The Naughty List

Tonight she asked if I could snuggle in bed with her.

She wanted me up close and holding her hand...that's rare these days, so I went with it.

She didn't say much.

But the quiet wasn't comforting.

It was heavy and it made the room seem extra dark.

All of a sudden, out came the question...

"Do you think I'm on The Naughty List?"

Shit.

Let me set something straight right now.

I'm not a fan of the Naughty List.

I don't use it...or talk about it...or even mention it.
And she hadn't done one thing that would be even close to earning The Naughty List distinction and yet, here it was.

I'm not a fan of doing good because you are guilted into it.

I know that must seem ironic since I am most definitely Catholic and we are good at guilt.

I'm all about doing good, being good, acting good 

because it's the right thing to do...

because that's who you are...

because you know what's important and you value it.

So the tiny voice asking about The Naughty List sunk me.

I had to snuggle in bed and take a deep breath and think about things...

I got close to her soft sweet cheek and whispered to her the only comfort I could bring.

"I know for sure you're not on The Naughty List.

For sure.

No doubt about it."

"Remember, I'm friends with Santa...good friends...I know."

Her body softened ever so slightly and I held her hand in the dark.

I inwardly cussed out whoever created that crappy old story we dish out to poor unsuspecting kids.

We know when we blow it.

We don't need The Naughty List adding another layer to our Big Mistake.

I tried to explain about the process of living and the idea that mistakes are just part of the deal.

I tried to assure her that the normal, day in day out, stuff of life was just that.

Santa understood.

But it's a tough gray zone.

We make mistakes...does that make us "bad"?

Are we only as good as our last mistake?

How do we ever make up for our mistakes?

Do you ever get off The Naughty List?

*****

In the dark, listening to her breathe, feeling her familiar little hand, smelling her sweet Caroline scent I remembered another mother on another December night fighting for her life.

She died on December 23rd. of breast cancer. leaving behind a 4th grader and a 2nd grader when Jack and Mary Kate were in 3rd and 1st.

There was a time, long ago, when every mommy moment of mine was suffused with all of the mommy moments she had never had...that her boys never knew.

In my kids' teen years, when it was hard, I held close the privilege it was to be right there in the center of the ugly.

Even when it was extra hard I thought of her...and her white chocolate and cranberry scones.

But I admit, I hadn't thought of her for a long while.

Years.

Until tonight...when my December 22nd sliding into December 23rd reminded me...

of how lucky we are to be right there for the hard-ness, the bad-ness, the I-can't-believe-this-is-my life-and-not-some-really-bad-movie ugliness.

Life is hard.

Really it is.

Why add The Naughty List?

Tonight, as of this very minute, it's gone.

Santa has no list.

He doesn't need one.

Dude, you are good...so good...and if you're not...well, we'll deal.

You don't need no list to tell you a thing.

Trust your gut.

Know yourself.

Own your actions.
Fix your mistakes.

Make it better.

Move on.

Tonight I'm grateful for late night snuggles and quiet questions in the dark.

That's the good stuff.

The Naughty List, on the other hand, well, that can hit the road.

*****

And Mary Lou, we still miss you.

Still don't understand.

Still wish it weren't so.

December 23rd is hard.every time.

God's Greatest Gifts

I don't know what you hope for, long for or dream about.

I can just share with you the dreams in my heart.

Ever since I was a young, young child I dreamt of being a mom.

I know this is TMI and I know Mary Kate will be cringing as I share this...but, I got my period super late in life -- 15 years old -- sophomore in high school -- in other words, ancient.

Before that time, I knew that if you didn't have a period, you couldn't have a child.

Trust me, my reproductive knowledge was greatly limited but that I knew way down deep.

So my prayer for years was, I kid you not:

Please, please please God, let me get my period.

Let me have kids.

They were always called kids in my adolescent mind.

Always plural.

Not snuggly babies.

Or baby dolls.

Kids...and I wanted plenty.

I guess God knew my heart because he helped me find the right guy and gave me the joy of four great kids.

Four.

That still seems a bit greedy on my part.

I never thought it would be four...but I learned with my very first pregnancy -- which ended with a miscarriage -- that I was most definitely not in any sort of control.

These four are by far my greatest gifts.

My biggest joy.

My purpose.

They are the thread that helps everything else make sense.

I see my children in every child I encounter.

I see every mother in me.

I see every family in mine.

That separation that existed between me and the rest of the world felt a little less with Jack and Mary Kate but it fully disappeared with Patrick's presence.

Suddenly, the marginalized were part of me.

The "broken".

The disabled.

The slow.

The people that others look away from...the people that others don't discuss...that are okay to terminate...those people were now part of me.

There was no way to love Patrick and not see them too.

I look at the way Patrick has changed me and I think of God's gifts.

My dream as a teen...so limited and finite...busted wide open with the realness of His gifts.

It was way better than any dream of mine.

How could I know what to wish for?
Little, sweet Caroline?
How could I know to ask for such wonder?

I never could have imagined it.

Four busy, funny, quirky, messy kids.
Old and young.
Fast and slow.

All I can say is thank you.
Thank you for my kids.
Thank you for the joy that comes with
loving,
 guiding,
 watching,
 hoping,
fighting with and for...

and for the heartbreak.

For in feeling so deeply we get close to what really matters.
This, right here, this moment, this meal, this day is what counts.

Thank you, God, for your greatest gifts.
Put my tiny dreams to shame, no doubt.

What Love Is

So...do you remember the young couple I wrote to over here in the blog piece, 

What I Want You To Know?

Well a lot has happened since that time.

Just a few days after that post, sweet baby Jonah was born nine weeks early.

It was a traumatic birth for both mother and baby...brutal, difficult, scary.

all.the.way.around.

Not one single step has been easy for sweet Jonah.

There were definitely moments where Jonah's life was in danger as well as his mom's.

Do you know what I've seen from Jonah's mom and dad, time and time again?

LOVE.

I've seen shy smiles.

I've seen tenderness and gentleness and overwhelming care for their tiny bundle.

They've been there waiting to hold him, love him, whisper to him and talk to him.

They've read him board books, brought loved ones over to see him and generally have been keeping vigil over their most precious son.

This, my friends, is what love looks like.

While ISIS does it's vicious, evil deeds in Syria and Iraq,

while Ebola becomes a common topic for discussion,

a new mom and dad are over here loving their precious son...

and letting him know in every way, every day that they are here for him.

Love is so very patient...tending and watching.

Love is kind...to nurses and doctors and others who are in the way...but always to that bundle.

Love isn't asking for an easier path.

Love isn't rude or self-seeking or easily angered.

Always protecting.

Always trusting.

Always hoping.

Love shows up.

Day in and day out.

Even when it's really hard and you don't want to.

Sweet baby Jonah is doing much better.

He's still in the hospital but he's getting chubby.

He's had his surgery for his intestinal blockage.

He's even had a bath!

He's getting real nutrition and beginning to have opinions...which is always a good sign.

Jonah is blessed to know deep, abiding love.

I couldn't be more grateful for Jeff and Melissa's example.

They are grace-in-the-ordinary dealing with extraordinary circumstances.

Melissa and Jeff -- congratulations to you both.

Through your love for each other and for Jonah you are changing the world.

We can't help but want to be more like you.

Love never fails.

You know that.

Thanks for the reminder.

What I Want You To Know

***This is an open letter to a couple I met for dinner last week who are expecting their first child who happens to be prenatally diagnosed with Down Syndrome and in that moment, my mouth clammed up. I talked about sauvignon blanc and bike riding.  I had so much to say that I had to just wait until it could bubble out.  Right now seems like a good time to let it all come tumbling out.**

*****

I have so much on my heart right now.

So much I want you to know.

First off, I don't even know you but I am proud of you.

YOU CHOSE LIFE!

When the world was telling you otherwise.

When the world was spitting fear and prejudice and ignorance...

you could drown out the noise and hear that little heartbeat from within whispering 

the goodness, the miracle, the truth that you could trust.

It is all going to be okay.

You got through the first really big hurdle that 90% of the population doesn't make.

You chose life.

You won't regret it.

Ever.

Because by choosing life...

you really chose love.

And I don't care how cliche it is...

love truly does conquer all.

If you make a choice out of a loving place,

you will always be right.

And if you choose fear,

most of the time,

you will be wrong.

Simple as that.

This precious baby is welcome and wanted and loved.

Right now.

In this moment.

And that is enough.

Having a baby is miraculous.

You get it.

I suspect, you are going to rock this whole experience.

Seeing your bright eyes.

Hearing your hopes and plans.

Watching you together...

just made me want to start climbing that staircase in the Rocky movie and sing that song.

You got this.

So what do I want you to know?

Don't listen to experts.

Don't listen to professionals.

You know best.

Oh wait, clearly, you know that already.

Ok, next...

Listen to your heart.

Follow your gut.

Open yourself up and the universe will guide you.

Oh, wait, you've already done that.

Clearly, you're awesome.

I guess I want to tell you to hold that baby close.

Snuggle and cherish.

I have no doubt you will do this...but do it more.

It just goes too fast.

Your baby is good enough.

You are good enough.

And somehow 

good enough mom and dad + good enough kid = extraordinary family

I don't know the chemistry...but you got it.

Laugh a lot.

Poop, and fatigue, and nursing and babies in general make for crazy funny moments.

My husband brushed his teeth with Desitin in a sleep-deprived fog.

He knew that glossy shine wasn't quite right but he didn't slow down enough to question the fact.

He paid a white-toothed-slime price.

But we still laugh about it many years later.

And that leads me to quite possibly the very best gift this baby is going to give you...

the ability to slow down.

Your baby's pace will be exactly right.

And because he's first, it will be unfolding without any kind of toe-tapping antsy-ness.

One day, that baby will smile...angels will sing, goosebumps will appear and it will be like nothing you've ever experienced.

Each milestone will be savored and treasured.

Every step a victory.

Your baby will allow you to settle down, calm down and just be present...

for his presence.

And that is a gift I wish every person on the planet could know.

Slow is beautiful.

That is my take away.

Slow it all down.

Take a lot of pictures (and videos).

Read a whole bunch of board books.

Shake some rattles.

Stare a lot.

Stare some more.

Because there is no doubt that you are privileged to witness something very special...

and it won't be lost on you.

You are brave, adventurous, loving and accepting.

In exchange for all of those wonderful qualities, you get a son.

Seems pretty fair to me.

You're my kind of people.

I'm honored to know you.

Welcome home.

25 Ways

July 1st, 1989, John and I got married.

It was a sunny day filled with family, friends and a lot of good music.

We knew nothing...

we were babies.

And now, flash, ka-bam, whoosh...25 years have gone by.

25 years.

Silver.

I read somewhere that Anne Lamott (whom I adore and admire) thinks that there are only three important prayers:

Help, Thanks, Wow!

Although I love the simplicity, I'm not too sure about that...seems like God might be able to handle a little more depth there.

But in a marriage...that's where those three prayers just might be miraculous.

HELP!

So many ways, so many days, you have helped...

with the midnight barfing,

the conundrum of children's sports/activities and conflicting schedules,

the indoor/outdoor messes that just never end,

the endless garbage taking-out chore

(traded, in a moment of sheer brilliance on my part, for the endless bed-making chore)

with the big questions of life...

which leads me to THANK YOU!

For never missing a single chemo treatment for Patrick's 3+ year leukemia journey...

that alone makes you a complete bad ass.

For always having a smile or a joke or at the very least an inappropriate remark at 

the exact right moment.

For being able to see the bright side, even in the middle of darkness.

For being the ultimate DJ, always having a playlist and a song that IS the moment.

For being one hell of a dad, daddy or dobby depending on the day --

trust me, that devotion and irrational love is crazy sexy.

For taping your eye shut when my eye needed to be taped shut...full solidarity...in a terrible time...

that act of love is my inspiration to this day...

I want to love like you.

which morphs into WOW!

4 kids? 

really?

never would have believed it and yet, here they are...

what crazy, amazing gifts -- our very best dreams come true -- together.  

Out of the everywhere into the here.

Wow!

One dog, one rat, two bunnies, five cars, three different addresses, 

countless hours of late-night Christmas Eve put-togethers,

hundreds of barbecues,

silent nights,

loud, obnoxious mornings, 

25 years of

silly

scary,

sublime

slivers of time.

No one I'd rather spend it with...

my love.

Thank you for being my help, my thank you and my wow!

Thank you for 25 years...

how can that be?

Sunset selfie...June 2014.

The End of Cute; The Beginning of Awesome!

"It's the heart afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance,  

It's the dream afraid of waking, that never takes the chance, 

It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give,

and the soul afraid of dying, that never learns to live.

 When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long,

and you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong, 

just remember, 

in the winter, 

far beneath the bitter snows, 

lies the seed that with the sun's love, 

in the spring, 

becomes the rose."

--The Rose, sung by Bette Midler 

Way back in 1999, when Patrick was just a few months old, I read this essay by a father who had an 18 year old son with Down Syndrome named Ned.

It's titled "The End of Cute" and I have to say that the title alone has haunted me.

Here's the link to read it in its entirety:  http://www.riverbendds.org/index.htm?page=palmer.html

At the time, I had a six year old, a four year old and a brand new baby...I was drowning in cute.

I was soaked in imaginative worlds, fairy tales, magic and just plain adorableness.

The thought of having that era come to an end was stomach-twisting.

Contemplating my adorable three-some as teen-agers was located somewhere on the continuum 

of cringe-worthy and full on freak out.

I couldn't imagine the controversy, the angst, the embarrassment and the fear...

funny, since I was already living it.big.time.

Teen-agers are just bigger kids.

More capable, more thought-provoking, more powerful in almost every way.

They are damned amazing.

And yes, crazy-making too.

But I am here to say that although cute does end...

it gets awesome.

WAY more awesome.

I wish I had known that.

Teen-agers have a bias against them...our culture pretty much complains about them, 

blames them and points to them as our downfall.

That's hogwash.

The teenagers and young adults I know are more culturally aware, more sensitive to every single kind of prejudice around, more focused on truth, more globally aware, more able to solve their problems and search for answers than most adults I know.

I have extreme joy knowing that they are coming behind us.

They want to make the world a better place.

They don't just travel to Europe, they volunteer in orphanages and elephant sanctuaries 

or reach out to people in poverty.

They find a way.

They work together.

They believe it can be solved.

Patrick, my son with Down Syndrome who is one day away from being 15, didn't just go to a camp.  He spent time writing a letter to a family that has a brand new baby with Down Syndrome, letting them know all about his life and what he is passionate about.

Yep, he gave back.

And he can cook, and spend hours listening to music or writing scripts and dreaming of what will be.

He's like pretty much any teen-ager I know and you're right, it's not cute...

in fact he'd be offended if I told him he was cute.

  He's awesome!

The process of watching your child become an adult is humbling, fascinating, and a wonder.

Having a front row seat is a gift.

You get to guide, struggle, recommend and nudge.

The real control starts to fade away.

And that's where it gets interesting.

No, it's not always easy or smooth...but neither is parenting a toddler.

 I have had times where I've been yelling so loud that I thought someone might knock on my door and ask what the heck was going on.

I've sobbed at the changes, been sleepless with worry and had moments of sheer panic...

but didn't I have that with my two year old too?

The stakes are higher.

It isn't cute.

But I'm here to say that I've lived with three teen-agers and have one more waiting backstage and 

it's nothing to dread.

It's freaking awesome.

Happy 15th Birthday, Patrick! Happy 19th Mary Kate and Happy 21st Half Birthday, Jack.

You're not cute (well maybe a little, I am your mom after all)

...but you are awesome!

Sixty Years Later...

God, I love this man...who uses intercourse and injustice in the same quote and rocks it like no other? MLK.

Here's a trick question:

Do you know what Supreme Court decision was remembered yesterday?

Have you ever heard of Brown vs. The Board of Education?

1954 is when it all went down.

Sixty years later we are still talking about it and yes, still celebrating the decision.

Sixty years ago segregation got the boot.

Sixty years ago.

Sixty years ago a grandson of a slave, Thurgood Marshall, stood in front of the United States Supreme Court and argued against allowing segregation in schools to continue.

The Supreme Court unanimously agreed.

--> SEPARATE BUT EQUAL HAS NO PLACE! <--

Do you hear that?? It has no place.

Sorry to yell but this is something that educators are still talking about.

And I wanna know why.

Sixty.freaking.years.

Today, of course, thanks to Thurgood, it is taboo to suggest that a child of color should be removed to a separate learning area just because of the color of his skin.

But that doesn't stop the system from having an overabundance of children of color identified as needing special education services and then removing them from the classroom that way.

Segregation is alive and well and yes, educators, very well-intentioned ones, try to use the whole separate but equal idea in a subtle way.

They say things like:

Your child will receive special services in the separate classroom.

We can meet your child's needs better in a smaller classroom.

The "educational gap" is too big and your child needs to go to a different classroom.

It's all crap.

SIXTY years ago it was decided.

We all get to learn alongside each other.

Everyone.

In the same classroom.

I sure wish schools would get the memo.

No special room.

No special class.

Nothing special...just the regular class.

That's all we want.

All our kids need.

We have thirty years of educational research that support the sixty year old decision.

We know what works.

Separate classrooms don't.

Engagement, technology, teaching with supports, visual aids, music, clear, specific feedback

these are the things that matter.

It really isn't hard.

We just need access.

Sadly, people with intellectual disabilities get denied access to their neighborhood classrooms all the time. 

Still, 60 years later.

So I'm writing this as a message in a bottle.

Thurgood went to battle.

He had the strength of the Constitution and common sense on his side.

He won -- unanimously -- 60 years ago.

If he can win,

so can we.

Fight the system.

Demand to have your child placed alongside his typical peers.

Don't back down.

Share the stories of success.

Follow the ripple of inclusion.

Watch your child grow and thrive.

If he doesn't.

Don't give up.

Tweak and adjust.

Believe.

It can happen. Successfully.

The Supreme Court is on our side.

Federal Law is on our side.

We are on the side of love, acceptance, tolerance and inclusion.

That's the side that matters.

Be their voice.

Speak truth to power.

Watch with wonder as miracles happen.

That's the grace-in-the-ordinary...it's right in front of us.

Thanks to Thurgood.

Tea for Two

"Enjoy life sip by sip, not gulp by gulp."

-- The Minister of Leaves

A tiny taste of heaven.


Do you have a secret place?
A spot you unknowingly find your way to when you need a rest or need to take a deep breath.
I have several secret spots that refuel me, that calm me, that bring it all back to the real stuff that matters.

When the world feels too crazy, I make my way to one of these places and
s-t-o-p
and breathe...big, long, deep oxygen-rich breaths.

It's not so serious.
No to-do list is that important.
It's all going to get done anyway...
who cares if it's not all done at the exact perfect time in the exact perfect way.

This, this right here -- is way more important.

And that's how I was feeling last Saturday.

I had chores to complete.
Work to finish.
Emails to return.
And a presentation to get done.

None of it mattered.

I woke up on Saturday and decided to share my secret place.

Caroline was ready.

So I zoomed out of my pj's (which really isn't-Saturday-morning-like-me), showered and got ready and whispered to Caroline...
"I'm taking you someplace special this morning, just me and you.  Will you get dressed?"

She needed no prompting...she got herself together in a flash.

We completed a tiny subset of the regular Saturday stuff that must get done and headed out...on bikes.

*****

[Now I must add here that I've been wrestling with the constant intrusion of my cell phone.  I've been feeling like it's been owning me rather than the other way around.  And then a tiny little seed sprouted in my mind...I know it shouldn't be too crazy of a thought...but sadly, it was for me...I decided to make my cell phone optional.  I was going to make Saturday (and maybe even Sunday if I got good at it!) my cell-phone-free day. And since that little thought just kept going around and around in my head, this very Saturday seemed like the day to try.  So, I told John that I was going to be out of touch for a few hours, left my cell phone on the counter and away we went.]

*****

It was the weirdest sensation!
I felt naked and free and vulnerable and information-less and
finally, finally,
blessedly undivided.

I could attend to this moment, right now.

Distraction-less.

Focused.

Centered.

Attention squarely on the important things of the moment:
this little girl, seven turning eight,
what table to choose in this darling garden patio?
what tea?
should we get a scone or another type of pastry or the fruit cup?
what is Devonshire cream anyway?

how are you?
what have you been noticing? or thinking? or hoping?

I began to notice her eyes;
the way she fashioned words;
the grown-up way she was sitting;
the way she perused the menu.

Time, so often my enemy, stood still.

Without my phone to capture the moment,
I took snapshots in my mind.
Froze it...right there.
Noticed the sunlight.
The tiny purple zigzag fringed flowers in a tiny vase on the table.
Her eagerness to watch the sand timer count out the three minutes -- the perfect amount for steeping the peach tea that we had chosen.
Her willingness to pour our tiny glass chiseled cups carefully full of the golden elixir.

We marveled.
We sniffed and savored and stopped.

We giggled at the dollhouse sized wooden spoons that were what allowed the Devonshire cream and jam to make it to our scones.
We talked and talked.

It goes without saying that my secret place has become her secret place...and, as is the worry with sharing secrets, she loved it so much she wants everyone to go there.
Immediately she asked if Daddy and Patrick could come next time.
How about her cousins?
Maybe this was a place for a birthday party?

I just smiled...and told her sometimes secret places have to be kept quiet and shared carefully.

My answer to every question was Cheshire Cat confusing...maybe...we'll have to see how it goes...
maybe.

Right now I want to hold it close and keep it tucked out of sight.

But I know it won't last long...
she's itching to go again...trying for a second Saturday in a row.

I know she loved the tea and the garden and the Devonshire cream but I really think she's asking for more undivided attention.

I'm going to honor that request...try even harder...and I admit, I've done a poor job this week.
But, there's always Saturday.

Glorious Saturday:
 A pot of tea
Some denim blue eyes
Time, lingering and lounging like a friend,
And the supreme comfort of really being present
as my present.

He's Not Broken, Your System Is

"You are here to allow the divine purpose of the universe to unfold.  
That's how important you are!" -- Eckart Tolle

So, my kid is graduating 8th grade.
He's moving to high school.
Leaving the only school he's known for 9 years.

He's excited about it.
He's ready for an adventure and the thrills of high school that he has watched happen with his brother and sister: proms, dances, dates, football games, hanging out with friends --
independence.

His speech teacher that he has had since he was two said it best:
"He's excited because every change he has had up until now has made his world bigger and better."
He thinks change is good.

He's upset to say good-bye to his beloved friend and aide, Sarah.
He's not too sure of how to get to his new school...or what to do once there.
He's trying to picture it and he can't.
But overall, he's pretty excited for it.

Then we went to his first hour of formal testing...with a stranger...who gave him candy...and let him quit when he said he didn't know the answers anymore.
Would she let any typical kid quit??
Is that being nice...or is that having low expectations?
Is this test just a self-fulfilling prophecy?
Sure feels like it.

My kid needs to enter a system...a formal system that specializes in disability...a system that prefers to segregate...
and list all of the things Patrick can't do.

I look at all of the things he can do.

A system that wants to prove its value and needs to keep perpetuating this myth of can't.
The myth of "experts".

I'm the expert on my kid.

I don't need a special ed credential to know what's the right placement for him.
It's the one he's had since kinder -- fully included, with support, in his class with his typical peers,
100% of the time.
That's been working for nine years.

On May 1st, I'm going to sit in on a meeting filled with strangers...who will list all of the various gaps in my son's knowledge.

The gaps identified, by the way, from tests that are created for people with 46 chromosomes, not 47.
They're "standardized" but for what kind of kid??
Someone with autism, sensory processing disorder, cerebral palsy, Down Syndrome?
Is this a one-size-fits-all test??
If so, how can it measure anything meaningful?


They'll be overly polite.
They'll make comments about how charming Patrick is.
They'll smile...and act as if they know what's best for him educationally.
When they don't have a clue.

If I could, I would dismantle this system.

All children would start in their neighborhood school, in the typical classroom.

No one would have to earn their way in.

I'd train every single teacher in the country in good teaching practices...teaching teachers how to be engaging, how to mix up their class time with active/passive learning, how to monitor and give meaningful feedback, how to use technology to teach, reteach and assess for understanding.
I'd encourage creativity and cooperation and constructivist learning.

If every teacher knew how to extend a lesson and scaffold a lesson and offer support to all learners, we wouldn't need special ed...
which by the way, isn't freaking special.at.all.

Imagine all the money we could save if we didn't test and create goals and retest every three years.
Not to mention the time.
Precious time being wasted so the system can prove over and over how valuable it is...
when the results STINK.

75% of people with intellectual disabilities are UNemployed. 
--> 75% <--

Completely intolerable.

3/4 of the people in your system do not end up working...
hello...
why do you hold on to the outdated (and educationally false) notion that separate is equal??

25% of students with intellectual disabilities are fully included in school.
and...
25% of people with intellectual disabilities are employed.
Isn't that an amazing coincidence??

Does it take a graduate degree to connect those dots?

Why do we have this system again??

I know I will have parents tell me amazing stories of amazing special ed teachers doing heroic things...
even a broken clock is right twice a day.

There are good people...terrific educators...heroes...in a terrible system.

I don't want to dismantle the people.
Just the system.

I want to crush the oppressive bureaucracy of deficit thinking.

A system that itself is disabled --
blinded to the many things the student can do, in favor of underlining and in bold all of the many things the student can't do.

 I view Patrick as a violet living in a daisy world.

He isn't a broken daisy.

He's rare and beautiful and exceptional in his violet-ness, just hanging out with the daisies.
Our garden is better for the variation in the beauty.
Our world is better with it...it is the very definition of grace-in-the-ordinary.

Can you see his violet beauty?
Or do you see a broken daisy?
He's not the one who's broken...your system is.

"Peace requires everyone to be in the circle -- wholeness, inclusion."  -- Isabel Allende

Speak Up

"Nearly all men can stand adversity,

but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."

--Abraham Lincoln

Holy Moly!  We have a full "As The World Turns" going on in my little town.

It's crazy.

It's ludicrous.

It would be something worth talking about if it didn't involve coaches and kids...make that one kid.

But maybe that makes it even more worth talking about.

We have a school board that governs our schools.

We have 8 elementary schools; three junior high schools; three high schools and a whole group of people who choose 

"independent study".

That's a lot of students, gobs of teachers and plenty of administrators for five people to attempt to guide.

It's a thankless job.

Let's establish that right now.

There are long hours, lots of emotion, endless need and never enough money.

Very, very few take the time to thank our school board.

Plenty find a way to complain.

That's the nature of the beast.

I have a good friend who has just begun her tenure on a school board in a neighboring town.

As a teacher and a parent and a citizen, I get it...big time.

However, it's time to shed some light.

What is going on??

Who is in charge?

Is it really possible for one parent who is on the school board to demand an "investigation" about their one child getting cut from a sports team -- that actually costs over $22,000 -- and not have a full rebellion from all parents, educators, administrators and anyone else who cares about our schools and our town???

Is it really possible to stay quiet and just feel disappointed??

Let's start with some unpleasant facts...if you're on the school board it is your job to stay neutral and on the side of the schools.

Yes, even if your own child gets cut from a team and you feel it was unfair.

Even if you feel that the coach is doing a poor job.

You are supposed to have faith in the system you are a part of...you are supposed to trust the process.

It is a breach of your privilege of being on the school board to actively work to fire a coach.ever.

Frankly, you shouldn't have that level of power.

Once that process began, the rest of the school board had the hard job of confronting a person who was misusing her position of power.

The rest of the school board has shirked its duties.over and over again.

Allowing $22,000 to be spent on an "investigation" about one student and one coach is unconscionable.

Let's list some things that $22,000 could be used for in our district:

1) a half time school counselor at the high school level

2) 44 Ipads to use in any school

3) a new roof on any school 

4) updated heating/cooling system

5) professional growth for an entire staff or two at a school site.

5) filling an entire school library with new books

We still don't know who authorized the "investigation" -- we don't know why the "investigation" created a 72 page report -- and we don't know why it cost $22,000.

We have a right to know and to see through these proceedings.

After all, we're paying the tab!

When we are quiet about this as citizens, guess who loses?

Our kids.

Our teachers.

Our coaches.

Those coaches work for a pittance.

They have to deal with way too much as it is already to allow this disgrace to go unfettered.

Coaches need respect.

Coaches need positive support.

Coaches are doing the best they can.

Can they do better?

Sure.

We all can.

Yes. Students get cut from teams.

That's how competitive teams work.

If you don't like that, don't participate.

Yes. My own children got cut from teams.

And yes, I watched someone get cut from a team in part because of the way she spoke to her mother on the phone.

The captain of that team made a comment to the coach about that behavior and yes, that mattered.

It should.

It speaks to how that person would be on a team and as a team-mate.

Should a person be cut from a team because his/her parents are difficult??

Well, that's up to the coach.

And, yes, that's his/her call to make.

We need to stop what we're doing as individuals in our town and let our kids and teachers and coaches know how important they are.

We need to speak up.

Someone's got to...

because when we're silent, we give the impression that it's all  okay.

And, ummmmm it's not.

Not even a little.

We give the impression that we're fine with it.

And, I'm not.

Not.at.all.

Where's the grace???

In the coaches and teachers and students who still have faith.

Who still trust the process.

Who believe that it will all work out, 

if they just keep working hard and keep their eyes on the prize.

It's for them that I write this.

You, yes you, are my inspiration.

Keep at it.

We've got your back.

Come Home For Love

You've probably figured this out by now...but, I'm a writer-downer.

Like a photographer, I love to memorize the moment but I use words instead.

I try to freeze the frame.

Save the scent.

Hold the moment close...because whooooosh --

it's gone.

This week-end, I couldn't write it down.

It was too magical.

Too indelible.

Too important.

My journal lay empty...like a neglected best friend I couldn't even look at it.

I had to tuck it away.

I have no time for you, little book...only her.

This week-end I got to spend with just my big girl, away at her college, submerged in her world, if only for a moment.

I loved every second!

I felt a bit like a runaway as I kissed my little guys good-bye and relied on the kindess of my sister to watch them after school and the awesomeness of my husband to hang with them all week-end as I boarded a plane.

I tried to mix in with the business travelers...

can you say rookie?

It was obvious I didn't have practice at this...but who cares?

I checked into an adorable little hotel right near campus and texted my love bug.

She was done with class for the day and so I set about running errands and crossing off things on the to-do list with her...

step 1: cut the kryptonite lock on her bike since her key was lost

step 2: get a new bike lock

step 3: get ready for dinner at her sorority

step 4: relax with the girlie :)

We found a super nice locksmith who after a few key questions decided we weren't criminals and was willing to break the bike free.

We meandered and found a bike store and found our lock.

We hung out in her dorm room, meeting people from her floor and listening to the various options for Friday night fun in Eugene...turns out there's quite a few.

We had dinner at her house and got the official tour.

Her sorority house has a laundry-chute and sleeping porches and a real house mom who is way older than me named Char.  

Such a dear, dear lady -- oh the stories she could tell!

And then, in a blink, it was all over and Mary Kate had places to go and I needed to get cozy with my book and I planned to meet her in the morning for (of all things) Zumba!

We had plans to meet in front of the recreation center on campus at 10am.  I show up a few minutes early since I'm not at all sure how Zumba works and was hoping for a cheat sheet.

No one was there.

Doors locked.

Zumba on hold.

Turns out that the rec center is pretty much as slow to open on a Saturday morning as the early morning work out crew is.

These are college students after all and weekends are sleep-in zones.

At 10:05am, a million sorority chicks with their moms show up and here comes my girl too.

We head into this amazing place for exercise and fun and we meet the most adorable Zumba teacher in the world.  She teaches us some steps and holds our hand but mostly she gets us going...

dancing and living the words of these Top 40 songs.

Getting older, I've noticed I'm way more sentimental...does this happen to you?

Seeing all of these girls in their work out gear, their pony tails, their bright shiny smiles standing next to their moms tears sprang to my eyes.

Watching this giant group dance and bounce and move to music made me so teary-eyed I had to go into full 

talk-myself-off-the-ledge mode:

You can do this, Beth.

Stop it.

Mary Kate will not understand why you're crying.

Stop it.

Get it under control.

Dance...enjoy this...hold it close...this is one of a kind.

And so I let that music right into my body.

There were at least 100 other people dancing and moving so I didn't mind if my moves were a bit off.

I danced for all of the moms who aren't healthy enough to dance.

I bounced for all of the daughters who couldn't be there.

I thought of the many many mothers who wished they could dance with their daughters and because of a poisonous relationship or a trauma or a distance they just couldn't.

I thought of my friends without daughters...

and my friends without moms.

While I danced I cried.

And sang.

And rocked it out.

I sent out into the universe praise and love for the moms who were working so hard to be a part of this with their daughters.

I hoped their daughters noticed.

I admired the uber-fit moms but knew I wasn't part of their tribe.

I thanked my body for every single step.

I cajoled my heart...and vowed to be more cardiovascular focused in my exercise routines.

But mostly, I couldn't stop smiling...

watching this daughter of mine dancing and singing and getting down with her bad self.

I thought of the many times she danced around our house, singing it out all in the shower...the Top 40 hits blasting from out of her room and in my car when she was home.

How did it go so fast??

The tears of time passing and recognizing just how brief this all is also came to visit.

Deep breaths, Beth.

Time is up, Beth.

Slow clap it in...you made it though Zumba!

After Zumba and a delicious breakfast we ran to the mall, got some printer ink, and went to a drug store for those essential items that no student wants to spend their precious money on.

After that, it was more hanging out in the dorm.

Full fly-on-the-wall status.

It was so comfy listening to these girls talk and tease and make plans...plans for that night and plans for the next quarter and even plans for next year...all in the space of an hour or two.

So many plans...so much to do...so many dreams to chase.

I could have hung around all night...

but they had plans and people to meet and moments to squeeze tight.

Just like that it was time to head home...kiss good-bye...remind myself that it will only be a few more weeks until she's home, dancing under my roof one more time.

In Eugene, I found a cloth bag with the graphic that's on the top of this page.

It stopped me in my tracks:

"See the world, come home for LOVE."

Yep, that's your job, Mary Kate.

Get out there and see the world.

You're doing an awesome job of just that...

but please remember the second half:

Come home for LOVE.

Love is always here.

Always waiting.

Missing you and loving you.

And so very proud of the adventure you're living.

Carpe Diem, Baby Girl.