Play On

I've been under a bit of pressure lately. The kind that comes from spreading myself a little too thin. Like always, it's all good stuff. It's just that it all happened to convene in the same time frame and it's wearing me out.

Today though, one of those commitments came to an end. I've been directing Pecos Bill, the traditional third grade play at our school. It just so happens that Aiden is a third grader. This is good on many levels. It was my chance to make up for this and to be in a situation that allowed me the chance to praise my son and his classmates.

On my way to the school, I decided to take a moment to pray because, you know, when you work with third graders you never know what might happen. I had barely turned my thoughts to the Lord when I found myself fighting back the tears.

Let me take an aside here to explain that lately this is my M.O. I have made a concerted effort not to stress out about stuff and I have done really well. However, the fall-out of holding back all that stress is that at the most inopportune times, I spontaneously burst into tears. Take for instance how I made it through the entire Advent season without spazzing out or complaining too much about all that had to get done. Christmas morning however, as my entire family descended upon my house, I burst into tears because the egg casserole had leaked out all over the inside of my refrigerator. I made it through the entire preparation process for the rehearsal dinner (including having someone drop an entire crock-pot of the sauce the night before and having to remake the batch at midnight), and found myself fighting back the tears when someone asked me where something was in the kitchen. Consequently I wonder which is worse, stressing out or spontaneously combusting into tears.

Anyway, back to the story. As I cried in my car, I thought here I go again. I knew that I had the seven minute car ride to pull it together because the third graders would not know what to do with my tears.

But the tears this time were much more than a stress reliever, they were tears of gratitude. Tears that came from a moment of clarity realizing how much God loved me to give me this opportunity even though I wasn't looking for it (a theme for me lately). Tears of joy knowing just how much this meant to my third grader who told me after the production, "You're the mama who saved the play!" Tears of gratitude that I live in a place where I get the chance to do what I love.

This little play, with all its sacrifices and time, was a gift to me. Even better, those sweet little kids nailed it…twice. They were so good I almost cried again.

To my Anonymous Commenter

Wow, it's been busy! It makes me sad when I neglect the blog but sometimes, life gets moving too fast to talk about it too much. I have a few posts brewing but when I signed in tonight, I saw there was a comment here that needed moderating.

I read it and it took my breath away. I was stunned and reread it several times to make sure I was reading it correctly. It hurt. Still hurts.

Of course my first instinct was to delete it.

I don't get many hateful comments but every once in awhile I get one that stings a little. This did more than sting.

However, rather than deleting it, I decided to address it, if for no other reason than to allow myself to let it go. I have a tendency to hang on to things like this and it's not healthy.

First I'd like to explain that the purpose of this blog is to document my life and the lives of my children and husband. It started it when I realized that their baby books were being terribly neglected.

Over the years it's become a hybrid of a personal journal, family album, and baby book. It's also a public forum. It's a place where I've met some really great people and heard from some interesting ones as well.

I've shared my thoughts, my prayers, my dreams, and my faults (okay, not so heavily on my faults – I am human after all). So mostly, these pages are me.

What it isn't is a place where I air other people's dreams, thoughts or struggles. When personal things happen to my family members, I don't talk about them here unless I have their express permission. When my dad had his surgery, he asked me to take pictures, but when I asked him if I could write about it here, he wanted to think about it. I didn't push. I waited for him to let me know. I'm grateful he did.

However, there are other things that happen in the lives of the people I love that greatly affect me that I don't write about. Sometimes, writing about how someone else's pain affects me, is not the best thing for the other person...even though it may be cathartic for me.

In this case, I’m not free to talk about the specifics of the situation. I could tell you how I spent the better part of that day at the hospital with him – brought him his car, wallet and some water. I could tell you how I raced down to the cafeteria to get him some food before it closed and then made dinner to bring to him when they got home that night. I made them dinner the following night as well.

I could tell you how I spent the better part of an hour on the phone with him crying and consoling him after he heard the news. I could let you know that after about five hours of sleep, I got up before dawn in the cold weather so that I could make it down to the course to cheer them both on and encourage them in anyway I could that day. I could tell you about the people I contacted after the race (with his permission) so that they could pray for them. I could explain how I walked home from that flash mob with one of his best friends while we prayed for him together.

Anyone who knows me or reads this blog knows about the love I have for my brothers. They are my best friends. I would do anything for them and I think they know that. We tell each other how much we love each other on a regular basis. We have each other’s backs. When we are in pain, when we are crying, we lean on each other. Family is everything to us.

Please know, oh anonymous commenter, that I did not write about my brother’s pain out of respect for him, not because I was ignoring it. I am sure he would agree and that’s good enough for me.

O Captain, My Captain

Nelson and I attend a Catholic Coffee and Conversation class while the kids go to Sunday School. Lately we've been watching a fantastic video series. It’s education, entertaining and inspiring.

Last week the topic was sainthood. The short of it is that sainthood is what we should all be working towards. Being rich, not so good since you can't take it with you. Being famous, really a waste of time. Being a saint? Go for it!

But that begs the question, how?

Remember that Bible story when Jesus is in the boat with the disciples and He tells them to throw their nets to the other side? Of course you do. They bring in more fish than they thought they could handle. It’s a happy ending, miracle-making kind of story.

However, there is another part to this story. You see back in those days, when you lived by the water, you were a fisherman. So, you built a boat. And that boat? It was your livelihood. It was the most valuable thing you owned. It was what you did. It was who you were. And…it was yours.

If you want to be a saint, if you really, really want it, you have to let Jesus into your boat.


If you have the opportunity, get this video series and watch it. It will be time well spent.

Just Desserts

We piled the kids in the car tonight to surprise them by a trip to a local place that's known for its desserts. We're talking slices of homemade cake that are literally as big as your head. Crazy good!

The kids are not fans of surprises and they were grilling us to try to find out where we were taking them. They came up with all kinds of guesses - the zoo, circus, fair, Blue Man Group and the like. The final guess came from Aiden.

"I know, you're going to take us to that Princesses on Ice show."

"WHY...would he do that?" quipped Dawson.

I'm On to You Kid

When the kids are going in and out of the house to play, and let's face it, there is a whole lot of going in and out when kids are involved, we make them use the garage door. We have a back door but it opens into our living room and I'd much rather have all the sand, dirt and leaves they drag in with them in our garage and laundry room than my living room.

The kids, however, don't like using that garage door because it requires a whole 30 more steps to reach it from the backyard. I keep the back door locked to remind them of this method of entry we've developed. Consequently, I see a whole lot of sad faces that come to the back door and knock incessantly while I point them in the right direction.

This afternoon, Max came in from playing to get a drink of water. I stopped dinner prep and granted his request. He tugged on my leg and looked up at me with his Puss 'N Boots eyes and asked, "Can I go back outside through the back door," and there was a pause, "because you LOVE me?"

"I love you too buddy, but you still have to use the garage door.”

Never Say Never

I've often said that you should never, ever tell God, "I'll never...". I'm pretty sure He laughs hysterically when we do.

For instance, in my lengthy time of waiting for a husband, I did, on many occasions, tell people, "I'll never marry a younger man." Nelson is almost three years my junior (I do hold strong to the fact that I look younger - wink, wink).

When I was in college, I said, "I would never be able to teach in an elementary school." Last year the fourth grade fell into my lap. I loved it.

When I cried my eyes out over having to give up directing our high school plays after fifteen years, my mom consoled me by saying, "One day you'll be directing your own kids in their plays." I answered this with a definitive, "Elementary plays? No way, that would be awful!" This year in addition to directing my second fourth grade play, I've also ended up with the third grade one. It is so stinkin' fun!

And I have, on many more than one occasion in my life, said that I absolutely, positively hate asking people for money. This led me to the logical conclusion that I should never get into sales.

Guess who's in charge of getting corporate sponsors for this year's Glory Run.

It's actually kind of funny how this happened. Nelson, who does sales for a living and is really quite spectacular, was asked to take on this job. This would be a good fit, thought the powers that be. The only problem was that Nelson, in addition to working 60 to 70 hours a week, is on the board of our local credit union, the parish council, the financial committee in our community, Cub Scout troop leader, and landlord.

"Babe," I told him one night as he headed out for another meeting, "you've got to tell them you can't do this. They need to choose where they need you most and get someone else to fill in the gap. You're going to kill yourself."

Well he came home that evening he told me, "You'll be so proud of me doll. I told them I couldn't do it."

"Nelson, that's great. I'm so glad. Who are they going to get to take your place?"

A big grin spread across his face, "You!" he enthusiastically revealed.

"Right," I said knowing he had to be kidding, but the grin did not go away. "You are kidding right?" Still nothing. "Nelson! I can't do that. I don't sell. I hate that!"

I hemmed and hawed for several more minutes before I finally gave in. He somehow convinced me that not only could I do it, but that I would be great. I told you he was a spectacular salesman!

The jury is still out on that but I'm going to give it a shot. Oh yeah, I can totally hear the laughter God. I get it. I'm not going to say, "I'll never..." ever again. I'd say that I should just probably say that I'm willing to do anything, which in theory I am, but in practicality I'm not sure that statement would garner any different results.

Basically, the truth of the matter is that I want to do what I want to do. I want it to be easy and fun and use my best talents. I'm not a big fan of stretching and growing. I'm not too keen on humility either. What can I say? I'm human.

Thankfully, God doesn't let me plan out my life. He chooses the road less traveled (at least by me), and that has made all the difference.

The Greatest Place on Earth

This afternoon a friend sent me a text that she was pulling together a flash mob for her mom tonight at 7:45. The message said the purpose was to show her we love her and lift her up before she begins chemo in the morning. It also noted, "Please forward this to everyone you know."

Within fifteen minutes I received the same text from at least four more people.

At 7:42 (we only live about five houses down), Nelson and I walked down the street. We were joined on our walk by four other families coming out of nearby houses. When we got to our destination we saw over 100 friends who had gathered on the front lawn to surprise this sweet lady.

We sang three quick songs, prayed for her and were gone. Just like that.

Except, it wasn't just like that. When we walked upon the scene there was a tangible sense of love in the air. The look on her mom's face when she saw all of us was absolutely priceless. And as we walked back home among several families who live with in a stone's throw, we commented, "We live in the best place in the world!"

And we do. It's real. It's amazing. And if you don't believe me, come see for yourself. I have a guest bedroom!