To Thine Own Self Be True

The guy likes Shakespeare.

I've told you that before...over here.

He walks around with a beat up MacBeth book in his hand and yes, he has huge chunks of it memorized.

For his birthday, his wise and thoughtful aunt got him a similar version of Hamlet.

It's called Shakespeare Made Easy.

On the left hand side of the page is the original text.  

On the right hand side is the translation or an easier version.

So, he's been walking around for a few weeks with Hamlet in hand...in restaurants, carrying it to speech,  thrown into my bike basket.  I had a friend who saw him in the waiting room at speech reading Hamlet come up to me and kind of ask out loud if this was real.

Did he like Hamlet?

YES.

He does...really.

As soon as she thought it was real, she turned to Patrick and started to dish...

who was his favorite character?  

What did he think of Hamlet?

We had stumbled onto another lover of the British playwright.

I think that as a way to diffuse, explode and crack away the myth that people with Down Syndrome are stupid, we should just have them carry around some texts of Shakespeare.

It blows people's minds.

Like looking in a fun house mirror they just aren't sure of what they see.

We like to place people in tiny, little, immovable boxes.

It's more comfortable that way...

but sometimes they don't fit in.

Sometimes the stereotype cracks.

People have to stop and rethink certain givens that they've trusted their whole life.

And if they stop and rethink that one, who knows, maybe there are a whole bunch of other certainties that just aren't that certain any more.

Powerful stuff.

But only if you're given the chance...

only if the opportunity is seized.

So, we took a chance and signed Patrick up with other teen-age Shakespeare fans for a two week camp.

It was all day long with typical kids and real actors and directors who are staging some Shakespeare for a festival in our town.

He got up each day energized and excited to go...but wouldn't tell us too much.

He didn't get the script for Much Ado About Nothing until midweek of the second week.

What had they been up to all this time??

Patrick got the part of Benedick for Act I and Don Pedro for Act II.

That, right there, was something he'd never considered before...

he fiddled with that idea, resisted it for a few days, but gradually came to know that you could play two parts.

The play of Much Ado About Nothing was going to be presented on Friday, 

just two days after getting the script.

Patrick began memorizing, repeating and rehearsing in his room...

but he didn't have enough time.

Thursday night he was worried.

He was used to knowing his lines (and everybody else's) -- he couldn't believe he wouldn't be ready.

But the joy of being a part of the play and a part of this group motivated him to accept the truth and just use the script when needed.

So today at 3pm, Caroline and I showed up for a little Shakespeare.

I'm always on pins and needles at things like this...you just never know how it's going to go.

But this was a group who shared a passion.

A group where he spoke the language.

A group where he belonged.

He didn't have to earn his way in...he just had to love Shakespeare and that was good enough.

The little play was a whole lot more...it had improv, movement, singing some explanation of who Shakespeare was as a person...and yes the entirety of 

Much Ado About Nothing.

Patrick was a part of everything.

Before my very eyes I watched a metamorphosis of unsure junior high kid into full high schooler...

confident and true to himself.

I was teary thinking of my friends with young children with Down Syndrome who continue to be denied entrance into this world of acceptance and inclusion.

If only those naysayers could have seen the improv!

I'm so grateful to a group of actors who have created a sanctuary for kids who love Shakespeare and allowed each teen the freedom to come as you are and take away all that you can.

For costumes for the show the kids were supposed to wear black.

We missed the memo.

Patrick came home the night before the show and created the costume he thought would work.

It wasn't black...

but I got no last minute phone call...

no rescuing the situation...

no tweaking or freaking out.

It didn't matter.

No one seemed to care, 

and the production went off without a hitch...

so refreshing.

Shakespeare with a chill pill.

And after the play came this quote,  "You can go now.  I'll meet you at home."

Full teen.

Tonight, I am grateful to the Davis Shakespeare Ensemble.

I'm grateful to this group of actors, directors and musicians who share their passion and work to make Shakespeare come alive.

Grateful for their hard work and ability to engage with teens of all sorts.

I'm grateful to live in a town that is accepting and tolerant and inclusive.

I'm grateful to an 8th grade teacher who taught Shakespeare to an entire group of middle schoolers, never dumbing it down or diluting it, thrilling them with the action and the language...

and lighting a fire.

Most especially, I am grateful to the Bard of Avon...

the witty, the insightful, the tragic and comic Shakespeare...

who has touched the heart and soul of my son hundreds of years later.

There's no doubt that Shakespeare has shaped my son...who would have guessed?

Get Out of the Way

"Every tomorrow has two handles.  

We can take hold of it with the handle of anxiety 

or the handle of faith."  

--Henry Ward Beecher

I've been noticing something.

Kids are anxious.

They have anxiety.

They stress out.

They freak out.

They get overwhelmed and they shut down.

For me, it seems like it's going on a lot more than it used to.

Today was the topper.

I've heard of kids being anxious...but I sat with a student teacher as she went through her class and she revealed that four of her students struggled with anxiety...and they were in elementary school!

Four in a class of thirty.

What's going on in our world??

These kids aren't hungry or homeless.

Their basic needs are met.

They have involved parents...maybe even a bit too involved.

Maybe that's the problem.

The hovering has got to stop.

Some parents actually come to school every day and eat lunch with their child.

They lurk around at recess.

I'm sorry but that would give me anxiety and I'm an adult.

WTH??

Our world is so upside down that the school hasn't stopped that madness.

The classroom teacher hasn't called an intervention a meeting and clarified the problem.

The parents keep eating lunch...and if they're eating lunch at school with their kids I don't want to think about what it's like to be at home together.

Suffocating is the word that comes to mind.

Let's chat about the message you send your kid every day you show up to school to eat lunch with him:

You can't do this without me.

You need me.

I'm crucial to your happiness.

I don't believe you can navigate this big, bad world on your own.

It's just a little too close to the mean mom in Rapunzel for my liking.

Why do we have this level of hovering??

Because the parents have lost their faith in our world.

Because of the horrendous living nightmare of 20 tiny first graders dying in their school in 

Newtown, Connecticut.

Because of 9/11 and creepy bad things that happen in our world every day.

I get it.

Bad stuff goes down to kids on a regular basis.

But guess what???

A whole lot of good stuff goes down too.

And my gut tells me it's WAY more than the bad.

We have lunch ladies, crossing guards, bus drivers, school secretaries, guitar playing music teachers, ball bouncing PE teachers, school janitors, principals, teachers and teachers aides and after school specialists just waiting to do their part.

And they DO their part.

Every single day.

Schools are safe.

Schools care.

Schools are a real place that your child can learn to maneuver and ask questions and be curious and test the waters and grow in independence every day.

But we have to let them.

We have to tell our kids by our actions that we know they can do it.

We have to give them a chance to fail.

And point out the rising sun and and the world still spinning when the failure happens.

It's ok.

They need to know they are ok on their own.

They need to have a little faith and see it all work out.

Over and over.

School's the place where that happens.

So...can you parents just take a deep breath and get out of the way??

You are literally making your kids sick.

You are disabling them.

Besides, you are just sucking the fun out of the whole thing.

And you don't want to be a fun-sucker, do you??

Tonight I'm grateful for the safety net of schools.  

I'm grateful for the many, many good people who make a school run smoothly.

I'm grateful for the welcoming smile, the hot lunches, the predictability of schedules and the comfort of belonging that comes with being in a school. 

Let's grab the handle of faith and let tomorrow shine.

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.

End It Now

See this guy:

He's a guy with Down Syndrome. 

Does that diminish his light?

Is he worth less?

Does he deserve an education? Medical treatment? Access to his own money?

All of those basic rights are denied people like Patrick everyday.

Some people believe he should be separated...in school, in sports, in the world.

Why???

Because they have lived in our world.  

They have heard the words.

They have had those ideas of separation and difference work their way into their view of humanity
and into their bloodstream of personhood.

Words like: retard and idiot.

I know you don't want to think it or get all PC, but words hurt.

Heck, words kill.

Words that diminish and dismiss make it easier to keep people outside. 

Words like that make it easier to separate and hate.

Words like that make it easier to disregard someone worthy of knowing.

They keep us apart.

They divide.

Using words like retard perpetuate MISunderstanding and DISability.

Can you just stop?

Stop using the words.

Stop leaving people out.

Stop feeling better about yourself by cutting someone else down.

Stop thinking it's funny.

Every single time you use that word -- or stand by while someone else uses that word -- you allow bigotry to continue.

You vote with your mouth for separateness and distance...exclusion and excuses.

Today I vote for inclusion.

Today I vote for flying my freak flag.

Today I vote for enjoying diversity,

cherishing every single hue, 

genuinely acknowledging the priceless gift of every human on the planet.

Everyone is worthy of dignity and respect.

Everyone deserves to be honored for their unique beauty and grace.

Today make a choice to change your language. 

By changing your language, you make the choice to open your mind. 

 You make the choice to open your heart.

 You make the choice to open your world to more love, more light, and more beauty.

People like Patrick will be a little less lonely and isolated.

Imagine the day when our children have never heard of such a word.  

Where we have to explain the bigotry and the separateness that no longer exist.

That makes me smile.  It's worth the work.

Learning the Hard Way

"Did you know that even when you do something bad, really bad like what happened today, that your mom and dad will not run away and they will still love you?" 

                                                                  -- Caroline (age 6)

My kids did something bad yesterday.  Really bad.  Patrick made some really bad choices.  Caroline helped instigate it and Mary Kate got in on it a little too late.  All the way around it was bad, with a capital B.  There were a lot of tears...some yelling and the ever present, awkward intruder who always makes his presence known as the unwanted houseguest he is, blame.

There was no getting around it.  Patrick had the choice between right and wrong and he chose wrong.  When I asked him why he would choose wrong he told me an honest truth: "Because I wanted to." Since that is usually the reason we all choose wrong I wasn't surprised by his motivation -- just a little bit stunned at his candor.  I had my lecture all ready for being honest and telling the truth...he beat me to it and spoke the truth.  I had to change it up and talk about why we must stop ourselves and choose right and refuse to do the things we want to -- especially when they are wrong.  I had to hold up the mirror to his moment and help him see how it was wrong...had to help him see the dark side within himself...and those of you who think people with Down Syndrome are "angels" who are "happy all the time" and are "pure" and can never make wrong choices well...you might want to rethink that.

I have seen Patrick be sneaky, dishonest, and even a little mean.  It's not very often, but it's not an impossibility.  I remember the first time he tried to manipulate me, he was only five.  I smiled and cheered inwardly...it was age appropriate and fantastic!  He was trying to find a way to get his needs met and he knew I was going to shut him down.  Like any ordinary kid, he tried the sneaky way.  It didn't work but I was proud of the effort.

As Patrick begins to navigate the older world, the stakes are higher.  Like all teenagers, he can mess it up big time.  But just because he has Down Syndrome doesn't mean that he should be protected and prevented from blowing it.

My tolerance for my kids making mistakes has grown.  When my kids were younger I wanted to be the buffer between any misfortune and my child.  I wanted to point out the obvious pitfalls and have them avoid them.  Now I know that this is where the real learning takes place.  This terrible time, between the tears, the apologetic hugs, in the thick of feeling forgiveness and regret is where the character building happens and where kids decide what kind of person they want to be.

We had a long conversation about making the hard decisions...about choosing right even when no one is watching...about knowing the differences and following through.  It was sad and bad and pit-in-the-stomach queasy but that is what parenting is about.  It's about seeing the dark side and facing it head on.  It's about confronting a problem and not sweeping it under the rug.  It's about holding up a mirror to our children and ourselves.  It's a hard, hard road but one I'd never miss.

Caroline's take away from that hard day was both heart-warming and heart-wrenching.  No, moms and dads are not going to run away.  We're here to stay and yes, we will not let you choose wrong.  We're here to make it clear and help you become the person you are meant to be. We're sticking around and seeing this through.  We love you, mistakes and all.

So today I'm grateful that I get to be here, day in and day out, helping my kids learn how to be good, kind people...even when they are learning it the hard way.

The Big Bad Wolf

"We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled.  

The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out."                  

-- Ray Bradbury

 Patrick has been working on a play through our local Art Center with about ten other kids.  They have met twice a week for the past four weeks with the goal of creating a script together, figuring out the blocking on stage and performing a play at the end of that short time.

Day one, the kids brainstormed Heroes and Villains.  The list of heroes included: Hercules, Wonder Woman, Goldilocks, Robin Hood and my personal favorite, Hermione Granger.  The list of villains went as follows: Cruella de Ville, The Wicked Witch, The Evil Queen, Captain Hook and The Big Bad Wolf.  Wanna take a guess who Patrick wanted to be?

Patrick, lately, has been having fun imitating the bad guy.  Whenever Caroline and Patrick are playing I can hear Patrick trying to set up the plot so that he can be the villain.  He's interested in seeing the other side of things...being a little dangerous, kind of shady, trying out those things he knows aren't acceptable anywhere else. He coveted the role of the Big Bad Wolf. 

His wish was granted.

He came home after only two days with an official script.  He carefully read through it and highlighted his lines.  He had them memorized that night. He couldn't wait until the next practice.

Patrick is thirteen.  Although he has Down Syndrome, there is no doubt that he is ready for more opportunities without me around.  He doesn't need me escorting him right to the edge of activities.  He knows it and I know it.  

The only problem is actually living it. 

It feels extremely weird to leave him alone waiting for his activity to begin.  I want to make sure it is all settled and comfy for him but he clearly doesn't want that.  He flicks me away like an annoying bug, telling me: "I know, mom, I know.  I'll see you in a little while.  I'm fine. You can go."

He's sooooo thirteen and I want to go, really I do.  I know he needs me to go. But there's no rulebook to follow in this world of teaching independence and bestowing confidence in your child with a disability.  It's hard enough to navigate with kids who are pretty typical. It's downright terrifying to let it unfold here with him.  What am I afraid of? The big, bad wolf?

If I want him to have a life of his own, I have to let him. I have to show him the cracks and stumbling blocks; point out the safe zones and sure fire ways to get help.  I try to think up unforeseen circumstances and give ideas of how to deal with them...but like my other two older kids I know I can't think of everything. I know this process is like shedding skin.  It comes off piece by piece...the new skeleton ready and strong.  We have to believe it is there and wait and watch.

I drop Patrick off at his class ten minutes early.  The universe has conspired to help me on my path of letting go -- Caroline has something that starts at the exact same time somewhere else and we need a bit of traveling time to get there.  I try to linger. Patrick does the teen brush off. He has already started talking to a friendly face. I tell this other child my situation and he  lets me know that he will hang with Patrick until things start.

I sigh and head out...wishing I could be in two places at once. Wishing for some sort of secret camera to transmit data to me...wishing I could have one for my son at college too.  

But what's the point of freedom if you have a leash?

We have to put ourselves out there.  Out in the big bad world with the villains.  We have to see if we have the hero within us and afford ourselves the opportunity to let that hero out.  The sad truth is that the hero never shines if his mother is hanging around.

Or maybe that's not so sad.

If I want my son to have dreams and passions and hopes of his own, then I need to walk the walk.  Although I will admit that Rapunzel's tower is making a lot of sense to me right about now.

So, Patrick worked with kids and together they wrote a script.  They had heroes and villains and Patrick was the Big Bad Wolf.  He rattled off his lines at home and together we searched for a legit wolf mask -- finding the perfect blend of frightening and realistic at our local Target store.  He loved it!

Yesterday, after only a handful of practices, was the performance. No one knew what to expect.  Caroline, Mary Kate and Sarah (Patrick's aide from school) showed up to a minimalist set and some folding chairs.

The kids begin.  It's a clever script with twists and turns and a general feeling that the good guys might not be all that good and that the bad guys might be nicer than you think.  The villains vamp it up with a certain wolf very in touch with his angry side.  He growled.  He smirked.  He was Bad with a capital "B".

The show crescendoed with a wild fight scene.  The lights were blinking on and off.  The hand to hand combat was hilarious -- suddenly the action stopped.  The wolf was gone.  

In his place was Prince Charming. Magically, he is transformed.

He rises from the attack and whips his red robe and looks majestic and strong.

The audience, happily surprised, roars its approval.

A hush settles over the crowd and the last few lines are said.  The details might be missing but the message is loud and clear.  

We all have a beast we are fighting. We all have something charming within. It's our own journey to discover it...our own life's work.  

No mommy can do it for us.

And the bigger message that hit me like a set of high beams: maybe this group of kids first saw Patrick as some sort of monster.  Maybe this group wanted him growling and fierce. Could it be that by working alongside on a project together that they could finally see the prince within?  Aren't they the ones who allowed the script to have a happier, nobler ending?  No adults wrote the script or acted it out.  It was a group of kids who together, inclusively, found their way...a group of kids who acknowledged the villain in each of us and the hero ready to transform. 

Notice: no mommy was a main character.

I'm getting the message.  My job is to be in the audience...to show up.  My job is to provide the opportunity to stumble -- the chance to rise from defeat, a prince.  The challenge is to stay in the wings...letting the beauty spill out and relishing the view. 

I'm up for the challenge...ready to find my own inner hero and begin the transformation from mommy to Wonder Woman -- or better yet, Hermione.  Now I just need to find my wand.

Needing More Hellos

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together?  I guess that wouldn't work.  Someone would leave.  Someone always leaves.  Then we would have to say good-bye.  I hate good-byes.  I know what I need.  I need more hellos."  ~Charles M. Schulz



It's been almost two weeks since I had to kiss my firstborn good-bye. Two weeks.  That's not that much time at all and yet every time I see him on Skype, hear his voice or read his words I know it might as well be a decade.  Already so much has changed for him...navigating the world -- yes that big wide world -- pretty much on his own with three stumbling and bumbling room-mates for companionship.  He seems older already.  He seems more worldly and yes, more moments have happened in these two weeks where his eyes have been opened.  I love it and I hate it in pretty equal doses.  I'm so thrilled for him to be on this adventure and so sad for me that our adventure with him in our daily life has ended.  


He's fine.  No, actually, he's pretty great.  He likes his room-mates, he has averted disaster and he's found his way to class and to food and to friends all relatively easily.  Heck he's even done his laundry!  


I can't help but reflect on my own going away moments.  I really don't remember being fearful at all -- although I'm sure I must have been nervous.  I just remember the adrenalin.  I remember being excited and ready and so curious about all of the new places and new people and new things I was seeing and learning.  I was thrilled and hopeful.  I knew I could do it and I wanted to go for it.  I couldn't get over the people...so very different and yet so very much the same.


I remember the kindness of strangers: that first day on my bike searching for my Classics class when out of nowhere a fellow biker pointed out the correct building I couldn't figure out from my map.  I remember the professors who told good stories and recited lines of poetry from their passionate hearts.  I remember feeling super cool hanging out in the Coffeehouse after class with my 75 cent bagel and cream cheese. I remember the parties and the craziness and the FUN!  Mostly, I remember the new friends who made me laugh and think and wonder about things I'd never thought about before. 


So...when I wish for more hellos from my big guy, I just remember how many, many, many hellos he is getting everyday. It's tantalizing to think about all of the paths he is crossing and all of the experiences he is having each new day of his adventure.  


And, it makes me want to have more hellos too.  I look a little longer for those confused faces trying to figure out a new school, a new team or a new town.  I find myself reaching out...pointing out a building, a person who knows the answer or a website that might help.  


A few years ago during the summer I had an itch to go to the beach.  My baby was weeks old but that didn't stop me; the beach was calling our name.  It was a little reckless but I packed up a picnic, good sunscreen and lots of sand toys and we started our adventure.  Two freeway exits down the road I got a flat tire.  I was close enough to home that I didn't freak out but it was a very vivid, deep feeling of vulnerability and suddenly I felt like a jerk on the open road with three kids and a tiny baby. What was I thinking? 


Two young hispanic guys stopped their car in front of ours.  I told the kids to be silent and I opened my window.  One of them offered: "I'm a mechanic, I know how to change a tire.  I'd like to help you change yours."


I was shocked and thrilled and very emotional.  He changed my tire like the expert he was and I sat in awe at a skill I needed to have.  Within  ten minutes we were ready to go.  I searched through my purse and tried to pay him.  He shyly smiled.  He refused and said: "I just got married a few weeks ago.  I would hate to have my wife out on a freeway like this and I would hope someone would help her the way I am helping you. "  That sacred moment of silent connection between us was all we needed:  I thanked him, and vowed to pay it forward.  He just smiled.


Often I think of that good deed...that kindness because he could see his wife in me.  Without effort, I can see Jack in all of the college kids around my town and I begin my hellos.  I can see myself in the new teacher and it dawns on me that that's the secret.  Seeing ourself in others gives us the willingness to say hello, to reach out and break down barriers.  Knowing it could be you gives you the grace to be patient, forgiving, understanding and most of all kind.  You're a little more tender and a little less ready to pounce.


So...deep breath...it's time for fewer good-byes and more hellos.


Hello world -- you're pretty beautiful.  

Our Brush with Japan, Kana

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes." 

                             -- Marcel Proust

Life has most definitely NOT been ordinary around here.  We've been gifted with a new pair of eyes, Kana.  Mary Kate's high school has a "sister school" -- how cool is that?  Her sister school is located in Fukuoka, Japan. Usually, twenty five students from the Nakamura Gakuen Girls Senior High School visit my daughter's high school but for some reason 37 were on the list for their visit in March and so a scramble began to find some extra families willing to host a student for 10 days.  I saw the email, checked the dates, and then dismissed the thought from my mind: life is too crazy -- two high school sports, four different kids and school schedules, maybe next year.  Then I got a text from John citing the email..."What do you think?  It'd be pretty cool." John and I often have a synchronicity that's weird and this was one of those times.  His text was the nudge that made me switch from: life's too crazy to why not?  And that is how we found our family holding up a sign welcoming a complete stranger, Kana Shimizu, into our lives for the next 10 days.

Did we know what we were getting into?  No clue.  My whole world for the past nine days has been mind-bending and world altering.  Suddenly, I see my world with new eyes.  As I was driving home from picking up Kana that first day I was so proud.  Weirdly proud to show off my country.  I wanted to take her to my favorite places, have her delight in my favorite foods, show her what made my city great and just generally be "the hostess with the mostest".  

But, as I got on the freeway, it was as if I was seeing my world for the first time.  People, freeways (at least in my neck of the USA) are not attractive.  There's no pretty landscaping, no sleek roadways, just a whole lot of ugly billboards and pretty lame plants in the divider.  I wanted to begin weeding the divider!!! Where was our national pride?? How could my precious homeland be so junky?

As we arrived into our driveway and began to get out of the car, the local ice-cream man drove by.  I kid you not, the man made a U-turn and stopped in front of my house.  OK, I'm willing to admit that we buy a lot of ice cream from him in the summer...but a rainy day in March?  Now. The man picks now, to have the hard sell?  I cringed but I had to buy some ice cream from him.  How American can you get having a Pakistani entrepreneur welcoming my Japanese exchange student with a Bug's Bunny popsicle with blue bubble gum eyes?  It was classic.

Thankfully, Kana is adventurous in almost every way and food is no exception.  She loved her rocket pop and with a level of Japanese neatness I am personally in awe of managed to eat every last molecule of that taste treat. After more than 24 grueling hours of travel, Kana put up with our extremely limited ability to communicate with good humor and extreme patience.  We discovered that you don't need language to take a dog for a walk, play Uno, learn how to fold origami, play hide and go seek, play ping pong and eat snacks.  We learned that a smile and a curious heart can let you travel all the way across the world.  

I learned how to count to ten in Japanese, how to say "Happy Birthday" in Japanese and many details of Japanese life.  Did you know that cars in Japan have the steering wheel on the right hand side?  Except for if you are really rich, then you buy one that drives on the left as a status symbol. :)  That conversation has made me ponder for days the reason our steering wheels are placed where they are.  What is the purpose? 

Showing Kana our world has made me open my heart to another part of the world.  As I watch Kana's bravery in navigating bleachers at Jack's volleyball game, trying nachos for the first time which includes dealing with that oozy cheese, and see her repeat herself with a shy smile and communicate in halting English when I know this brilliant girl could spill out a flurry of Japanese if only I could understand, I want to hug her parents a world away.  I want them to know just how grateful I am that they allowed her on this adventure.  I want them to know how proud I am of her ability to work through the cultural differences and find the commonalities that we all know to be true: laughter, love, smiles and acts of generosity are beyond any language barrier.  Mostly, Kana's parents have shown me that letting your child spread their wings is most definitely a worthy endeavor.

In just a few short months I'm going to have to let Jack go and begin his life adventure with college.  I'm going to have to hope that his bright light will be nourished and nurtured by the people he meets along his travels. I'm going to have to know in my heart that he is brave and brilliant and adventurous and most of all, ready.  Just like Kana.  Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Shimizu, your bright light, Kana, has certainly lightened up our world and helped us all to know the joy of learning and growth, most of all me.

I Am A Rockstar!

"To the world you may be just one person, but to one person, you may be the world." -- Brandi Snyder


Little did you know just how endangered and sad Buzz Lightyear is in this classic Foraker photo.  Buzz is often rescuing all sorts of people all over our house, saving them from danger, distracting villains, and flying "to infinity and beyond" off of various pieces of furniture.  In short, he's the man.

But, if you look carefully he's missing one important tool: his space helmet. Poor guy has been breathing earth's oxygen for far too long and has been at a severe super-hero disadvantage.  Being the semi-conscious parent, I didn't even notice.  When I took this picture, I thought Buzz was his super-hero bad ass self. Apparently not.

Yesterday I found Patrick with a pouty face sitting in his room holding Buzz.  Since this is not too unusual I did my classic mom-reaction: ignore.  It lasted a bit longer, so I finally asked what was not exactly perfect in his life. He informed me that Buzz was needing his space helmet.  We had seen two pieces of clear plastic in the game cupboard.  High five to whoever thought to put them there and not toss them into the garbage. (We know it wasn't John since his default notion is always throw it away!)  So, I ask him if those pieces were his helmet and he nodded sadly yes.

I find the pieces and head with trepidation back to his room.  This is so not my strong point.  I'm excellent at getting the grass stain out of the dress pants, really good at making comfort food, usually I fly into the stratosphere like Buzz when it comes to finding the right gift to give one of my kids but fixing a broken something...not good.at all.

So, there I am in the bedroom crouched over plastic and feeling my potential credibility with Patrick and Caroline hanging in the balance.  Can she do it?  I finagle my way through the moment and somehow coax two pieces of plastic into their spots.  Patrick attempts to close Buzz's helmet all the way down and it doesn't work.  He looks at me, unimpressed.  In a normal moment I would tell him to be happy and move on.  The helmet was back on his head and even though it didn't work exactly right he should be thrilled it was staying on his head even for a moment.  However, that unimpressed blank face and the subsequent: "The air can still get in, Mommy," made me pause.

I can do this, I tell myself.  It isn't that hard.  You can figure this out, Beth.  Sure it's plastic.  Sure, it's counter-intuitive and it should not be this hard but you can do it.  Think like an engineer. Stay with it.  So, I look at the two pieces.  I really contemplate the engineering and magically notice that I had the pieces on upside down and reversed.  I make another attempt and it really feels tight...too tight...that plastic is very close to breaking.  If that happens, it's all over.  A full-on tragedy.  I push my luck -- knowing that my dear yoga teacher friend would be telling me to yield instead of push harder.  I force the plastic and cringe...waiting for the inevitable crack and the disgust from both of my kids that "Daddy could have done it."

The universe holds its breath and gives me a break...a big one.  The helmet slides in, crackless, and actually works perfectly.  Oxygen is no longer a life-threatening problem for Buzz! Best of all, I was the recipient of a breathless moment myself, a moment of awe from two kids.  "Ooooooh, thanks Mom!" a big high five.  A hug.  It was done.  I was a rockstar!

Sure it was fleeting.  Sure it won't last through the day...but for a few seconds I was a hero.  A hero that can't be bought with money.  A hero that has to be present in the daily nitty gritty to even get the opportunity.  I was the hero that made it all better and it felt great! :)

Buzz and space helmet among friends.

Added note: John has revealed that it was his good foresight to save the plastic helmet pieces in the game cupboard...high five! Sorry for throwing you under the bus, hon!