Ice Skating Awakening

Marriage is a lot of hard work.  Marriage can be more work than fun.  Marriage can be exhausting.  I have wanted to write about this for awhile but I was afraid to because who admits this?  Who would say that being with the love of their life every day is not the happily ever after they thought it should be?  No one wants to hear that marriage is work and compromise and polite smiles and the occasional dead eye.  People want to know that even when it is bad, blue birds are chirping and hope is on the horizon and by the end of the day there will be wine glasses clinking and a romantic fire blazing.  

Clink.  Blaze.

Marriage gives us the chance to present the absolute worst to each other every day.  We present our one-eye bleariness to each other in the morning and return at night to prop up our empty shells in front of the TV. Sometimes people change over a marriage and their partner is left wondering if they are the same person they married.  Sometimes people start eschewing meat while their partner starts writing about their life in a very public forum and they are left wondering who is this person??  And even, do I still like this person?

Sometimes in a marriage you begin to wonder what you have in common with your spouse.  This can be especially true as your kids get older and their day to day claims on your time start to fall off.  Maybe you think you never had anything in common and this makes you sad.  And while you are sad, you are building Jenga blocks of resentment and grievances in your heart and mind that color your reality.  And you know that you love this person and even like them a little bit you just can't understand why it feels like work.  Why is it the things that attracted you to them in the beginning drive you nuts now?  Sometimes you end up paying someone to remind you both what it is that you like about one another and what you can do to build that up.  And sometimes, you just trudge through.

But then little things happen that chisel at your heart.  Maybe it is a holiday.  Or maybe your spouse writes you a note.  A hand-written note with illustration.  Or perhaps, even though she is not happy you weren't there for dinner, she still saves a plate for you.  Little things that chip away the ice at your heart and weaken the mortar of your Jenga block tower of resentment.  And maybe you start focusing on how your spouse takes the early run to the school with the athlete instead of grumbling about dirty socks on the couch or five pairs of shoes by the door.  Or maybe she will bake vegan things just for you and you will not begrudge her early bedtime.  It is the little things that drive us crazy and apart and the little things that nudge us back together.

Sometimes you take the kids out for the day and end up having an epiphany.  We took them ice skating as the boy is almost 11 and somehow has never been on skates.  (Hush Canada, I can hear you tsk-tsking from here.)  We all had fun but I forgot how damn beautiful my husband is on skates.  He is all shoulders and muscle and fights gravity on land, but he is weightless on skates.  He is fluid and fast and light and effortless.  I always expect him to throw in a triple axel or a split jump, he is that light out there.  It takes my breath away.  And when he skated by and caught my eye and smiled, well, that took my breath away too. His eyes were alight and his cheeks flushed and he just moved through the crowd like it was nothing and for the first time in a long time, I saw Bill McMahon.  Not Bill McMahon the father or Bill McMahon the husband, it was just Bill McMahon.  And I really like Bill McMahon and I am so terribly guilty of not seeing him, just him, in a long time.  It is like marriage has you look at each other all the time until you are just an expected vision on the landscape.  You fall into your roles, your ruts, your expectations and that is when it feels more like work than happily every after.  

I am so glad I had that moment of seeing, really seeing, Bill.  It made me remember how I couldn't wait for him to call me, to pick me up, to kiss me.  I remembered a dad who held his new babies and told him all the things he was going to do with them.  It made me appreciate the fact that we have made it through some awfully hard years.  Marriage is a lot of hard work, and I think that it is okay to say that, feel that and admit it out loud.  There are good years and bad years and years where you trudge on, but through it all, if you take the time to see, is the person you promised forever to. Forever can seem like a blink of an eye or it can seem like a million years - depends who you have along side you for the run.  Me?  I have Bill McMahon and I am grateful and after he reads this, I see a lot of ice skating in our future.

Carol of the Girls

I have not been feeling very Christmassy or in the season or even interested much in Christmas this year.  I have not been running around crazy trying to prepare for it, I know it will all get done, so seasonal frenzy is not the cause of my indifference.  It happens sometimes, but this is usually my favorite time of the year.  Actually, now that I think about it, I didn't feel much like Thanksgiving this year either.  I think the problem might be that I miss my family, or more specifically, holiday memories of my family.

Holidays growing up were filled with aunts and uncles and cousins in too small houses that grew too warm and loud as the night went on.  It was unlimited cookies and waiting desperately for that one last family to get there so you could open your present.  It was badgering Grampa slowly and steadily until he gave in and would put "Snoopy and the Red Baron" on the record player.  (record player, I am that old).  It was too much to eat, too many cookies to choose from, too many dishes to help wash and always too loud.  Holidays were full.

Holidays here are sometimes just the four or five of us.  There is too much food, too many cookies to choose from and because I am here, it is still loud.  However, they don't always feel full.  SG and I took a walk on Thanksgiving night and we passed a house that was packed with people sitting around a dining room table and we both sighed.  I am sure it was not as idyllic inside that house as it appeared from the road, but it sure looked full.

I took the day off recently and did a big portion of our Christmas shopping.  I don't know about you, but I find that there is nothing like Christmas shopping to strip away any Christmas spirit you may have.  Luckily for me I followed it with a lunch out with my best girls.  Lunch was followed by a two dog nap which led me to finally feel that thankfulness I was missing at Thanksgiving.  If thankfulness was three weeks behind I thought I might not find my Christmas spirit until mid-January.  

But then today happened.  Today my thirteen year old woke up happy.  I don't know about your thirteen year old, but mine never wakes up happy.  She wakes up with one eye and some grumbles and crazy lion hair.  She wakes up grouchy and moody and miserable. I cannot wait until she is old enough to drink coffee and I can hand her a steaming cup and know not to talk to her until it is gone.  But today is the last day of school.  Today is parties and cookies and reindeer antlers to school.  As we were leaving for school, I said the only way I would give her a ride is if she sang Christmas carols the whole way with me.  She instantly agreed.  So we sang our hearts out to "All I Want For Christmas" at least three times.  She tried to stop me from car dancing, but once started, there is no stopping.  The look of complete horror on her face only intensified my dance.  We laughed til we cried and we sang loudly, off-key and enthusiastically. My Grinch heart grew hundred times and for the first time this season, I felt joy.  

SG and me.

Now, I am not sure I can retain this joy for the next six days, but the fact that I have some right now is enough.  I will break if off into little pieces and share it with everyone I might see today.  This way, when mine runs out, maybe someone will have some to share back.  

This ten minutes of love and laughter have made me see that I don't need to be full to be happy for the holidays; I just need to be present.  I need to see an opportunity and take it.  I need to get out of my head and go with my heart or follow others even when I don't think I feel like it.  And, no matter what, there absolutely must be more car dancing.  

2014 Books of the Year

I like to hold books and read books and fall into a book and lose myself in a book and become the book.  I absolutely prefer holding a real book in my hand to reading one on the Ipad.  I doggy ear pages and I set books down open and I crack their spine.  I thoroughly enjoy my books.  People know this and often ask me what is good to read.  I am not sure why, but I always initially freeze when someone asks me what to read.  I do it at work too and it is very awkard.  Sometimes I have to walk through the stacks with a reluctant teen tailing me until something jogs my memory.  My goal for years has been to read 100 books in a year.  I did not come anywhere near that this year but I did read some good books that I have to share with you. 

This would be my happy place.

First up, please read “The Girl You Left Behind” by Jo Jo Moyes.  That Jo Jo; she gave us “Ship of Brides” and “Me Before You” and was then generous enough to give us “The Girl You Left Behind” as well.  I love historical fiction and I love a good war novel and this has both.  It is also set in WWI, not WWII, and the ending will surprise you -that is all I have to say about that.  I was on a real Jo Jo love fest until I read her new one, “One Plus One”, and decided she might be pumping them out too fast to satisfy her readers’ demands for more.  Meh, I thought.  Take your time Jo Jo!  We will wait.

Next up, Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell.  Oh. My. God.  Have you been a teen girl?  Loved a teen girl?  Been a teenager?  Lived in the eighties?  If you answered yes to any of these questions, pick this book up!  I finished it the same day I started because I couldn’t set it down.  The characters entered my mind and occupied my thoughts.  The writing made me laugh and cry.  The chapters change voices and tell the story from both perspectives and it made me wish that books were written like this when I was a teenager so I had some clue what boys thought.  READ THIS BOOK RIGHT NOW!

I must say that I am most proud of reading Anna Karenina this summer.  That was 800+ pages of Russian turmoil and strife and was some heavy stuff to get through.  It took me six weeks.  There is only so much angst one can take at a time.  That Anna – what a hot mess!  Good grief, by the time I hit page 300 I was wishing they had Zoloft back then and that she would take some.  By page 600 I was eagerly turning pages hoping this is when the train got her and was both happy and relieved when it did.  However, just because I didn’t like her doesn’t mean that I didn’t like the book.  It is good to read literature like that when you have time to read a page and as you turn it think “what did that just say?”  I found myself going back or forgetting which Russian guy was which and having to trace the dotted line of characters throughout the novel.  It was interesting and it was good to stretch when reading like that.  It will, however, be awhile before I pick up my next Russian novel.

Have you been a Room Mom?  Hated a Room Mom? Wondered when it was that the PTA got so political and vicious?  Then you should read Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty.  I was not expecting to like this book because I did not like her book The Husband’s Secret – anyone with a brain figured out the secret by Chapter Three.  This book was funny and funny in a way that points out how stupid we are about our kids and about the social scene at school.  In addition to providing us with a magnifying mirror, she also provides us with a really good, funny and interesting story.  Dig in!

Do you just want to read something that makes you laugh?  This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper is what you need.  I know they made a movie out of it and I am sure that is funny too and yes, we all love Jason Bateman, but how often do you read a book that makes you laugh out loud?  This book will do it for you and more than once.  I tittered, snickered, giggled and guffawed. 

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith.  How I did not find this book ages ten through fifteen, I have no idea.  I loved this book! Historical, interesting, characters that made you care about them – it had it all.  If I had found this book when I was younger, I would have read it a million times.

Alright, here are some honorable mentions before I get to my favorite book of the year.  In the YA category:  Losers by Matthew Roth (I recommend it at school to kids all the time because it is short and I thought it was well written and funny) and The Geography of You and Me by Jennifer Smith.  Teens fall in love, fate keeps them apart, what will happen?  Cute and feel-good.  Oh and  Mr. Mercedes by Stephen King (my first Stephen King book!) and Silkworm by JKRowing but under her detective alias Robert something with a G.

Ready??  Drum roll please……..My favorite book of 2014 was Shotgun Lovesongs by Nikolas Butler.  It is his first novel and I would like to lock him in a room providing him with only food and water until he writes another one.  Oh the writing!  It was beautiful, it was lyrical, and it painted pictures in my head.  It is very rare for me to get hung up on words or a phrase while reading as I like to read, read, read, and get to the end.  This book kept me hitting pause with its descriptions.  I could see what he was describing every single time and it was haunting, aching and mesmerizing.  The book follows four friends and their lives in high school and present day and changes voices (love that!) throughout.  The story itself is good and the writing will just destroy you.  Absolutely read this book. 

So that is it for the year in books.  2014 saw some great ones but more average ones or ones where I look at the title I wrote down and can’t remember reading at all.  I am currently in a bit of a book slump, but I think that is because I know I should be studying instead of reading.  I am sure that once my content test is behind me that a multitude of fabulous books will fall into my lap.  Until then, I will ignore the guilt of not studying and plow through the tedium until I find one that makes me so excited that I have to share. 

From Our House to Yours

Ahh, tis the season.  Tis the season where I realize there is not a picture of the five of us anywhere, I am not going to take one and pay extra to have it made and shipped and we will once again not be sending Christmas cards. I love to receive Christmas cards so I apologize for my lack of planning and good will.  I feel funny sending just a Christmas card with no picture and a few hastily scrawled words at the bottom because the fortieth time you write “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” it tends to sound insincere.  So my gift to you this Christmas season will be my words wrapped up in flowery phrase and deep thoughts/ sarcasm and wit.

Maybe one year....

2014 was a good year for the McMahons.  We had a road trip of epic proportions this summer and all still like each other.  (It was touch and go those first days back, but we are good now.)  We saw a lot of America and more of Canada than ever.  It made us both grateful for what we have and yearn for the quiet, soul-enhancing woods of Canada that we left.   We learned how to throw knives and tomahawks and canoe and kayak.  We learned how still the night can be and how many stars there are.  It was lovely.

Bill started 2014 driving 1.5 hours to work each way and I am happy to say that he will end 2014 driving about 20 minutes to work each way.  He has been busy and busier building restaurants and most of them in Austin.  He continues to live his vegan lifestyle.  He started a large garden in the backyard that produced wrong colored vegetables and an enormous pumpkin vine.   He recently added a composter and has high hopes for next year’s bounty. 

Rebecca continues to work at her library and encourages teens to read while hunting them down in class to get the overdue books back.  Her teaching classes are complete and her content test will be taken in January.  She had a brief boo-hoo while studying as it encompasses US History, World History, Texas History, Government, Economics and Psychology and wished she had done this studying twenty years ago when she was able to retain information.  Then she started thinking that if she had done this twenty years ago, she could almost retire.  This made her very sad so she stopped thinking all together.  She was also very sad when her gym closed but has taken to working out at school for free and alongside the high school football team.  Yes, that is uncomfortable for everyone.

Maizy is a junior and doing very well with both her high school classes and dual credit college classes.  She is working at a children’s clothing store and has learned to hate the general public while smiling.  That is a life lesson that will take her far!!  She is driving and incredibly independent.  She asked for a new stereo for her ten year old car for Christmas.  I replied that I would rather set money on fire. She replied that she now wanted a new stereo system AND for me to set money on fire.  Always one step ahead of us that girl.

Sophie has delved into the area of athletics this year.  She ran cross country and now takes the dog for a run on the weekend just because she feels like it. She is currently managing the basketball team at school and is up early or at school late every day.  She likes being busy – alright, we like her being busy.  She is still kind, she still likes us and she still acts like she knows us in public.  We consider ourselves very fortunate.

Ahh, William.  Never a dull moment with the boy around, that is for sure.  He is busy, he is trying hard at school and he is growing like crazy.  Someone please tell me, what is that smell preteen boys give off?  It is not dumpster on a hot day; could it be battlefield? Brimstone?  Whatever it is, it will bring you to tears.  He loves to watch football and has a mind for football stats.  We wish it was multiplication tables, but he is a happy kid and makes us happy as well.

We hope that this Christmas season finds you happy, healthy and content.  We wish you a light dusting of snow, a stocking filled with surprises and at least two viewings of “Love Actually”.  We will be missing our relatives far away but are so grateful for the friends who step in as our family here.  May 2015 bring you joy, laughter and moments that take your breath away.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year – and we mean that most sincerely.

We're Talking Proud

Initially, I thought this blog would be something along the lines of “I Wanna Be Hibernated” and I would talk about how lovely it would be to wake up to four feet of snow and know that you are not going anywhere today.  I would go on about baking and watching the kids play outside and the sense of comfort a warm house brings when you are cold to the bone.  I enjoyed my role here of explaining lake effect snow to wide-eyed Southerners and know I will be called in again in a few months to break down wind chill factor.   However, as I watch all the news footage and Facebook feeds about Buffalo this week all I can really think of is pride.

What?  Pride and Buffalo?  Do those words go together?  Remember all those Super Bowl losses in the 90’s you chime in?  (Stow it Dallas)  Is Buffalo even a part of New York?  (That is what the people in NYC are asking).  Buffalo?  Isn’t that where McKinley was shot?  (It was.) I say yes.  I say you can use pride and Buffalo in the same sentence and I will tell you why.

First, Buffalo is beautiful.  Yes, it has its parts of downtown that are falling down and derelict and boarded up.  Every big city has that.  Have you seen the architecture on the buildings downtown?  Gorgeous.  Amazing.  Unexpected.  Buffalo was the bomb back when canals were a main source of moving things around.  (Read Ken Follett’s  Fall of Giants – a bit trite, I agree, but Buffalo was a destination town for immigrants).  There was money here and they used it to build beautiful, ornate, stone buildings throughout downtown.  Go check out the Historical Society and tell me you aren’t amazed with that building and the thought and planning that went into that.  Buffalo has a riverfront that is improving each year.  They have taken it from something no one wanted to be next to into an area that people drive to on purpose- and pay for parking.  Yes, Buffalo is cold and snowy, but that is only six months out of the year.  The other six is it green, lush and flowering or ablaze in autumnal splendor. 

Beauty aside, what really makes me proud of Buffalo is the people.  Yes, they are loud-mouthed, they are opinionated, and they pronounce every “a” with a hard “a” sound whether they need to or not.   True, they can be a little bitter, a little defeated, some may say pessimistic, but you know what?  They endure.  You think this 7’ of snow is going to keep them down?  Nope.  They are out there shoveling, snow blowing and getting it done.  There is no waiting for the thaw.  You have to dig out so you can check on your neighbor.  You have to dig out so you can get to the one store that is open and bring back groceries not just for your family, but the one beside you.  This will not be the only snowfall the people of Buffalo will see this year.  They will see many and they will do the same thing each time; they just won’t make the national news each time.  They will just put their shoulder into it and endure.

You can do it!!

I am reading all of these stories about how everyone is helping out those who need help.  The people who can help are out there helping, in big and little ways, and the people who need help are letting them.  I never worried about my car breaking down when I lived up there, and I drove a piece of crap car that I put a quart of oil in every two days, because I knew whoever was behind me would help push it to the side of the road and offer me a ride home.  People are pulling strangers out of their stranded cars and taking them into their homes.  People are checking on neighbors that they hate 364 days a year because that is what you do.  Emergency responders probably haven’t been home in days and won’t think about going home until this passes.  They are fueled on Tim Horton’s and knowing what they are doing is needed.  Sure, they miss their families but they know their neighbors are looking out for them until they get home.  Nice that the National Guard has been called in, but they will need to show them how it gets done. 

That is what I am proud of. I am proud of that endurance, that let’s get it done, and the fact that they do the right thing without anyone telling them to do it.  They might complain about it later, but they do it.  They make lemonade out of lemons and make do and do without and think that is how everyone does it.  They love their sports teams and their hometown heroes and they love them unconditionally.  There is a call out for people to come and shovel out the Bills’ stadium so they can play on Sunday.  They are offering $10/hour to come and shovel, but I know that the people who show up would do it for free.  The Bills need their help, they will be there.  Their neighbor needs their help, they will be there.  That is how it works. 

Carry on Buffalo, you can do it.  You can ride this wave of snow and the flood that will come when it all melts.  We are watching, we are cheering you on and we are so proud to call you home.  Haters can slam the Bills and Buffalo all they want, but here’s the truth: the people of Buffalo don’t need rings or trophies or announcements that they are winners – their endurance says it all.  

Butter, Part Two

Last summer, I did something that inadvertently changed my life.  I brought home an audio book of Michael Pollan’s “The Omnivore’s Dilemma”.  Bill drives two hours each way to get to his office and I thought this would be some interesting listening and act as a pleasant diversion for a few days.  Instead, it made him vegan.  Vegan, as in hold the eggs, no cheese for me, vegan. I have to say that when he first told me he was going to be vegan, I did not think it would last.    Two months in, I changed to hoping it wouldn’t last.  Now he is one year and five months in and I am afraid it is going to last.

I miss my husband cooking with eggs and cheese.  The man makes a blue cheese mac and cheese that will not only stop your heart, it will take your breath away; it is that good.  I swear it was just a few years ago I had to ask him to stop cooking everything with a roux; my wiggly thighs couldn’t take any more buttery beginnings.  We didn’t eat a lot of meat before this, but I find now that because there is never meat in the house, it is all I want to order when we are out.  I used to be very discerning about the meat I ate.  Now I just eat meat.

In an effort to make the most of my time, when I bake, I bake vegan so that both the kids and Bill have something sweet.  I use veggie butter in place of butter, flax seed and water in place of eggs.  When I eat what I have baked, my taste buds scream “WHERE IS THE BUTTER?!?”  “WHY HAVE YOU RUINED CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES?!?!”  Bill insists that they taste great but the man is living on soy and grains and is therefore taste bud compromised.  The kids eat it, but there is a haunted look around their eyes.  

We do eat well and very healthfully.  We tease each other about our meal choices.  For example, if Bill is in a bad mood or says he is tired, I will tell him to eat some meat.  Or because I am always tired, he will say it is because I am loaded down with animal proteins.  Ha ha, we laugh and tease.  Until today.  Today he posted ridiculous menu items he said sounded great for Thanksgiving.  It was from something called a Vegan Guide to a Turkey-less Thanksgiving.  Blasphemy!  You can take away my blue cheese mac and cheese, but you cannot substitute a Lentil Mushroom Loaf for my turkey Bill McMahon.  You cannot.

Thanksgiving is about butter and gravy and turkey and pie.  It is not Veggie Tofu Pot Pie or Tofurkey.  I will not “make the vegetable the star of the show” as your recent post declares.  I will stick that vegetable on the side and drown it in butter, gravy or cream of mushroom soup as the Pilgrims intended.  I want whipping cream in my mashed potatoes and I want to use the leftover whipped cream from the pies in my morning coffee.  I want the first scoop of mashed potatoes with the swimming pool of butter on top.  

Mmmm, jump in!

I definitely do not want to use coconut milk as a substitute for anything as far as the pies go.  No I do not.  I want the house to smell like cooking turkey all day long and into the night.  Thanksgiving is not grains and veggies and health because calories do not count on Thanksgiving.  We eat until we are so full we have to lie down and we blame it on tryptophan – not the 4000 calorie dinner we just ate.  We wake up from a little nap and because our stomachs have lost a bit of their distended bloat, we start on dessert.  And who can eat just one piece of pie?  Later at night, our stomachs empty from being stretched out all day; it is time for a turkey and stuffing sandwich.  (Bread on bread?  What, you say?  Try it, you can thank me later.)  This is Thanksgiving.  I feel like Charlie Brown being handed pretzels and popcorn when you talk about anemic vegetables and soy pressed products instead.

I had hoped this year we would all be meat eaters, sitting around a beautifully cooked turkey and howling our carnivorous howl, but it is not to be.  We have learned to compromise when eating out and we are learning to compromise when planning holiday meals.  Bill is talking of making his entree a Veggie Wellington.  Sounds interesting and tasty.  I am sure he and SG will love it.  The boy and I will be elbow deep in turkey.

Where Music Leaves Off, Words Begin

If “eyes are the window to the soul” (Shakespeare), then I think that the music on your phone is the window to your psyche.  My music indicates that I am thirteen, depressed and currently in love with the Goo Goo Dolls.  Recently, I was driving SG to basketball practice and trying to find a good song to get her pumped up and both she and I were disgusted and slightly embarrassed as each new song came on.  10,000 Maniacs soulful but not inspiring; ditto the Cranberries.  “We’re Not Going to Take It” by Twisted Sister is not as in your face as I recall it being when I was a teen and SG was not impressed.  I tried “Showstopper” which I used to find motivating.  She thought it sounded like the music they play during that bad Mario Bros TV show.  After listening awhile, I heard it too.  We gave up and turned the radio off completely.

I guess I realized that I flipped through my songs a lot while driving, but it takes someone else in the car to really show you how lame your music selection is.  After perusing my playlists, I am even more disgusted with myself.  I have spent money, MONEY, to own songs such as “Indian Outlaw” (yes, half Cherokee and Chickasaw) and “It Takes 2” (wooooo yeah, woooo yeah, it takes 2 to make it out of sight).  I am ashamed to say it gets worse.  My version of “I Wanna Be Sedated” is not even the Ramones - someone named Hit Co offers their rendition and again, I spent money on this.   I have two Bare Naked Ladies songs and neither song is one of their good ones.  I have a ridiculous amount of Goo Goo Dolls, Third Eye Blind, Bon Jovi and Maroon 5.   I have songs my kids have added in attempts to make me cooler.  Worst of all, and I can barely bring myself to type this, I have a Miley Cyrus song.  Miley Cyrus.  I burn with the shame right now.  I should not be allowed to own technology.

Thank God I have kids for that!

While ashamed of myself, I have narrowed my poor choices down to three reasons why my iPhone houses such crap music and I share this with you in hopes you can learn from my mistakes.  First, don’t drink and iTunes.  A bottle of red wine makes every song you see look good, remind you of your youth, your college days, or your wedding.  The next morning those very songs remind you that being a teenager sucked and your tastes have changed a lot since the 1990’s.  Beastie Boys get pretty annoying after the first verse -in every one of their songs.  Second, don’t download an entire album based on one song you heard on NPR.  Ever.  I have an entire album of a group that sounds like a current day Mama and Papa’s.  How often do you think I am in the mood to listen to that?  If you answered never, you are correct!  Finally, beware the free downloads from Starbucks.  You are standing in line waiting for your nonfat latte, your phone is in the car and you are not about to look someone in the eye and engage in conversation, so you pick up one of those free download song cards in order to look busy and with it.  And then you actually leave with the card and take the time to download the song.  Don’t get me wrong, free is good, but free songs from people you don’t know and find out you don’t like can really be a mood killer.  You would be surprised how often those freebies are shuffled into your mix.  Well, those and the two Christmas songs you thought you would never get sick of.  You were wrong.

I am trying to learn from my mistakes and while I am still stuck with a bunch of crappy music, I find I don’t care because I have moved onto podcasts.  “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” is better than a cup of coffee for the morning commute and by the ride home, I am so tired of talking and listening to people talk that I  drive home in silence: sweet, beautiful silence.  The rest of my driving time the kids are in the car and commandeer the music.  (I know I said I'd never play DJ to the kids, I was wrong.  I also said I would use cloth diapers.  HA!)  They have good taste in music which is a little surprising considering my own admissions and the plunky-plunky-sad sack-guitar-playing-Spanish-guy Bill listens to.  It makes me happy to know that the lame music buying will end with me and not contaminate future generations of McMahon technology and eardrums.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Don't you love when you find a place that feels like home?  Somewhere you can be yourself, where you feel instantly comforted and liked?  For the past three years, this place for me has been Punch Kettlebell.  I know, I wax poetic when it comes to kettlebell, but it has been such a positive force in my life.  Imagine my profound sadness to hear that Punch is closing on November 20th.  "WAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  I said and say.  "NO!!!!!!!!!"  I bellowed and currently whimper.  "Sniffle."  I sniffled and snorted.  Sigh.

The owner has three kids who are all superstar athletes and students, a husband who is mainly overseas and I think they own a pig and a horse too.  Her hands are full, I understand.  (personally I wish she had one normal kid and then maybe she wouldn't be so busy.)  I get it, I just don't want to get it.  

I am so sad thinking about finding another place to work out at.  It won't be Lifetime - I have never been as out of shape as I was when we belonged there.  Too many distractions.  Where am I going to go where no one cares what I am dressed in?  No one cared at Punch and the people who did care didn't last there long.  We didn't coordinate or even match most days.  Even worse, where am I going to find a group of people who boost each other up and push each other to be better each time?  I kid my friend Karen about being a kettlebell bully, but she is the nicest bully and our friendly competition pushed me into weights I never thought I could swing.  There was encouragement and support, always, from classmates.  It was just unspoken - you help the clueless (me for the first five months), you praise everyone's accomplishments and you leave your pettiness at the door.  We got to know each other, we got to see each other's kids and we got to care.  We became a Punch family. Well, all except for sweaty, naked guy and he left when they told him he had to wear a shirt in class.  Oh, and the stalker intern guy who they knew better than to hire. I am sure he is watching women in an alley as I type this.

Sigh, and the trainers.  Three years I have seen a bunch of trainers come and go.  It happens in the gym world.  Each time I thought this new trainer wouldn't be as good as the last one.  I was wrong - they were all as good, just in different ways.  They have encouraged, pushed and shaped me into being stronger, being confident and being so damn proud of what I can accomplish there.  The current trainer refuses to accept that I fear box jumps and while he won't get me to jump on a higher one, he has made me do creative jumps onto the lower one.  I hate him and appreciate him at the same time.  Log press?  Yep.  Ridiculous dead lift?  Yep.  Done, done, done.

85 pounds of crazy heavy right there.

I wish that all good things did not have to come to an end. I wish I was independently wealthy and could keep Punch up and running.  I wish I was one of those people who could work out on their own and stay in shape.  I could do the workouts on my own, but I have been known to substitute easier things or nothing when no one is watching.  Sandbagger, I believe I am called in gym terms.  Eventually I will find somewhere new to go and I hope it can be half the place that Punch was.  Sigh.

Thank you Punch Kettlebell.  Thank you for running a groupon I could afford and getting me hooked on kettlebells.  Thank you for encouraging me when all I could press was a 4kg and later for telling me that pressing the log was fine but next time add some weight to it.  Thank you for making me flip tires, swing sledgehammers and run with sleds up and down that stinky alley.  Thank you for laughing with me, for ignoring my complaints and for pushing, endlessly pushing me to do my best.  Thank you for the trainers who cared and thank you for letting the ones who didn't care go.  Thank you for the laughs.  Thank you for the fun.  Thank you for muscles that ache three days after a workout.  Thank you for being my therapy and for bringing such strong women and men together.  Thank you for the strength and confidence you have given me.  Thank you for finally agreeing to never play Jock Jams again.  You will not be replaced and you will be most sorely missed.  

My Fitness Bully

You know what feels great?  When your jeans just glide on.  You know what doesn’t feel great?  When they don’t.  You know that sensation of  “uh-oh” you get when you go to put your jeans on and they don’t want to go on?  You decide that they don’t own you, you own them and they are going on.  So you tug.  And by tug, I mean you pull on the belt loops with all your might, suck in your stomach, cry just a little and hop around until that zipper is up and the button submits to your superior will.  You try to convince yourself that they are tight from the dryer.  You conveniently forget that you wore them already this week.  I spent my first year of college blaming the dryer for my incredibly uncomfortable jeans and not my vending machine habit and lack of exercise.  Yoga pants are like your mom and tell you that you look great all the time.  Jeans are like that girl you hated in high school – they tell it just like it is. 

Last month, I felt like my jeans were telling me “uh-oh”. Actually, they were SCREAMING it at me; I just didn’t want to hear.  I also realized that I was gaining and losing the same three pounds every week.  Drink and eat on the weekend, try harder during the week, oh I did so well, let’s drink and eat again this weekend!  I work out, I eat well, but I am at that age where once calories go in, they like to stay in.  (And I have a vicious oat bar addiction.)  Anyway, I thought I would turn to technology to help me stay the course and get back to being the boss of my jeans.  I downloaded My Fitness Pal and let it keep track of my calories and exercise and stay the course.  I hate this damn app more than anything in my life.  My Fitness Pal?  More like My Fitness Bully.  I hate how I type in the oat bar I ate for breakfast and it tells me “This food is high in saturated fat.”  Great, oats and shame for breakfast.  I especially hate when it lights up to let me know that I “have exceeded my fat intake for the day.”  I don’t care about that, how many calories do I have left to eat?  That is all I care about.

Resident evil.

I find I have entered into a very passive-aggressive relationship with this damn app.  It yells at me about fat intake and I stand in the kitchen eating chocolate chips by the handful and recording that I ate one tablespoon of chocolate chips.  HAHAHAHA!  Do you know how many chocolate chips are in a tablespoon?  Four, maybe five, if you lick them first and stick them together.  (Just guessing at this, by the way).  I also get annoyed when I go to type in what I had for dinner, let’s say tofu tacos, and forty different items come up.  You know what I do?  I choose the one with the fewest calories.  Don’t judge, you know you would do it too.

This app managed to bring out the thirteen year old girl that resides in my head and tells me that I am not pretty enough or smart enough or good enough.  No matter how hard you think you have killed off your thirteen year old girl, she is in there lurking and waiting for her comeback.  (Mine has really bad hair and is wearing a stupid shirt with teddy bears on it and acid washed jeans.)  I have really had to step back from my inner crazy this week and remind myself I am not thirteen. My jeans may have been a little tight, but I am mostly healthy.  I am strong; I can dead-lift two hundred pounds for crying out loud.  Take that thirteen year old girl in my head!  I don’t need you or this stupid blue app to tell me I shouldn’t eat oat bars for breakfast.   

I am sure there is a balance of being smart about what you eat and how you exercise, but I find that this app and the scale left out drive me to extremes.  I will tuck the scale away and delete the app (ha-ha, I win!) and go back to the thinking that if the jeans fit, all is good.  If they don’t fit, well, I did see that HEB is selling snap-up house dresses now, so there are always options.  

Proposition Common Sense

It is not even 8am and I am disgusted with America.  So disgusted I have decided to run for something: councilwoman, mayor, Dictator for Life.  We need something to make a change, something to bring about action and something to get America’s collective head out of its ___.  (No swearing got to maintain my image.)  I am going to run on a platform of common sense.  In fact, my slogan may just be "A Vote for McMahon is a Vote for Common Sense!”  My first Proposition will be entitled Proposition Common Sense.  Can’t really argue against common sense, can you?

There are many items covered under Proposition Common Sense so let’s break it down.

First act under Proposition Common Sense:  the eradication of illegal left-hand- turn drivers on 620.  I realize this may not affect everyone in Austin, but don’t worry, the success of it on 620 will see it copied to streets near you.  There are a row of fast food places on the left side of 620 that have people making illegal left hand turns despite the NO LEFT TURN signs posted every ten feet.  

The red slash indicates NO.

This clogs up the left hand turn lane for people making legal left turns at the light and annoys me.  Therefore, people making illegal left hand turns will have their tires shot out by a well-positioned sniper and their cars impounded.  They will not receive their cars back until they complete community service hours in the following areas: nutrition, time-management and safe driving.  This is a great idea because it will boost employment as we need snipers stationed round the clock.  You are welcome.

Next will be the parents who do not understand the basic principle of a school drop-off lane.  You DROP OFF.  You do not put the car in park, you do not exit your vehicle, and you do not open your child’s door or your trunk at any point.  You do not hand your child his backpack while standing in the middle of the lane nor brush his hair or finish his homework for him before he goes in.  Again, you DROP OFF.  Also, you do not sit in the lane and watch that your child successfully walks the ten feet from your car into the school.  I know, I too have a child who could get lost in those ten feet, I understand your worry.  However, your child will go to college someday, start preparing now and start by letting him walk those ten feet without your eagle eyes trained on him.  Parents who insist on either infraction above will also have their cars impounded.  They will receive them back once they complete community service in the area of helping others.

Also considered under Proposition Common Sense, people who still don’t know how to order a drink at Starbucks.  You know, the ones that stare at the menu with a pained look as forty-five people queue in behind them?  Look, I know the drinks are written in made-up Italian, but it is not hieroglyphics, you can do it.  And if you can’t, get out of line.  Come back at 10am when someone has time to hold your hand and explain the differences between a grande and a venti.  Right now you have raised the blood pressure of the forty-five people behind you and given the poor girl behind the counter a bladder infection because she can’t go on break until you order.  Offenders of the Starbucks portion of Proposition Common Sense will be sentenced to serve their community hours in a literacy program.

I was going to include coworkers who don’t hold the door even though they see you coming, however this morning, instead of offering me a “hey I see you but I am not waiting” half-smile, my coworker  commented that it was an awkward wait for me, but still held the door.  Good work sir, you can be my campaign manager. 

All these positive changes coming from just the things that annoyed me this morning!  Imagine if I really listened to the news or got involved in my community! There would be no stopping the things I could add to Proposition Common Sense.  Are you with me Austin?  How about it America?  We fought hard for our right to vote, so use it wisely and vote for Common Sense.  (Again, how could you say you voted against Common Sense and look like an intelligent adult?)  I’ve covered all the angles!  It’s what you do when you are in power and once more, you are welcome.

P for Parenting, P for Pride

Parenting: it is a mixed bag.  You are happy, you are sad, you feel like you own it, you feel like it owns you.  You are sure you are doing everything right, you are sure you are doing nothing right.  It is easy, it has never been harder, you love it, you want to run away from it.  It can seem like everyone around you has all the answers and are doing everything right, so you make snarky remarks about them to make yourself feel better.  This works for awhile.  

With a teen, a tween and a big kid, parenting lately has been something that I feel like I just joined.  I have felt at a loss on how to deal with bad behavior that doesn't stop. I have felt lost on helping kids through crushing blows. I have felt meaner than Cruella DeVil ever was when I yelled "This conversation is over!  You are doing it." and walked away.  I probably even kicked one of the dogs out of the way as I did it.  Bill and I have had countless talks about what it is, what are we doing, what are we doing wrong and wondering if parenting ever gets fun again.  We even started to wax nostalgic about the crying poop years; the 0-3 years when everyone is either crying or pooping or crying and pooing at the same time and you feel like your life is one vicious cycle of crying and poop and you will be mired in the poop years forever.  

Definitely crying and pooping.

But they pass; everyone eventually poops on their own and the crying tapers off as well.  So we know that these hard years of parenting will pass too and we will be left behind as the kids move on, so we try to find the joy in it.  Even the crying poop years had joy.  Small warm bodies fresh from a tub smelling like Johnson's baby wash and encased in ducky pajamas melting into you as you read a bedtime story.  Sigh.  But now, in all honesty, it can be awfully hard to find that joy amid the drama and confusion and hormones.  

This week I was incredibly blessed to find moments with all three of my kids that made me see the people they are becoming.  That made me realize all the drama, confusion and hormones and relative insanity that is our day to day is shaping these kids into the adults they will become.  As I realized this, I was overcome with pride.  The weary of the past few weeks was replaced with pride.  Glowing, heart-exploding, tear-leaking pride.  Not pride in myself or my parenting, but pride in what these kids are achieving, what they are doing and who they will become.  

The teen is a driver.  A registered, approved by the state of Texas driver.  She operates a motor vehicle mostly to take herself to and from work.  She may drive me crazy with her inability to pick up after herself or hear what I am saying, but I am so proud of how she handles responsibility.  She even drove her sister to school one day this week and treated her to Starbucks on the way. Glow.  The tween competed in her first ever athletic competition and while I am sorry for her it was 90+ that day, I was so glad for the excuse of the big sunglasses I got to wear that hid my my leaky-eye pride.  Sniff.  And the boy?  He stomped off to school because he was angry at me and in doing so ignored our neighbor who was telling him to have a good day.  When I told him later that day he had to go over and apologize, he didn't argue.  He went out the door and across the street and did it.  Heart-exploding.  A perfect trifecta of moments showing me that they do hear us.  They do get it.  They will be good people.

I guess that parenting goes through stages of development as the kids move through their stages.  Hands-on, hands-off, tolerant, involved, wait-and-see, jump right in.  It is confusing, it is hard and sometimes it is no fun at all. Maybe one day we will look back on these years of drama, confusion and hormones and think of the joy.  Ha!  Okay, I hope we can look back at these years of drama, confusion and hormones and remember the pride.  

For Lilya Raine

Sometimes, this world is not a very nice place.  Sometimes, bad thing happen to good people.  Sometimes, we are left wondering why and how come and why them?  Sometimes, we flounder as we try to take it in, as we try to make sense of it all.  Five years ago on September 26^th, a terrible thing happened to two very good people that I love but before I tell you about the thing, let me tell you about them.

My brother, Michael, is a tall, thin, gentle and hairy kind of guy.  He started growing facial hair at age fourteen and never stopped.  Rather than fight it, he wears a beard and a ponytail and it suits him.  He is kind at heart and as a result both animals and small children adore him.  He is quiet, as a boy raised with three older sisters tends to be, and he is loyal, as a boy with three older sisters tends to be.  He has a quietness about him that is comforting. I love to be in a room with him and not have to fill it with talking because he already knows.  He gets it and conveys it all through his eyes.

My sister-in-law Kelly is crazy.  I say this because I love her and because it is true.  She is loud, she is opinionated and she has no filter.  If she likes you, you know it and if she doesn’t like you, you know that too.  She is passionate, she is stubborn and she is a riot.  When I first met her, I liked her instantly and knew she was the one for Mike.  They complement each other and they love one another in a way that is nice to be around. 

Five years ago I was waiting anxiously for a phone call telling me that Kelly had gone into labor and their daughter would be born soon.  The phone call I got from my terse father with my mother sobbing in the background was that Kelly had gone into the doctor, there was no heartbeat.  And on September 26, 2009 at 2:50pm Lilya Raine Arena was born, but born sleeping they say, or born with the angels, or stillborn.  She was 5lbs 12 oz, 21 inches and perfect in every way.  I say I cannot imagine what Mike and Kelly went through that day but the truth is that I cannot even bring myself to imagine. 

If everyone around you is so happy and excited when a baby is getting ready to be born, imagine how the sadness replaces that joy and you are left with your own grief and the palpable grief of those around you. I flew up to be with them soon after and while I wanted to be a comfort, I think it comforted me more to see that they could still breathe.  That they could eat.  That they had people non-stop in and out of their house loving them, feeding them, praying for them.  But as Kelly says, even with all of those people and all of that love, she felt very alone on her Island of Grief.  All of those people were well meaning, as was I, but we didn’t have the right words and we couldn’t take away their pain and we couldn’t fix it.  

Kelly said that two hours after Lilya arrived; a woman entered her hospital room and introduced herself as a Perinatal Bereavement Nurse.  Kelly says she thinks she asked her nicely to leave and she did.  However, this woman left her information and booklets and a memory box and a hug.  Kelly didn’t want to talk to her then, but she did two weeks later and Lisa took her call and listened to her and did the best thing ever by introducing Kelly to the Western NY Perinatal Bereavement Network.  This group does amazing things for families who have lost a baby either through miscarriage, or born sleeping or after their births.  They provide women like Lisa who visit in the hospital and leave information.  They provide cameras and people to take pictures of these babies when families are too distraught.  They provide money and burial services for those who can’t afford it. But the best thing they provided Kelly and Mike, was hope.  Hope and encouragement.  They met other people who knew exactly how they felt because they had been through it.  They weren’t offering platitudes, they were offering a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on and expecting one in return.  This group forced Kelly from her Island of Grief and slowly she got involved trying to make things better for other people going through what she went through.  She wanted to be their hope and their encouragement.  

Every year around Lilya’s birthday, Mike and Kelly do something to honor her, to remember her and to grieve for her.  When she would have been three, they sent lit lanterns up into a cool night sky with a group of their family and friends. The pictures were beautiful both in the number of people who came out and the love you could see on their faces.  My favorite picture is one of Mike and Kelly that was taken from behind and it shows them leaning into each other and looking up.  Mike wears Lilya like another layer of quiet and Kelly wears her like a shield and sword, but they wear her together.

I tell you all of this because they continue on their journey of offering other people hope and encouragement and they are raising money for WNYPBN to do so.  Kelly and Mike live a modest life as do their friends and their family and they are trying to raise a very modest amount to give to WNYPBN in Lilya’s name.  I don’t have the money to get them to their goal, but I am hoping that I have the words.  If you can donate to this amazing group in honor of my niece, thank you.  Here is the link to donate in Lilya's name.  If you can’t donate but can share a prayer or some good thoughts, they will take those too.

                                              

                                                                                                                                                

C Student At Best

I used to be a great student.  Pointy pencils, crisp paper, hand in the air.  That was me.  I was the one put in charge when a teacher left the room and I loved to write the name of wrong doers on the board. I would stand at the front of the room, chalk in my hand, ready to write down any and all infractions.  I also used to be able to sit in a classroom and listen and take notes and learn.  I would learn a lot and get A’s, except in Math, and feel bright and confident.  I did my homework, I read the books assigned (all except Faulkner), and I even did extra credit for fun.  Yes, I used to be a great student.

I went to a seminar this summer that was eight hours long and six hours too long and had my first inkling that maybe I am no longer a good student.  I wished passionately and deliberately that they would just hurry up so we could go home. I took my time walking to the bathroom and took even more time walking back.  I zoned out, I doodled and I heavily sighed.  I chalked up this bad behavior to it being summer and it only being a seminar and not really school.  However, then I started my classes for my teaching certification and noticed this bad behavior following me.  I skimmed through the online classes and had to fight my urge to click “next page” without reading the current page.  I had to stop and remind myself that I like this material, I want to teach, and I am not in a rush.  I had hoped it would get better when I started my face-to-face meetings. Nope. I went to one and decided I’ll do the rest online.  To be fair, it was all day on a Saturday in a hotel banquet room.  All day.  I at least followed directions and was dressed in a business casual fashion, unlike my classmates who were bedecked in yoga pants, running shorts, and other slouchy attire.  I wanted to write their names on the board. However, this would have required engaging in conversation with them, so I refrained.

I was like the guy in the stripes.

We sat there a lot.  We listened too much.  We watched one great video and did one project together as a table that I commandeered because everyone else sat there scared. I believed the speaker when he said he would get us out early.  Ten minutes early is not worth teasing us with all day mister.  I am fortunate enough to be already working in a school and a lot of the information they gave us was common knowledge to me.  Again, I doodled, I zoned out and I heavily sighed. I watched the guy across from me furiously chomp his gum for hours.  I also watched him store that chewed gum in his shirt pocket and take it back out to eat later.  I made up stories about the people at my table; gum guy provided a lot of fodder.  I wanted to slap the other people who at ages 30, 40 and 50+ found it necessary to interrupt and ask questions that would only pertain to them.  So really, not only am I not a good student, I stink as a classmate too.  I know my face said “shut up” or “nice yoga pants” or “this is not Starbucks coffee”. I probably missed an opportunity to collaborate and engage with wonderful, future teachers.  Snort.

I had a moment of panic in that if I can’t be a good student, how will I be a good teacher?  I thought I must suffer through these meetings and force myself to look pleased, to not silently scream SHUT UP when the fifth person in a row asks the same question.  Slowly, as I sat there and doodled I came up with a plan.  I will take my classes online and I will do so in an environment that makes it feel like school to me.  Being on the kids’ computer and saying “I am doing school work” does not keep them from screaming “MOM” from downstairs.  I will study for my content test by taking my content to a quiet library and taking notes in my brand new spiral with my pointy pencils and two pens.  This is how I am a good student, this is how I will learn and this is how I will get certified.  And maybe I am no longer the good student that I used to be, but maybe knowing this will make me a better teacher.

Boy Wonder

Please don't get me wrong.  I love my son. I love my son so much it hurts.  I would mama bear anyone or anything that hurt him.  I would go to the ends of the earth and to the moon and back for this kid.  I love his gappy smile and the way his hair looks like a mad scientist in the morning and the fact that he is probably the happiest kid I know.  I love that when he laughs it makes me laugh too. I love this kid.  

All this love aside, let me just say that my son has recently lost his mind due to early onset hormones and he is making me CRAZY!  If the hormones in our milk supply have our girls physically changing at an early age, they have our boys mentally changing at an early age too.  Age ten seems to be the start of full on testosterone, stink and attitude.  I can deal with the stink; it is the testosterone and attitude I don't know what to do with.  My sweet son has an flippancy about him I can't stand.  A general "Pshaw" to me as I say anything. I thought it was the dads that boys were supposed to turn against, not the moms.  I can handle this, it is all part of growing up and distancing themselves, I get it.  But does he have to lose his mind and all sense of doing the right thing as well?

Case in point: said boy loses his video games for an undetermined amount of time.  He takes iPad upstairs to "listen to a podcast".  When Mom tucks him in, he is holding the iPad and looks vaguely pinched in the face.  IPad is burning hot. Hot enough to fry an egg on.  Boy repeats numerous times to the Mom's face "I wasn't playing video games, I wasn't playing video games."  He was playing video games.  In a stroke of parenting genius, Dad removes door from boy's room.  Parents congratulate themselves on being good parents and think lesson has been taught and learned.  Parents aren't always right.  Said boy is in trouble again two days later.

It is one set of trouble after the next. Another bad choice, another impulse unchecked.  I am scrambling trying to figure out what punishment might strike home with him while wondering if he no longer cares and if he is on his way to being a career criminal.  I feel like one of those blow up things car dealers use to get your attention when it comes to parenting my son.  My arms are flailing, I am bent over, I am upright, I am here, I am there, I am trying this tactic and that and this and I don't think any of them are working.

This is me.  This is me parenting my son.

I look at my daughter and think what did we do with her that we aren't doing with him?   Did we just get lucky that time?  I have started dreading picking him up and hearing what trouble he got into today.  I vaguely remembered my brother getting in a lot of trouble when he was about this age and a quick phone call to him verified my memory.  We laughed as he remembered that at age ten he and a friend rode their bike ten miles to the mall without permission.  Bill says he doesn't remember being like this until he was twelve.  People at work have said that raising boys doesn't get any easier.  People just love to kick you when you are down. I am going to go find a sleepless mother with a newborn and tell her my daughter didn't sleep in her own room through the night until she was ten.

I can't believe it won't ever get better.  I can't believe that I am always going to be waiting for the bad phone call home or the sign here and acknowledge your son did a bad thing here please letter in the backpack each night.  I know he is good at heart. I know he can be kind and sensitive and caring.  I have to believe that when the tsunami of testosterone subsides, he will still be the boy who laughs with his heart and loves with all of his might. I just really hope it is before he is forty.

Strong As a Girl

There has been a lot of talk about strength in our house as of late.  First, "finish strong" was the phrase we kept saying when referring to the end of summer.  We've got to finish strong: keep up the fun, don't give in to the heat or whining of bored kids.  I have to say I failed on that one. I did not finish strong. I kind of gave up and tailed off after the epic road trip and pretended that summer was no longer happening.  Then there was "start strong". We've got to start the school year off organized and with good attitudes and a place for everything and everything in its place.  I did much better on this one including setting up a drop off place for backpacks and school junk in the laundry room. (And by me, I mean Bill.)   And we are always talking about being physically strong and healthy.  Have you seen my husband?  

Close, but Bill has better hair.

This first week of school the prevalent theme was "be strong".  SG was up at 5:45 every morning and at school by 6:30 in order to be at tryouts for volleyball.  She was exhausted each day and each day I told her "You've got this.  Be strong."  And she was strong.  She suited up, she tried and she got her school work done and fell dead asleep each night, worn out from being strong.  I was hoping, and praying, that her being strong would pay off and that she would make the team and see that being strong has its rewards.  Unfortunately, I forgot that being strong isn't always instantly rewarded and unfortunately, she is learning that as well.

I am so sad for her to not make the team and be rewarded right away. I am so disappointed that her show of strength was not crowned with achievement. I hate life teaching her that you can be strong and still not get what you want. She was very sad and I absolutely ache in those moments of parenting when you are comforting them and telling them you are so proud and while your words are nice, they are not enough.  They don't staunch the tears, they don't fill the wound, and they don't make it better.  Parenting is its own test of strength sometimes.

I hate that being strong and trying aren't enough anymore to win a spot on a team.  I hate that they are awarded points for every single exercise they do instead of being looked at individually and in their entirety. I hate that our kids have to be superstar athletes who carry a 4.0+++++ in order to be at the top of anything, or awarded anything, or noticed. I had forgotten how horrible middle school is until we went up there for Athletic sign-up and I was "MOMMMMMMMM!!!"ed at for saying hi to someone who used to be a friend but now isn't a friend.  I broke some sort of social etiquette by saying hello to one of the popular kids.  Sorry, I knew him when he was eight and had a crazy smile and rang our doorbell asking for kids to come out and play.  I had forgotten the social land mines our kids weave in and out of each day.  It makes me think that while I was telling SG each day to be strong, I should have really been telling her how amazed I am at how strong she already is.  I guess I need to tell her that it is also alright to not always be strong.  That it is okay to be vulnerable because being vulnerable can set you up for your next feat of strength or help you recover from the last one.

However, as I was trying to think of how to tell her all this, this amazing girl, while suffering her own disappointment, found enough strength in her to tell a friend who also did not make the team, to not be sad.  She put her own sad aside and told her friend that she did great and tried hard and should be proud of herself because she was proud of her.  It makes me realize that I don't want to be as strong as an ox, or a mule or ten men. I want to be strong as a girl.  My girl.