Me Time

I so need this time. Time to take a walk, pay bills, straighten the house, sit and write. Not only do I need it, I am a much better person for it. I need space to think and settle with my thoughts. To actually hear myself think. I am not good at multi-tasking although I do it all day. Well, maybe I’m good at it but I just don’t like it. It feels like nothing ever gets my fullness. And my fullness is me at my best.

Right now, I’m full of these yummy chocolate brownies I made yesterday because I NEEDED chocolate. Not just a simple craving but a need. My husband Jeff doesn’t get this. Maybe most men don’t. But there are days and times when only good chocolate will do. And it wasn’t just a one-brownie-morning today. It was a two-big-brownie-morning. And I’m good with that. In fact I feel good and full in just the right amount.

In days of old, I would have deprived myself of the brownie only to ambush myself and binge on something I didn’t even like trying to fill up that hole of wanting. Then, I’d deal with the guilt associated with the binge and not being “good”. Gosh, what a waste of time I spent on all that! Now, I don’t even believe in deprivation and eat exactly what I want, when I want, in the amount that is right for me. And the best part: no binges, no guilt. Just a feeling of trusting my body and listening to what I really want and need. And then answering that to the best of my ability.

It always goes back to trust. We have to trust ourselves. To be honest with ourselves, believe in ourselves, pamper ourselves. We are cherished souls and bodies. And if we don’t believe this and treat ourselves accordingly, we set ourselves up for all kinds of guilt trips and hardship. And when we do trust ourselves – body, mind, and spirit – we are filled with a knowing deeper than any longing we can muster. It’s a knowing based on TRUTH – our own truth – and there’s no better antidote to our issues, whatever they may be, than that.

Spring (!) Break (?)

The notion of Spring Break takes on a whole new meaning when you are a parent to little ones. In fact, I think the term Spring Break is an oxymoron. My kids have been out of school for the past seven days and I haven’t had a single break yet. We’ve been going and doing and seeing. We’ve been walking and jumping and swimming. We’ve been eating and drinking and snacking between meals. We’ve been to Parmer Park and Edwin Warner Park and the Nashville Zoo. We’ve been to Chattanooga, the Discovery Science Museum, and Rock City. We’ve been to Wendy’s, Taco Bell, the Mellow Mushroom, and McDonald’s (x 2). We went wild at Target today.

To see my almost-seven-year-old strut around in some new duds he picked out, checking himself out in the mirror, hand in pocket – well, it’s priceless. He thinks he’s hot stuff. And my sweet two-year-old, not to be outdone, got her first pair of flip flops. Turquoise with sequins and polka dots. She thinks she is all that.

Needless to say, we are having a BIG time. We are enjoying this “break” or maybe we’ll refer to what we’re having as a Spring Fling. With three days left and a family trip to Land Between the Lakes tomorrow, I have a feeling it may be Monday before I catch my breath. I can make it – but I may be crawling!

Yes, Monday will be welcome – just a little time for me. To write and get centered. To clean my house. To go for a long walk. Maybe take a nap. Shop – just for me! Some new shorts, some new flip flops, lipstick in a happy shade of spring. Who knows? It may be me thinking I’m all that . . . and ready again I’ll be to jump and walk and run . . . to enjoy spring with my two little loves. Happy to be together and to share our days.

The Present Moment

With the Lenten season upon us and Easter beckoning, I hear constant talk about what people are giving up for Lent. My son, who attends a Catholic school but who is not Catholic, has decided to give up candy – but NOT on Thursdays and Sundays. I think the exception was all his idea but I’m sort of with him on this.

All or nothing thinking gets you into trouble. And if you have control issues, it can really mess you up. So maybe he’s smart and knows his limits and thinks he can not have candy five out of seven days and be good with this. Ironically, he doesn’t typically eat candy on a regular basis. So actually getting it on Thursday and Sunday, or even potenitally getting it, might be a real boon for him. He’s hopeful and that’s good.

As for hopeful, that’s more of what I want to be this Lenten season. I am tired of all the doom and gloom talk about the economy. I am tired of winter. And I am tired of loss and sadness. I get that this is all a part of life and that there are important lessons to learn through each of these experiences. That we need to go through them to grow and become more of who we’re meant to be.

But I’m saying “Uncle . . . enough already . . . I get it!” We are here to live in the present moment. To not let fear or darkness or sadness overshadow those little magical moments that make up each of our days. And they are different for each of us too. For me, it’s the smell of coffee brewing; the sound of the birds in the early morning; the smell of honeysuckle welcoming spring; the feel of Sage’s soft, feathery blonde hair; the sun warming my back as I walk around the block.

What is it for you? Talking to a special friend? Taking time to read? Hearing your spouse or partner say “I love you”? The bright yellow in the waving daffodils? Baking a cake? Whatever it is, go do it. Go buy yourself flowers. Put the windows down and sing loudly. Kiss your husband when he gets home. Hug your babies. Stay in the moment. Live life fully - in the present.

Roots and Wings

Where do I begin and what do I say? Going back to MI and to all of my friends from long ago – another lifetime really – was both surreal and centering. I felt more myself than I have in a long time simply by being around people who have always known me. But the sadness of saying goodbye to a dear friend – one of my very own people – was heart wrenching.

The pictures told the story. A beautiful girl who loved life and lived it to its fullest. A dedicated and affectionate mother. A loving daughter and sister. A fierce competitor and a compassionate and respected coach. Kris meant the world to so many people. But perhaps most of all she meant the world to her three boys. Boys who will come of age without their mother’s presence; undoubtedly one of the saddest losses of all.

But amidst all of the loss and sadness inherent to the weekend, there were life-long friends and memories to buoy us. Stories we laughed about. Old ways of being together that brought great comfort and made us feel safe – at least for a while.

And now I am home. Back to my present. And it is so different than the reality of the past weekend. I feel more alone though kids and dogs and cats and laundry and to-do lists surround me. But there’s not much space here for my sadness. In fact, I don’t know what to do with it. Its heavy weight in my heart and my stomach - an emptiness unfulfilled (though my first night home I tried with pizza – I don’t recommend it).

I miss the connections. I miss Kris. I miss that I won’t get to hear her laugh or see her smile . . . I miss childhood with its simplicity and innocence and easy joy. I want to know less, have experienced fewer losses, feel as deeply connected to the people in my life now as I did way back when. It used to be simpler and now it seems really complicated. But I’ll always have my memories, the stories, and the relationships that helped ground me and grow me.

My childhood, Manton, my friendships and relationships: they gave me both roots and wings. And for that, I will always be grateful.

A Litany of Loss

This week has been full of loss and heartache. First an old family friend dies suddenly of a heart attack last Saturday. A family friend my mom has known her entire life. His children all peers to my brother and me. Someone we’ve seen every summer of our lives at Higgins Lake. Gruff and funny and warmer with age, you just knew he would be one of those grumpy old men who seemed like he was going to live forever. Shocking and heart wrenching, his unexpected passing leaves a gaping hole in the reality of all who knew him.

And if that loss was not enough, my dear high school friend lost her courageous battle with breast cancer last night. Forty-one years old. The mother of three boys. A beautiful, vibrant, larger-than-life individual. I wrote her a letter last year and told her she was a bright, bright star in the sky of my youth. And even though we hadn’t done a great job of staying in touch over the years, knowing she was somewhere in this world doing good things was always a comfort. Now, I comfort myself knowing she is not in pain. And she still is a bright, bright star; one that I can now share my prayers with and throw my hopes to. She was always a great athlete, so catch them she will. I’ve nothing to fear . . .

Except for that little thing tomorrow morning . . . our dog, Holly, has a tumor the size of a lime in her neck that has to be removed. I take her for surgery at 7 a.m. Holly’s nine, has hip dysplasia, and takes Phenobarbital twice a day for seizures. She is also the nicest, sweetest dog in the world. The only thing that keeps everyone from falling in love with her: she’s stinky. We have a creek, she stays wet, and wet dog, well, it’s not so good. But for those who can get past the stench . . . it’s friends for life. Really. The other very best thing about Holly: she introduced Jeff and me nine years ago. I knew they were both keepers way back when. She’s not only a part of our family; she’s a symbol of our relationship. And I need her to be O.K.

So there we have it: a week of grief that’s a lot to manage. And I’m still waiting on spring. Or at least the time change. Not only do I need the light, I’m banking on the time change to re-set Sage’s sleep schedule. Sleeping all the way through the night and past 5 a.m. That’s what I’m shooting for today. More light, more sleep, more Holly. That’s all God. Those are my hopes Kris. Catch . . .

Happily Ever . . . In The Moment

I joke a lot about being a “recovering perfectionist”. Someone who is constantly trying to maintain balance amidst a long history of struggling for control. Wanting everything to fit just right. Not wanting to make a mistake. Not wanting to disappoint anyone. Holding myself to some really high standards I arbitrarily set. Being an all “A” student. Making my parents proud. Getting my Ph.D. Being a good wife. The best mom.

As I get older and life takes on more and more gray (and no, I’m not talking about my hair but we could be!), I’ve realized perfection is a lousy goal. Not only is it unrealistic, it’s simply not any fun (for me or those other braves souls who love me and call me their own). Perfection doesn’t work because life is messy. And it’s learning to live with and love this messiness that makes the journey as worthwhile as any happy ending.

In fact, when I bumped into my future husband at 6:00 a.m. on a public golf course as we both walked our puppies, I had no thoughts of perfection or “happily ever after”. What I thought was this: I just met the nicest guy on the golf course, walking the cutest Golden Retriever. Genuine, kind, unassuming. Solid. And I left it at that. We walked and talked on that golf course for six more months before we moved in together. Two years later we got married. Did I mention I had rolled right out of bed the morning I met my future husband – glasses on, frumpy warm clothes, maybe I brushed my teeth (maybe not . . ). Oh, and six months after the wedding, we had Taggart (you do the math . . . ).

My point being: perfection and control had nothing to do with the unfolding of our life together. I let go and it just happened. It is the journey we share, the living in the moment and not knowing exactly how it’s all going to come together that defines us. After we’d dated for a year I made Jeff a scrapbook and titled it: “Happily Ever . . . In the Moment”. Because rather than waiting for someone else to make me happy, we are creating our happiness one moment at a time.

And then we had kids . . .and I had to jump on the recovering perfectionist wagon with all my might. And, I constantly remind myself of the futility of falling off. Little ones running around pulling pillows off the couch, diapers off their bottoms, socks off their feet . . . in ten minutes, the house I just spent half a day cleaning and straightening looks like the house I set out to clean just this morning!

So again, we’re back to moments. Sage’s naked little body streaking through the house after she’s taken all her clothes off for the third time. Taggart’s determination while building a pillow fort in the middle of the living room with every single pillow in the house. A pile of dishes in the sink after a wonderful dinner we’ve all shared together . . . Here’s the thing: Our hearts are full. We are happy and healthy. We have so much to be thankful for. And luckily, my family doesn’t mind a little dust. Good thing, because I’ve just about given up on the cleaning all together! Life’s messy; and, I’m busy trying to love each and every moment.

A Grandparent's Gifts

My paternal grandparents - 84 and 86 - are as sharp and warm and wonderful as ever. I feel so blessed to have their continued presence in my life. They lost my father – their oldest son – ten years ago. Having them in my life fills me up and buoys me, especially when I long for my dad. They are a connection I cherish, not only because they are of him, but also because they are two of the most thoughtful, generous people I know. Not with money, which they’ve never really had, but with their love, their open hearts, their humble home.

I constantly tell my grandmother – amidst the chaos of my life with two children – that I do not know how she ever raised seven kids!!! That amazes me. And she did it without complaint. She was positive, affectionate, ever optimistic that it would all work out - even when she wasn’t sure how everything would come together. And it always did – or it didn’t – and then they’d go from there. Always knowing they’d be taken care of, there is not one of us (child, grandchild, great-grandchild) who would not do anything we could for Grandma and Grandpa. They have given us so much – our parents, traditions, values, their time and love. Anything – they’d give me anything, and I, them.

Their most recent, incredible gift to me was my birthday present. I had sent my grandmother a The Grandparents’ Book of Shared Memories. She has the keenest memory and can recall stories from her childhood, my father’s childhood, my childhood with the kind of detail that allows you to picture her memories as if they were your own. She took the time, along with my grandfather (I can just see her giving him his “assignment” to work on “Meaghan’s book”), to complete this detailed book that includes a family tree for both sides, favorite stories, favorite foods, favorite memories, information about schools – theirs and their children’s . . . They included old pictures and stories, an essay my dad wrote his junior year in college, an old driver’s license. The things memories are made of and a way of sharing our heritage that I could not do without their memories and efforts.

Because my grandparents have left such an indelible mark on me, I wrote a poem inspired by my relationship with them. The poem is called “A Grandparent’s Gifts”.

A Grandparent’s Gifts

Affection
Friendship
Generosity
Love

Honesty
Loyalty
Compassion
Understanding

Time
Respect
Integrity
Wisdom

Perspective
History
Roots
Wings

They have given me all of this - and more. And, I am grateful to them everyday.