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.

Life

What do you think makes for a happy life?

Truth is...it's not much.

Something to love.

Something to hope for.

Something to do.

Those are the "grand essentials" of happiness...if you have that, you are pretty much batting 1000.

Sometimes we go through times where we are out of balance:

I have too much to do and nothing to love.

My dreams feel out of reach...my "hope for" is a joke.

My "something to do" feels mind-numbing and monotonous.

But, the process of life forces us to find a way to make room for the big three.

And when we do...it's magic...poof: happiness.

So, on this anniversary of the biggest decision of our courts to allow abortion to be legalized I want to ask all of you...

are we better off choosing death over life?

Does our world see the sacredness of life?

In our world of technology and amazing photography we can all clearly see that life in utero is most definitely going on in there.

We have fingernails and toes and full 3-D images that show perfect profiles of the children within.

Can we at least establish that the "clump of cells" concept is out dated?

That's no clump of cells...there's a full fledged human in there.

Now, that human might not be convenient.

It might be the object of very bad timing.

It might be born into poverty or sadness or a messed up world.

But what it takes to be a full-fledged human baby is so miraculous it deserves that chance.

With abortion, we've accepted the idea that life is a convenience.

We have swallowed the idea that some lives are worth living and others are not.

We've been enveloped in a world that takes the sacred and the holy out of conception and birth.

Anyone who has been witness to a birth knows that it is sacred ground.

A portal.

A passage from another world and into ours.

Shutting that down seems like an impossibility but the side that embraces abortion has done just that.

What are the odds that a baby will arrive in your life?

None of us know.

We can try and try and try and still be infertile.

We can have one child and be unable to have another.

We can have sex one time and find ourselves pregnant.

It's a crapshoot.

It always is.

And that's the beauty of it.

It's a leap of faith.

A crazy idea.

A wild, unbelievable blessing.

A miracle.

Yes, friends, every.single.baby.is a full-fledged miracle.

Healthy or not.

Poor or not.

Crack-addicted or not.

Miracle.

Out of the everywhere and into the here.

I have a child that the world views as disposable.

People have asked me "if I knew"...insinuating in the most despicable way (but always with the brightest smile and most interested face) that if I had known I might have chosen better...

I always answer that I did know -- in my heart, with the strongest premonition I've ever had -- but all of my tests came back 

all-clear.  Including my favorite one, the ultrasound where the technician pointed out all four chambers of Patrick's tiny baby heart, when in fact, he was born with no chambers and needed open heart surgery almost immediately.

Yes, I have a child that many, many people believe should be terminated...his life is too terrible, 

too burdensome, too much trouble to be allowed to breathe another breath.

Ummmm, not really.

Tonight, I had a regular old boring night.
I made breakfast for dinner.
Walked Caroline through the basics of borrowing in subtraction.
Found my son who is "disabled" more able than me with our TV system...finagling some way to watch You Tube on our TV?!?
Read books with both Patrick and Caroline before bed.
Listened to their prayers.
Cleaned up some dishes.
Procrastinated, yet again, on making lunches for tomorrow.

Not one time did I wish my son wasn't born.
Not one time did I watch him interact with his sister and think anything other than I wish they would stop annoying each other.
Not one time.

Babies are miracles.every.single.one.
My prayer is that some day our entire world can hold sacred every life:
the unwanted, the inconvenient, the disabled, the difficult, the very old and fragile.
Every life.

I don't believe any of this is a "choice".
Gifts that are given.
People waiting, just waiting, to rock your world...
one tiny baby footprint at a time.

Tonight, I am grateful for my children.
Grateful for all of the children I have been privileged to know and love.
I am also profoundly grateful for the gift of life...most especially my own.
Ordinary.
Clumsy.
Messy and funny.
Thank you God for this sacred time of being alive.
Man, is it beautiful.

Keep Me In Your Heart For Awhile

"One of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship 

is to understand and to be understood."  

-- Lucius Anneaus Seneca

When you have a baby born with a disability, you enter a different world.  

I like to think of it as a parallel universe.

The outside world audibly gasps.  

There is the smog of pity that envelopes you and makes it difficult to breathe.

There are the many, many people who carefully, tenderly, kindly give you the "I'm so sorry," look or even utter those poisonous words out loud.

I want to scream, "Sorry for what?" 

Sorry for this perfect snuggly bundle?

This is the object of your sorrys???

I'd look down and it did not compute.

I was on the inside now.

Looking out at the world with this new view, it was as if I discovered the horizon line.

Everything made sense.

The things that the outside world cared about -- speed and intellect and perfection -- 

suddenly fell away like shingles off of an old roof.  

None of that mattered now.

What was essential, like Antoine de Saint-Exupery's famous quote, was invisible to the eye.

On the inside, I could only see with my heart.

Once your world is like this, you try to search for others.

Like some lost tribe that is scattered, they are hard to find.

In my town, not a single other child was born with Down Syndrome the year Patrick was born.

I could find no one locally.

So, in 1999, with the internet as an infant, I logged on and tried to find my tribe.

They were there.

I went to the National Association for Down Syndrome. 

There I found a discussion board and a way to meet other families with children with Down Syndrome. I could post a question and people would answer right away.

It was therapeutic and comforting and life-changing.  I no longer felt alone.

Within a few months, I found another board called ParentsPlace.  It doesn't exist any more -- some big company bought it out and changed the format -- but at the time it was my tribe.

I connected with families that had children close to Patrick's age.  Some lived in California but others lived across the United States, in Canada and even in Israel.  It was awesome!

As the years kept on, we would talk about meeting each other "in real life".  We called it an IRL.  

We dreamed of it, fantasized about it, idealized it and then reality forced our hand.

One of our own was sick, real sick.

Annette who had Ryan and lived in Canada had cancer.  Her diagnosis was grim.

Our friend Jan who lived in Indiana was willing to host anyone who could get to Indianapolis.  We would come out for the Buddy Walk in October and hope that Annette and family could make it too.

The year was 2007.

I had been communicating with these moms online since 2000, sending Christmas cards, cheering at the victories of their kids, praying through the difficulties but never had I met them in person.

I took Patrick out of school, convinced John to take time off of work to watch Caroline and deal with the bigger kids, and we went on an adventure to the middle of America.

I was nervous but so so excited.

I couldn't believe that I was going to meet Tara Marie and Emma Sage from New Jersey and Stephanie and Katie from New Jersey and Rhonda from Omaha and Nicole and Tarenne from Kentucky and Jan and Jeff and Nash from Noblesville, Indiana (and so many more!) 

IN PERSON.

It was a dream come true.

And a leap of faith.

I mean...who just jumps on a plane and plans to stay in a friend's house when you've never even talked to them on the phone??

Someone who has found their tribe.

For me, it made perfect sense...but for the outside world, not so much.

I will never forget getting out of my rental car with Patrick to meet Jan for the first time.

Her laugh and her, "You're so much taller in real life!" Meeting her sweet husband, Jeff, and their son Nash and then meeting so many others was so so beautiful.  I still get chills thinking about it.

And then there was the bittersweet reason, meeting Annette.

Nothing could hide the brutality that there was an urgency to our finally meeting.

There was no soft place to land.

I met Annette and her husband Tom and her son Ryan and their other son and no longer could use the distance as my shield.

Right here.  Right now.  This was happening.

For those of us on the inside, we know about the odds and life's little twists and turns.  We know that the hand can get crappy and you might not have any cards to play...but this was just plain cruel.

Life didn't make sense...but we somehow had to stop thinking about the future and live, really live, in the moment, in these few days we had together.

And live we did! 

Annette and I enjoying the day!

Annette was strong and happy and seizing the day.

How could we help it?

All of us had a comfort and a kismet that needed no words.

If our kids acted up or did something unusual, we all got it.  

It was a level of acceptance and friendship that was something I had never experienced before.

Partway through the walk Patrick refused to keep walking.  

Just quit.  

Any other place I would be mortified, cajoling, bribing,and otherwise working like crazy to get him to keep walking.  Here, another mom, offered me her stroller.  Patrick plopped in and Brig (one of the oldest kids with Down Syndrome in our group) pushed him.  Just like that, problem solved.

Thank you, Brig!

After the walk, we went back to Jan's.
We celebrated our children "with a little bit extra" -- the reason for our friendship -- and our hearts.
We talked into the night.  We played with the kids.
We gossiped and watched love bloom between Brig and Hannah (they are still going strong today!) and mostly felt the comfort of friendship, the cloak of acceptance, the fleece blanket of love.

It was a remarkable week-end.
One I will always cherish.
All thanks to Jan and the others who decided to make it real.

Just a few weeks later, we got word that Annette had passed away.

It felt so sudden and shocking.
We were breathless and bereft.
How??

Jan and Shannon offered to attend the funeral on our behalf.   They would speak for us.
Together they would show our love in person.
The outside world might not get it, but Tom would.

Six years later, my soul sister Tara Marie reminded me of that awful, beautiful time.
She toasted us tonight --
echoing the words of Warren Zevon's song, Keep Me In Your Heart For Awhile.

Annette, there is no doubt, you are in our hearts.
Always. And for more than awhile...forever.
We miss you.
We honor you.
We love you.

Most of all, I cherish the hours I got to spend with you...fleeting and fragile...
a reminder for how to live every day.
Minute by minute.
Smiling and full of life.

Star Dust

"Babies are bits of star-dust blown from the hand of God."

 -- Larry Barretto

My friend Katie is pregnant with her first child.  She's about halfway along and so amazingly cute.

She's as ready as a new mommy could ever be.

She is deeply loved by her husband.  She is settled and confident and comfortable in her own skin.

She is a really terrific woman and I just know that her overflowing love, creativity, sense of fun and  joie de vivre is going to combine like some secret recipe into one heck of a mom.

But...I can feel her worrying.

I can sense her unease.

She's on the cusp of something big and she knows it...never wanted anything more.

And it's all out of her control.

I tried to help her know that the worrying doesn't help.at.all.

I tried to get her to see that "whether or not it is clear to you, the universe is unfolding as it should."

(Thank you, Desiderata...all time favorite life poem.)

I have so so much to tell her.

I want her to know that loving that baby full tilt IS enough.

It will be what gets you through the dark nights of sickness, worry, anxiety or confusion.

There's no wrong way to love your baby.

You can use the technique of "attachment parenting" and wear your baby 24/7 or you can snuggle that baby whenever it works or you can let your baby snooze by itself in a cradle.  

Your baby is still going to love you back...and here's a secret...she will love you back her way, 

not yours...which will be stunning and magical and exactly the way you need to be loved.

This baby will humble you and shock you and exhaust you and fill your heart to this cosmic depth that you didn't even know existed.

You will look back on things you have loved: a dog, a friend, a job that feeds your soul and truly look down from a mountain top the size of Everest and realize that you were merely playing in the sandbox of life until this moment.

You will laugh your butt off...at the hilarious things you consent to do for this child of yours, the way your body becomes a contortionist, at the absurdity of radical sleep deprivation and yes...

you will cry huge heaving sobs of vulnerability, compassion for all mothers, heartbreak for mothers who must say good-by way too early and those who may never know this bliss...you will cry for your child's journey, no matter how blessed, because we want zero adversity for the ones we love and that, my darling friend, just isn't possible in this difficult world we find ourselves in...

adversity potholes are everywhere.

You will cry in her tiny magnificence and cry in his towering manhood and cry through awkward adolescence and all the funny, joy-filled, heart-breaking moments in between.

You will feel like an exposed nerve...

you will feel so deeply that the travails of life will seem so utterly discouraging and the joys of life so impossibly amazing that you will feel like you alone 

(well, let's be honest, you've had a little help here)

have created a new and vibrant color that has never before been seen...

and you have!

It's all your own...well, let's include Bryan here too.

You get to define what family looks like.

You get to create traditions and sing funny songs and dance in the rain and try new foods and show someone what 

honesty and gentleness and trust look like.

You get to pray and hope and comfort in the way you've always hoped.

Motherhood and familyhood and babyhood are just lingo for hanging out together for a real long time.

I hope more than anything you get to do just that.

Linger.

Snuggle.

Cherish.

Steep in wonder.

Relax into this beautiful place and know down deep that you are the exact perfect person to mother this baby of yours and that this is no random collection of cells...this, my friend, is a full-fledged miracle and you, my friend, are the apex of that miracle...

the starting point.

The Table of Contents and the Dedication Page and the first few chapters...

but, my sweet friend, you are only that.

Your baby gets the joy and privilege of living with you in your daily life for awhile, 

a long while, 

but the time will quickly come when she gets to search out her own adventures and loves and laughs.

And you will have to smile generously when her new adventure begins.

You will hope that you have given her enough love to last through the trials that you cannot comfort and pray that you have given enough hope to know that drenching rain always brings new growth -- that beautiful deep green of life.

You will trust that faith and wonder and love and the strength of family will be enough.

And it will be.

Love is a beautiful circle.

You are enough.  It will all be just the way it should be.

Trust in the cosmic correctness of this moment in time.

Miracles happen.

Tonight I'm so grateful for my four beautiful, radiant, neon colors that brighten my world.

I can't wait to meet yours!

Slip Sliding Away

"Darn the wheel of the world.  Why must it continually turn over?  

Where is the reverse gear?" 

-- Jack London

We negotiated.  She wanted a shower.  I wanted to give her a bath.  We compromised as we fortunately can often find our way to do: I'd wash her hair in the tub and chat for a minute.  I'd enjoy her hair, her little face wet with water, her closed eyes and lashes laden with dew drops. I'd notice her leaning her head way back, letting me rinse and rinse and rinse long after it was necessary.  I'd wash her face and touch those cheeks and suck up that smell of cleaning away the grime of the day and getting ready for the night.

After that, she'd get to have a shower on her own.  I'd set it up and hand her the soap and give her the freedom of water rushing down, time alone lost in her thoughts, the privacy and big-ness she is ready for and waiting for.  Darn.

I remember reading a long time ago that we make a big deal about the beginnings.  We take photos of the first day, the first time, the first class and we record them.  But no one gives us the memo on the last day, the last moment, the last time.  Hardly ever can we tell that it's ending.  It just slip slides away...morphs into something new and before we know it, it's over.

Because I've done this a few times, I'm more aware of the endings as they approach.  I'm on the look out now.  I know.
I can feel it and now I take the mental photograph.

I can't tell you how many baths I've given but I am my mother's daughter and she loves a clean child.  She scours the fingernails (I still remember my fingernails hurting from her own fingernail cleaning underneath mine), washes behind the ears and inside the corners of the eyes.  She gets in every nook and cranny and the result is a very clean child.  

I am the same. 

 I never minded giving baths.  I loved the forced opportunity of stopping and slowing down and cleaning and caring for my babies.  I cherished the smell of a fresh-from-the-the-tub child.  I snuggled in bath towels as long as possible, giggled at the naked adorableness, watched those bouncing booties...but now, twenty years into it, my time is running out.

I know.  I know.  Get over it.  

It's not that big a deal.  But for me, it's another reminder that the joy of babyhood, toddlerhood, preschoolerville and yes even early elementary school is on its way out.  My chickadee is turning seven in just a few weeks and her patient tolerance for my intensive mothering in the bath department is going down the drain...the final whirlpool is beautiful.  It's all very very good.  I'm just noticing.

So, today, I'm grateful for the few baths I have left.  Grateful that I have had the joy and chance of bathing four kids.  Grateful for the bounty of clean water that I so often use with the barest of acknowledgements, knowing there are millions of mothers who would love nothing more than to put their baby in a hot bath and scrub them clean.

Today I'm grateful for my baby and my ability to finally see the bend in the road and know that it's all changing...as it should be...

in all the right ways.

My First Noel or New Mom: Here's a Cheat Sheet

"It is not a slight thing when they, who are so fresh from God, love us." -- Dickens

Almost exactly twenty years ago to the hour I went into labor for the first time.  I had just eaten a delicious and gigantic Christmas meal (hint: try to avoid overeating just before labor and delivery...it isn't pretty!) and we set off into the foggy night, wishing for Rudolph to guide us, on a 40 minute drive to the hospital.  John was so nervous he never even turned on the headlights of the car -- we drove with our running lights on!  I was so preoccupied with the changes in my body that I never noticed.  :)

At 6:57am on December 26th, 1992, at 8 lbs. 8 oz. our little bundle arrived, John William Foraker -- forever known to us as Jack.  He was named after my dad who had suffered a very serious heart attack while I was pregnant.  Today, Papa is alive and well and one terrific grandpa.

Jack was an easy baby, a curious toddler, an easy going grade schooler, a thoughtful and funny middle schooler and a willing high schooler.  He tried all sorts of things in high school, including a new sport, and grew and thrived in high school.  Today he is a sophomore in college -- a 6'4" big guy loving college and all of the adventures offered there.  All phases of his childhood have been relatively drama-free and he has been pretty much a cake walk to parent.  Jack is what we like to call an "old soul".

I take no credit for this.

I can see myself twenty years ago (how is that possible??) holding my tiny newborn in our mint green rocking chair singing Christmas carols to him and marveling at his beauty.
Here is the cheat sheet I wish I had.

Secret #1: Children come out of the womb hard-wired as they are.  Their personalities and temperaments are their own.  You can try to nudge them in the direction you wish they were but it is not very likely you will shift them in any significant direction.
You must learn to love them as they are.
The sooner you can do this, the happier you will all be.

Jack showed us his way of viewing the world at about 18 months.  I would tell him no and he would say, "Maybe tomorno?" in a questioning, sweet way.  He was able to adjust to limits and change.  He is intrinsically optimistic and so he just hoped that tomorrow things might be different.
Life is pretty easy when you view setbacks in this way.

Secret #2: Whatever stage they are in is fleeting.  I remember thinking that I would be nursing for.ev.er.    In actuality I only nursed Jack about six months.  1/40 of his entire lifespan so far and shrinking.  If someone had told me that then, maybe I would have nursed a little longer.  The terrible twos...sassy teens...it all goes away.

Believe it or not, the plastic toy phase will go away too.  Eventually they will stop sucking their thumb or using a binkie.  They will potty train.  They will read and write and yes, even figure out how to borrow from the ten and subtract.  All the legos on the ground that you step on and curse in the middle of the night, will finally get packed up and put away.  All the backpacks strewn everywhere.  All the clothes, the messes, the bizarre handprints will find a way out of your house.  The crazy ride of day to day
parenthood does morph into another alternate universe.

Secret #3: Enjoy the time you have with them. Love them.
It really is that simple.
Just love them as they are.  Accept them. Guide them.
Most importantly, be there.
You will never regret the time you spend with your child, ever.  If you feel in your heart a strong need to switch jobs, quit a job, take a lesser paid position and have time with your child instead...do it.
They really like you.  For awhile there, they crave you and your attention.
Give it to them freely -- without reservation.  You cannot spoil them in this area.
If they feel your precious presence, if they feel that you are really listening, that is all they need.

Secret #4: You really can't mess them up.  (Aside from the obvious things like neglect, abuse and insane over protection.) They are crazy resilient. Crazy.  All parents blow it and get queasy when they look back and think they could have handled a situation better.  Turns out that's how we learn...all of us.  It's OK to blow it.  The real test is getting back in the game for another round.  How you handle adversity is the way your children will think to tackle their own problems.
Messing up is part of life.  Losing your cool.  Royally wishing for a do-over...it's all messy when you live day in and day out together.  It's OK.  Be nice to yourself.  If your kids see that you forgive yourself, they might actually believe that you will forgive them when they mess up...which they will, guaranteed.

Secret #5:  They are your teacher and your free access to the divine.  That quote from Dickens at the top is on my fridge.  The wisdom our children show us day in and day out is stunning.
We just have to stop rushing enough to notice.  

Throw away your agenda and your time frame.  Let them lead.  Let their wonder and joy in our world show you the way.  Children know how to love without limits.  Children are honest. They see the world in a profound yet simple way.  Listen to them and respect them.  If they are full, they really are.  If they aren't hungry, don't make them eat.  They know their bodies.  It's the adults who overeat and over-indulge.  If they are afraid of something, listen to them.  Don't push them into trying to get over it.  Offer them a chance to be afraid in a safe place.

Secret #6: Chex Mix.  As Jack was getting bigger, in the middle of high school, I asked him what his favorite family memory was so far. He thought about it for a minute and then got a gleam in his eye.  He said wistfully, "Oh mom, it was the Chex Mix.  Do you remember when the Saunders were over and we were all just hanging around in the den having fun for a long long time and you came in and gave us Chex Mix?"
(I'll admit right now that I did not remember that at all...I was still reviewing in my mind our many vacations, family traditions, favorite books or family dinners and thinking he was going to mention some of those memories so I was taken off guard.)

I responded, "Really? The Chex Mix?"

"Yes,"  he said "you came right in and poured a whole entire bag of Chex Mix onto the table without a bowl or anything!  We were so hungry we just all ate it together from the pile.  It was great!"

Maybe he loved the fact that they finally were allowed to reveal their inner piggy-at-the-trough selves.  Or maybe he just loved being so free with friends.  Or maybe he just couldn't get over that I didn't have napkins and bowls and proper etiquette...trust me, I have no formal dining room, I'm not that proper so that idea is kind of funny.

I have no idea why he glommed onto that memory but it was a wake up call for me.
The memories we hold dear are not necessarily the memories they will hold dear.
For them, it might just be all about the Chex Mix.

Which leads me to...Secret #7: Loosen Up!!!  Right now, this very minute, stop taking it so seriously.  Have some fun.
 Dance. Sing. Be silly. Tell them stories about yourself.
This is where John comes in.  You see, I really, really wanted to do this right.  I was committed to being a "good parent".  For whatever reason, although John was too, he has always been able to see the lighter side.  The guy is ready to laugh.  That helps so much.  Nothing is that big of a deal.  Laugh at the weirdness.  Enjoy the goofiness of kids. Relish in knowing their idiosyncrasies.
That is the good stuff, trust me.  If a teacher is mean, don't freak out on the teacher, just reward your child with an honorary sundae. It's not so serious.

Secret #8: It Gets Better Believe it or not, this twenty year old kid I have is even better than that tiny infant...way better.  He's interesting and funny; passionate and curious.  He's kind and thoughtful; gentle and daring.  I am so so grateful I have gotten to be on this journey with him.  I love seeing the person he is becoming and listening to what interests him or what makes him laugh or what music he likes. I can't wait to see where his life leads. Better yet, I can't wait to visit him there or cheer him on in whatever he chooses.

Being a parent is a blessing.  You are so so lucky!
Count your lucky stars that you get to be along for the ride.
Hold on and let go...if you learn how to do that, you must have a twenty year old!

Happy Birthday Jack -- we love you! 

Catherine Grace

"A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure, a messenger of peace and love, a resting place for innocence on earth, a link between angels and men."

                                     --Martin Fraquhar Tupper

There's a baby in our house...well, not quite, a baby in my sister's house.  Catherine Grace.  She was born on November 22, 2011 and those of us with number focus think it's a very cool birthday: 11.22.11. Good birthday karma.


Babies, oh babies.  I've been blessed with four tiny bundles to love and squeeze and hold in the middle of the night and whisper and sing and create silly nicknames for and I know I sound greedy but it really doesn't seem like enough.  Look what they do...just grow up and away they go!  Having a baby in the house brings a quiet sense of wonder, a reverence and a feeling of connection to the bigger world and yes, even the universe.  It forces you to pause and soak in that baby goodness.  Holding someone so very fresh and brand new always creates in me a feeling of possibly, if I play my cards right, just maybe being privy to the secret of life.  If I just hold him long enough, I'll know that connection to the heavens.  If I snuggle in close, I might understand for a moment the incomprehensible. 


How can it happen?  It's as magic as a butterfly.  How do the cells know to become eyes, heart muscle, skin, toes, bones and ligaments?  How can the heart beat so steadily and just keep going like the never ending waves in the ocean?  How does the baby know your voice when it's been hearing it all muffled and under fluid for her whole life? How can two completely different people together create a baby that has a little of her daddy and a little of her mommy and yet be the only one on the planet, forever irreplaceable and one-of-a-kind?  It's a breath-taking and breathless time and it stuns me each and every time.


Holding Baby Catherine Grace, my whole world stops.  I'm taken back to holding each of my babies for that very first time.  My heart is so full with the job and privilege and gift of motherhood.  I remember being soooo clueless, soooo tired, soooooo full of doubt and misgivings and honestly wondering how anybody thought I could be capable enough of mothering this brand new baby named Jack.  


Seeing Mary Kate for the first time, I was awash with the joy of having a daughter.  The possibility of pink. I had convinced myself that I was having another boy and so upon hearing the words, "You have a daughter!" filled with disbelief I begged John to "check again".  Hearing Jack call her "Mary Cake" for the first few days of her life renewed in me the deliciousness of babyhood...yes, she was better than cake! 


Holding Patrick for the first time I was filled with a sense of the familiar. I "knew" him in a way I hadn't felt with Jack or Mary Kate and the instant message that came through loud and clear from the universe in those moments I simply spoke robotically to John: "This is Patrick.  He has Down Syndrome and is exactly as he should be." I was comforted by that message but felt an incredible urge to "circle the wagons" and begin protecting him. Little did I know that he would need no protecting.  


And then there's Caroline. "Out of the everywhere and into the here." Never thinking I would be crazy enough or lucky enough to have a fourth baby, I couldn't believe that she was here.  To this day, I still whisper in her ear, "Thank you for coming" as she sleeps. I knew she was there "out of the everywhere"...could feel it, and one late night I asked her to come. I know it sounds bizarre.  And I guess that's what makes it even more real...yes, the bizarre happens and she is living proof.  Someday, she'll get her own blog story about that fateful night. Watching the kids love her, protect her, dote on her and envelope her in love has been amazing. 


Babies.  Every single baby deserves to be wanted, cherished and held tight in a cocoon of love. So many are not.  Many, many babies are thrown away and discarded because of bad timing, the wrong gender, a cleft palate, an extra chromosome.  Holding Catherine Grace reminds me to fight for those unwanted babies.  There are couples waiting in deep sadness for a hole to be filled.  They are waiting to be chosen as an adoptive family.  They are waiting to raise enough money to be able to adopt.  They are waiting and trying to muddle though layers and layers of bureaucracy trying to wind their way though a maze that has their baby at the end. If for some reason, you find yourself unable to love a baby at the moment you are pregnant, know for certain that there is someone in the world who will love your baby if you just give them a chance. I promise.


I know of many families who have adopted special needs kids, baby girls from foreign countries, children out of the foster care system, kids with the worst stories possible and yet still their family finds them. I know of one family in my own town who adopted a little girl from India with tremendous burns all over her little body, severe health issues, a need for constant vigilant care and still her mom stood up and said, "She is mine."and with her mother's ferocious love she has transformed and blossomed and become the very clever and capable little girl she is today. 


Reece's Rainbow is an organization that connects orphans all over the world who have Down Syndrome with their adoptive families. If you are looking for a charity to donate to this holiday season, they might be the one.  They offer you a chance to have a Christmas Angel ornament supporting a particular child for $35.  If you're not careful, you might fall in love and bring a baby home.  That's what happened to Jennifer and Hector Sanchez when they got the Christmas Angel Ornament for baby Sophia in December of 2009.  Today she is home with her forever family, thriving and growing in astounding ways, and keeping her three older brothers busy. And the ripple of seeing Baby Sophia exactly where she is meant to be has led to numerous additional adoptions.  The Herrington Family will be making their way overseas in January to adopt their special bundle Baby Olivia.  


Miracles happen everyday.  Babies are born.  Families reach out and scale mountains to get to their children. The unwanted are welcomed and the discarded are treasured. During this season of waiting for a Blessed Holy Child, I can't help but think of the many babies waiting. Love is at the center of babyhood.  May all children feel it and know it and be surrounded in it.  Just like precious Catherine Grace, my little spot of holiness in an ordinary day.