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.

Thanks for the $114 Ticket, Really

"Chance is perhaps the pseudonym of God when he does not wish to sign his work."
 -- Anatole France

I don't know what the universe is trying to tell me...but like a message in a bottle, something is in here.  Perhaps you can tell me.

Yesterday, I noticed two meter maids looking over my husband's car parked on the street in the front of our house.  They really looked deep in conversation and although I thought it might have something to do with John's car, I was smug.  He had the correct parking pass (don't ask); he had just paid his car registration so I knew he was up to date there.  No, I insisted to myself, those two just hadn't seen each other in awhile and were doing the cooler talk over John's car.

Hours later I noticed a ticket -- it never pays to be smug.  $114. Crap.  What could possibly be the reason? No tags to prove an updated registration. Oh yeah, I remembered.  John's car had not passed the smog check and so he needed to take his car in.  And, whenever he takes his car in, because it's German and fancy, it costs a lot. Hence, the dawdling over dealing with it and the ticket.

"That's it." I fumed.  I will just have to take his car in tomorrow and deal with it.  I never drive John's car and because of this detail I believe (however erroneously) that I shouldn't have to deal with it when it comes to maintenance or smog checks.  That's his territory.  

So, taking his car in was a bold move.  I knew John would appreciate it (one less thing for him to deal with) but still I was out of my comfort zone.  Add to it that I dropped it off wearing a swim cover up because I was on our way to a water park with the kids and the whole event felt weird.  Nevertheless, I was proud of myself for tackling an annoyance that in my mind wasn't really mine to handle.

I gave the car guys John's cell phone should they need it and away I went.  A couple hours into it John got a call: 

"So, Mr. Foraker, it looks like you need a new catalytic converter."  

cha-ching 

"It usually costs around $3000."

 Damn those fancy cars.

"But it looks like you have a 10 year warranty on this part...and, it expires, um, tomorrow.  So, if you don't mind, we can keep it over night and replace the part for you free of charge."

The story goes that John couldn't keep his cool and literally laughed out loud and into the car guy's ear.  He asked him to repeat the good news.  The car guy was laughing at the circumstance too.  What are the chances.  John has owned his car for over 12 years.  The converter was normally under warranty for 2 years until someone did a class action law suit and the warranty became extended for ten years.  That's 4,384 potential days for repair and we showed up on day number 4,383. 

Frankly, I can't believe they didn't round up.

Who knows, maybe everyone -- including car guys -- can spot a crazy lucky moment gifted from the universe and honor it.

 The only thing I know...I need to go out of my way and thank those two over-achieving meter maids.  I owe them a cup of coffee (and maybe even a lottery ticket) at the very least.

Marry the Guy Who Makes You Laugh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Love Letter

"Cooking is love made visible." 

              -- Anonymous

John loves food and the whole food cycle.  He loves where it comes from, he loves blending flavors and dreaming up tasty combinations, he loves preparing and planning and pleasing the palate. He writes his love letters with ingredients and recipes.  John "plates" a dinner with the same love, talent and raw emotion as a Shakespearean sonnet or a Hank Aaron home-run.

Christmas Eve dinner is a culinary event at our house.  John has slowly trained his two (and often a third) sous-chefs and they cook with abandon.  They bring out creativity, enthusiasm and delicious medleys of taste that last in our household conversation for a year. Jack and Mary Kate have now moved into full fledged chef status themselves and often create signature taste sensations of their own: home-made pasta, strawberry country cake, or brie/tart apple/arugula and turkey sandwich to name a few of the ones happening now.

So, it was almost inevitable that John would create a special good-bye dinner for Jack before he headed off to college.  He asked for recommendations of favorites and worked feverishly to create something memorable -- some way to show Jack just how very loved he was.

He started out with a rack of lamb and created an incredible sauce to glaze the lamb.  Our house smells like heaven for the hour it is cooking and puts us all in a good mood.  Suddenly, we realize that Mary Kate has a late driving lesson on this Sunday and so we decide to delay dinner and snack for a bit.  The salad is imagined and realized with grapefruit, green beans, beets, fennel and the insane home-made croutons with some goat cheese spread that should be outlawed. I try not to notice the rice with tiny bits of fried pasta being prepared under my nose. Comfort food, Christmas Eve and Creativity are woven together to create a palate of magnificence.

But the hour is getting late, the natives are getting restless and things start unwinding quickly. The lamb is undercooked, by chunks of time, not moments of time.  The rice is crunchy -- an unheard of humiliation for a rice farming family. The salad is obliterated and the grapefruit looks like it has been stirred by the Jolly Green Giant. Patrick and Caroline are disinterested and annoying since they have long ago passed the point of hunger and snacked their way to complete satisfaction.

The moment isn't right.  We crunch our croutons and feel the love.  We meander our way and find some portions of the lamb that will work.  We scoop up some rice and ignore the crunch.  But I watch John cringe and shrug and wipe his face.  He wanted it perfect and it was so far from perfect that it was -- almost -- laughable.  His disappointment is palpable.

In that moment, a slide show begins: I taste the countless hamburgers and hotdogs, barbecued chicken and flank steaks that John has cooked his whole life.  I see him side by side with Jack chopping onions, celery and carrots in a french mirepoix. I can smell the tomatoes, garlic and onions bubbling to meld into the most delicious coulee on the planet.  I feel the comfort foods he has shared, developed and I see his love made visible over and over again.

I want to tell him that none of this matters. That it's just a dinner gone bust and that we'll get another chance.  I want to hug him and hold him and love him but I also know that that is the last thing he wants.

What he doesn't know is that by flopping big time for all to see...for swinging for the fences and striking out and holding it together and finding his balance and keeping a wistful smile on his face, he showed Jack something much more important.  He showed him how to be a gentle, kind man just loving his family.

Jack knows about food.  He knows about tantalizing gourmet moments.  Up until this meal, he might not have noticed that you can blow it apart, falter and still be graceful as well. Sunday's dinner, I guess, was supposed to be more than a taste treat.  It was a love letter with a PS.

PS  Jack, we will mess it up and it will still be OK.
PS  Jack, when you mess up, you can do it too: just take a deep breath and keep it together.  Find your balance again.
PS  Life isn't always about the sweet and satisfying moments. The bitter ones come too -- but with a smile and a crunchy crouton and your family, it can't be all bad.
PS  Jack, we love you.

He's Been Doubly Good To Me

"And if you find a love that's tender
If you find someone who's true
Thank the Lord
He's been doubly good to you"  -- Amy Grant


I've done something over 7,000 times, for over 21 years and still I smile almost every single time.  John often goes to bed earlier than me.  Sometimes we go to bed at the same time and there's this feeling of being sneaky.  Having two teenagers around keeps somebody usually up but occasionally they go to bed and we can too.  Mostly though, I come to bed an hour or two after John.  It's dark.  It's cold.  I'm tired: tumble-into-bed-and-pass-out tired. I slide into bed and feel the comfort of flannel sheets.  I find his hand and whether he's dead asleep or not, he holds mine.  I feel a comfort, a safety and a shield in that moment that cannot be explained. He takes a deep breath and I marvel at this ordinary gift that millions of others have shared...marriage.  I still can't get over that we get to be together every single day.  Living several hours away from each other for a few years after college made me realize that he was the one person I needed to see every single day.  He was the one person who I wanted to slide next to in the middle of the night.  I remember being newly married and giggling with John.  This level of companionship, friendship and love should be illegal.  It was too great! 


Now, after 21 years (which by the way is so bizarre -- how can that be?), it's tempting to think it will always be this way.  But having witnessed couples struggle with difficult illnesses or seen the slow, sad dismantling of relationships, it seems more precious than ever.  I steal into bed most nights and try to freeze it in my mind.  If only I could somehow take a picture of this moment.  But it's dark, we're tired and what would the photo be: two lumps under the covers?  That sacred space between us, surrounding us, enveloping us is just that...space.   In that space we have sobbed into each other's arms full of fear and disbelief and sadness.  We have laughed our butts off.  We have disagreed and argued and wrestled with the tough stuff.  We have imagined, dreamed, and been over the top in our crazy, irrational love for our kids.  We have been silent and yet said everything.  We have welcomed sick kids, sad kids, scared kids or kids who just need to be in the middle of that sacred space to feel the warmth and love and genuine care that is there.  In that space, I feel with all my heart that "the Lord's been doubly good to me" and I hold it tenderly and acknowledge the gift.  Tonight, that tiniest of graces will happen again.  I'll slide in, find his hand and come home.