches, the bickering would stop.  Food was involved and we needed to cooperate in order to get the most out of our $5. So, we'd order some large fries to share, a complete delicacy to both of us, cheeseburgers and cokes. All would be mended over the fries and away we would go back home.

That freedom of my bike and my brother and our adventure into maneuvering out in the world has stayed with me.  I will forever love that old green bike, long ago lost, but vivid in my memory.

When I came to UC Davis as a college student, I was thrilled.  Biking was not just a fun idea, it was a big part of college life. Here, the roads were flat, there were wide bike lanes and even special roundabouts built on campus to deal with all of the bike traffic during the hectic rush of changing classes.  I remember the thrill of going around that first roundabout with dozens of bicycles and I remember the joy in bike riding on a daily basis.

Getting around the town by bike, I relished in my freedom.  I loved my up close parking spot, my lack of traffic, and the way I felt after a ten minute ride. I knew that I needed to live this way for the rest of my life.  And, so, after a few years of married life, John and I moved back to Davis dug out our old bikes and immediately got back in the groove.

About four years ago, I got offered a job back on campus supervising student teachers after taking a seven year sabbatical to be a full time mom.  It was a small job with a small paycheck but it was soul satisfying and wonderful to be working alongside earnest, enthusiastic and energetic beginning teachers.  Receiving my first paycheck made me feel like a kid again.  I suddenly had "my" money. It wasn't really enough to have it do something important but I wanted to be careful otherwise I might just fritter it away by putting it into my regular account and paying for the dry cleaning, groceries or hot lunches with it.  I wanted to find something special to do with it.

One fall day, I was walking downtown and noticed a slew of bikes on display for the new students at UC Davis.  They were a colorful line of beach bikes: purple, polka dotted, striped, candy apple red and sunshine yellow.  I couldn't help but smile and think of the many new students experiencing their own joy of the roundabouts, the freedom of bikes and the adventure of college and being on your own for the first time.  In the middle of that inviting line up I saw her: my dream bike.  She was sky blue with daisies.  I knew that was my bike in an instant and I wanted to take out my credit card and take her home.  But, I stopped myself.  This was going to be my special something to remember this special job.  Every month, I would steal a little money away and save it for the big purchase at the end of the year.  Every few weeks or so, I would walk by "my" bike and admire her.  I would stop and notice which ones were gone.  The yellow one with daisies was missing now along with the green polka dotted one.

Winter and the rains came and went but those bikes stayed outside serving as both a reminder and a temptation.  In the spring, Caroline was toddling around and I knew we could both go bike riding.  So, in celebration of my May girl, I took my secret stash of cash and walked down to my favorite bike store.  I walked right in and didn't spend a second looking.  I told them I was ready to buy a bike and showed them my old friend.  The store owner looked at me and said, "All year I've been waiting to see who would buy that bike.  That's our one and only blue daisy bike and they just stopped making it.  You're getting a treasure."  I smiled and agreed, knowing we were meant to be.  They outfitted me with a baby seat, a helmet, and a lock.  I took a practice run while they were totaling up my goodies.  I pulled out my cash and happily paid them for my dear girl.

I rode home like a kid: making swirly patterns, sitting up straight with my upright handlebars, practicing braking by pushing backwards and feeling the rush of riding.  She was "happiness on wheels" and she was mine.

That was four years ago.  I still smile whenever I go for a ride, find her in a crowd of bikes, or talk to Caroline and feel the pat, pat, pat of her hands behind me.  I know my days are numbered with my cherub riding directly behind me.  She's itching for her own bike and her own freedom and who am I to deny it?

I know she will fall in love with the breeze of the ride, the joy of seeing the world at a slower pace, the smell of freshly mowed grass, spring blossoms, chlorine at the pool and a million other details that you only notice on a ride.

It's sunshine-y again and I'm going for a ride...honk if you see me.  Or better yet, ring your bell!