Sweet Sixteen

I'm 20 minutes away from my son's 16th birthday...

and my 26th wedding anniversary.

The two are forever linked.

Patrick on his 4th birthday...singing and smiling.


Patrick's not home today...he's busy at Camp PALS.
One place I wish I was invited to attend...and one where I am most definitely not wanted or needed.
It's getting more and more obvious with each birthday that Patrick has his own life to live.

Although this is the first birthday where we are not together, I know, can feel in my bones, that it won't be the last.

He has friends to make and loves to meet and purposes to discover.

*****

I want to make a proposition.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately and well, it seems like I need to say it out loud.

I don't think I could become the person that I am meant to be without Patrick in my life...
and I wonder about so so many others. Here are just a few:

Eunice Kennedy Shriver
Jenni Newbury Ross
Rachel Coleman

Eunice had her sister, Rosemary, her sister with developmental disabilities.

Without Rosemary, Eunice would have lived her very privileged life and found a suitable husband and had an adulthood filled with meeting statesmen and discussing politics at fancy dinners.

With Rosemary, everything changed.

Her heart was cracked wide open and she was thrust to the margins, side by side with Rosemary.

She became a champion for people with developmental disabilities and created groundbreaking legislation and visionary opportunities.

She took the shame away and gave people who had never known kindness a taste of dignity and honor...all of this was done with Rosemary in mind.

Special Olympics, Head Start and the Kennedy Foundation became 

hallmarks of Eunice's tireless efforts.

Jenni Newbury Ross has a brother with Down Syndrome named Jason.

She wanted Jason to enjoy the same summer camp opportunities that she did.

So at the ripe old age of 16, she created the first prototype of Camp PALS.

Ten years later, thousands of kids with Down Syndrome have had an inclusive camp experience thanks to her efforts and countless counselors and directors have been infected with 

Camp PALS love.

And what about Rachel Coleman...a musician who has a deaf daughter.

For Rachel, she thought her life was ruined.

How ironic that music -- the one thing that nourished Rachel's soul -- would be the one thing never given to her daughter Leah.

That is until Rachel, working through her grief and fear decided to create some songs especially for Leah using sign language.

Her music became a doorway for Leah and thousands of other children and families.

Today, Signing Time is a PBS show and a successful company...not in spite of Leah...

but because of Leah.

I know that John, my husband, would never have been involved in his line of work, without Patrick.

His success is his to explain and share somewhere else...but it would not be possible without Patrick.

For myself, when Patrick was born, I truly believed that I would never make another friend.

I cried tears of anguish and isolation.

I could feel my world constricting and getting narrower.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

In fact, my world has exponentially grown with Patrick in my life.

My life's work now focuses on including students with developmental disabilities 

in Catholic schools...

and just this past week-end I spent time with people who are dear to me that are from

Napa, California; Pontiac, Illinois; Webster Groves, Missouri; Manhattan Beach, California; Noblesville, Indiana and more -- all over the United States.

And tonight we'll be celebrating with friends from Middletown, New Jersey.

I would know none of these people if a certain little babe had not entered my life in July 1999.

Somehow these people we love make up the secret sauce to our world.

Without them, our hamburgers would be tasty...but would be noticeably less zingy...

pretty bland.

*****

I want to say for the record that my other children have infected me with a love and secret sauce that is all their own...I am the mother I am because of Jack, Mary Kate and Caroline as well and that is not to be tossed aside like the rubber band on the newspaper as if Patrick is the only news.

I'm a different kind of teacher because of Jack...a different kind of woman because of Mary Kate and a different kind of mother because of Caroline.

We can never know where their influence begins...all the threads are braided together.

But my world came crashing down sixteen years ago when doctors told me what I already knew in my heart...

my baby had Down Syndrome...

July 1st, 1999, I was born anew.

Heart cracked open so wide that my vision has forever altered.

I can see those on the sidelines...

in the margins...

isolated and alone.

Like a giant mirror... I can see myself in their reflection.

Happy Birthday, Dear Patrick...may your day today be filled with love and light...

may your birthday song be loud and crazy...

and may you find time to dance...

a toast to YOU, a very sweet sixteen.

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!

Eighties Ladies

"When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable.  

There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age."  -- Victor Hugo

Every September, we celebrate my mother-in-law's birthday.  Like Easter or Thanksgiving or Christmas, it's a required once a year family celebration...except that for the last few years it hasn't really happened with very much flair, if at all.  

Before that, when our kids were younger, we'd go down and make a week-end out of it...swimming and sunning and being leisurely with grandbabies.  We must have looked like a micro-version of the Kennedy's on Martha's Vineyard.  

But like all good traditions, kids got bigger and school and sports and the busy-ness of life happened and before we knew it, late September blended into early October and the celebrations got smaller and smaller.

That is, until this year.

This year, Suzie would be 80 and a party was necessary.

I was informed that we would be hosting it at our house...

the week-end before Mary Kate left for college...and the party would not just be the tiny little family affair of days gone by.

Nope, this one was going to be a PARTY with a capital P, 

well actually more like a real authentic Mexican Fiesta.

(Can you say: ai, yi,yi,yi??)

Formal invitations

White table cloths

Flowers

Mariachi Music

The Whole Shebang

Can you say: please, pretty please, no?

Can you say: don't wanna?

Can you say bad attitude?

That's me, over here.

It was bad timing.

It was a royal pain.

It filled me with dread.

And it was the exact opposite of how I wanted to spend my last week-end with Mary Kate,

but...

it was awesome.

There were gobs of Ladies in their Eighties.

Plenty of gents too.

They had their children give them rides.

Virtually all of them needed some sort of help walking.

But they were dressed up and they were ready to party.

They showed up on time, early even.

Quite a departure from the events I host where being a half hour late is the norm.

The party started at 3pm.

The entire group was here by 2:50!

I was dying.

I had to wear a Mexican dress...

grumbling about hell freezing over I did...

turns out those things are comfy. :)

Mary Kate and I rocking that fiesta look -- olé!

The guest of honor arrived by limo -- I told you this was big time.

And the friends of old arrived soon after.

They were polite.

They were delighted.

They were tickled.

It was awesome.

Watching them catch up on forty or fifty years of history was crazy.

Hearing tiny snippets of their life stories stopped me cold.

There was Faye who was married only three months before she had to say good-bye to her husband who went to India for the war for two years.

After he came home, they moved from San Francisco to Butte City (talk about polar opposites!)

and proceeded to keep house for not just her husband and herself but for his two brothers too.

For FOUR years!!

Yep, Faye played surrogate mom to two eligible bachelors for four years 

(can you imagine the reality show version?)

no complaining, 

no irritation,

she just did it...cause that's how it was done.

Of course, she did get her own sweet reward: 

she had a bit of an influence over who those brothers would marry.

Today, all three of the brothers have passed away.

But Faye came to the party with her sisters-in-law, Teresa and Maureen.

It was non-stop adorable.

There were couples there who were literal extensions of each other's limbs.

Together, they climbed the steps.

Together, they navigated the difficulties of the lawn turning into cement and chairs being too close together  and the dexterity required to maneuver to visit someone in the distance.

These guests were gracious, interesting, charming and fun.

They were touched to be invited.

They were the kind of people who still enjoyed life at 80 or 85 or 90.

I want to be rocking a Mexican dress at my 80th birthday too!

And it made me ashamed at how few parties in their honor we have.

I celebrate my children's birthdays in a big way.

But this was my first big party for the generation above me -- 

well, except for an anniversary party or two.

That's just not right.

These people deserve to be celebrated.

We need to honor them and cherish them and bring them out into the sunshine.

They need a big ole fiesta.

They have a lot to celebrate.

And a whole lot to teach us...

if only we would take the time to listen.

I'm grateful that the universe forced my hand.

I'm grateful to the children who drove.

Grateful to my darling sister-in-law and brother-in-law who came to help early and stayed late to clean up...and brought Mexican dresses and Gerbera daisies and delicious cupcakes.

Mostly, I'm grateful to the ladies in their eighties who showed me how to live.

It was awesome -- thank you!

When You Want To Squeeze Tighter, Push Harder, Force the Way: Yield

"Abundance is the process of letting go; that which is empty can receive." 
-- Bryant McGill

A week ago, my bag got lost after my airplane flight. It never circled around.  The baggage claim was empty and lonely...my bag missing.

At first, it was no big deal.

Bags get lost.  They show up.  That's how it works.  The ladies who worked baggage claim looked weary:
so many missing bags + so many complaining people = dreadful job.

I really wasn't too worried.  I'd made it home and the odds were good that my bag would meander there too.

But the next day, there was nothing.  They hadn't located it and they went through their ready-made speech: 97% of our bags are located within five days.

The seed of doubt was planted...could my bag be in the 3%?

I asked the question out loud.

The lady on the other end of the phone was straight talking and real. Yes, some bags are never found.  If that happens, you'll get a travel voucher.

That wasn't comforting.at.all.

That was when I started counting.  I mentally picked through my bag: all of my toiletries, my new glasses, my super comfy fleece lined hoodie, my favorite jammies, Caroline's teddy bear...and my grateful journal.  Suddenly, without meaning to, I couldn't let go of these items.  I needed them, desperately, right this minute.  Like hitting refresh on the computer, over and over in my mind I kept remembering things that were in my lost bag.  Things I needed.  Things that I very likely might not ever see again.

There were tears of loss, sad to say.  There was an exasperated husband who tried to get it.  And there was me counting my missing items, obsessing, perseverating, needlessly agonizing.

What's the point?  It's just stuff.
I know this but I couldn't let it go.
 All I could see were the missing items.

Years ago I had just landed in Hawaii with our family.  The sky was stunning.  The airport so tropical it could be partially outside.  Literally, a rainbow greeted us.  Yet, there was a guy yelling and raging over his lost luggage.  I remember hearing the man who was the unlucky recipient of this guy's misplaced anger: "Have you turned around?  Look outside.  You're in Hawaii.  You only need a pair of shorts."

I remember scoffing in my mind at the weary, angry traveller.
"Yeah, guy, get over it. You're in Hawaii."
How irony loves to play with us.

Flash to my Sunday.  I wasted the morning, precious hours never to be seen again, focusing on that crap in my suitcase.  It was my daughter's 18th birthday.  I wanted to wallow, I really did...but I knew I wasn't getting today back and it was a pretty special day.  Remembering Mary Kate's birth, the joy of the pink blanket and her 2 1/2 year old brother marveling at her beauty and her amazing name (in his mind), Mary Cake, could only make me smile. I pictured her in tap shoes, in a soccer uniform scoring that thrilling first goal, holding the lacrosse stick, in her goggles covering up her baby blues for a science experiment and suddenly I could let that suitcase go.

It no longer mattered.

As soon as I stopped counting what was missing, I could see what wasn't.

I could see my sweet daughter, my day off to celebrate, my family, my health, my opportunity for a great day...and as soon as that happened...
poof!
I got a phone call.  They had found my bag.  It was on its way home.
Of course it was.

A long, long time ago I took a yoga class and the teacher taught me something very counter-intuitive and life changing.  I was trying to work my way into a position and the teacher advised, "When your instinct is to push harder, to force the way, don't.  Instead, yield."
Yielding has been the wise choice on so many occasions -- once I helped a guy trying to fix something in my garage with that advice. He was trying and trying to force something.  I told him about the yoga yield...it worked like magic and he looked at me like I had just punked him.

It took me awhile to get to the yoga yield on this one but there it was.

Stop counting what's missing.
Stop looking for what isn't there.
Stop noticing the way it isn't working.
When you spend that time on all of the things that should be but aren't, you miss out on all of things that are,
magically, perfectly, are.
All of the abundant blessings that are always there but are just never noticed.

This type of thinking has a name: it's called the deficit model.
It happens in education all the time.
We list all of the crap in the suitcase that's missing.
Your kid can only read at x level, his comprehension is at y level, this is blank % below grade level.
We perseverate on it.
We endlessly agonize.
We set a goal to move that number by 15% and call it a day.

We never see what is in front of our eyes.
We don't list the artistic talent, the creative writing abundance, the natural empathy, the ability to make friends, the skill that connects the dots across different parts of the curriculum.
We focus on the can'ts.

We miss the rainbows.

Last Sunday I relearned something I've known for a long time.
If I keep counting what's missing, I'll never see what isn't.
Happy Rebirthday to me.
Happy 18th to my favorite cake of all,
Mary Cake.

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!