I found out this past week what both my boys are made of. On one hand, I should not be surprised.
But by the same token, I'm floored.
My younger son had an emergency appendectomy almost a week ago. His stoicism got in the way of a quicker diagnosis. but his inner grit guaranteed a pretty quick turnaround. I see 'long game' thinking in the way he's approaching his recovery.
Should I be so surprised that he understood and responded to the blunt honesty of his care-givers?
Not to be outdone, older brother understood the gravity of G's situation and found a new reserve of stoicism of his own. Although we made every effort to keep life as 'normal' as we could, Nic had his own sacrifices to make. The party to celebrate his communion and confirmation needed postponement (since half the family was in hospital); however, I refused to postpone the actual sacraments. After all, I have worked for years to get Nic to this point, and in my mind, there was no way it was NOT happening.
Minus the party distraction, Nic surpassed all my expectations. He suited up in his jacket, tie and slacks and told me "The hat stays home." (Yes, that would be his going-out hat--which he never leaves home without), and comported himself with a poise I'd never seen before. Was this my son?
Sure was. And I'd never been so proud.
And he ran his second fastest time at Belmont Plateau that afternoon--despite all the insanity and distraction leading up to it.
Hubby and I celebrated 20 years married this month; Gabriel had his 10th birthday; Nic made his communion and confirmation; and Gabriel is home from the hospital.
We are blessed. There is much to celebrate.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Going National
"Who cares? He's never won anything in his life."~Dylan, Akeela and the Bee
So my older son's newest obsession is Louisville, KY. His elevator friend mentioned it as a destination over the summer (dad cautioning that there's really not much else there). It might have stayed an object of discussion if the CYO National Cross Country Champs weren't held there.
Boom. Set as destination.
Not so fast. Mostly because elder son is not so fast. He does not love running, so getting him out during the week is a heroic task, made entertaining by his shouting "I hate you, mom!" while we're out running.
Seriously, he will love me someday for this if he doesn't end up in therapy.
I read through the qualifications, and didn't think he'd be able to make the cut. Apparently, I didn't read them closely enough, because he can qualify as part of a team, and as long as he is part of a team and commits to running, he is going.
I am elated. Elder boy, not so much. He was expecting a free ride to Louisville. Nevertheless, he will go. He will run. He will do his best.
"Why do you care, you've never won anything!" he growled after his slow showing on Sunday (no running and a soft pretzel and a half pre race bogged him down--he won't do that again).
I laughed inwardly, because he's right. As a senior in high school, I traveled to Nationals with my Forensic team as a considered right because I helped, in some way, the rest of the team get there. And I could not on my own. And I look back on that experience with a chuckle, because there was little for me to do but have a good time and cheer on my teammates. No pressure. And I paid my way in other ways, so I figured this was my due.
But he's right. I never had this opportunity to be national anything. On the other hand, he does. And he may never get this opportunity again.
Opportunity knocks. I'll make sure he answers the door.
Winning matters not. It's all about the journey.
So my older son's newest obsession is Louisville, KY. His elevator friend mentioned it as a destination over the summer (dad cautioning that there's really not much else there). It might have stayed an object of discussion if the CYO National Cross Country Champs weren't held there.
Boom. Set as destination.
Not so fast. Mostly because elder son is not so fast. He does not love running, so getting him out during the week is a heroic task, made entertaining by his shouting "I hate you, mom!" while we're out running.
Seriously, he will love me someday for this if he doesn't end up in therapy.
I read through the qualifications, and didn't think he'd be able to make the cut. Apparently, I didn't read them closely enough, because he can qualify as part of a team, and as long as he is part of a team and commits to running, he is going.
I am elated. Elder boy, not so much. He was expecting a free ride to Louisville. Nevertheless, he will go. He will run. He will do his best.
"Why do you care, you've never won anything!" he growled after his slow showing on Sunday (no running and a soft pretzel and a half pre race bogged him down--he won't do that again).
I laughed inwardly, because he's right. As a senior in high school, I traveled to Nationals with my Forensic team as a considered right because I helped, in some way, the rest of the team get there. And I could not on my own. And I look back on that experience with a chuckle, because there was little for me to do but have a good time and cheer on my teammates. No pressure. And I paid my way in other ways, so I figured this was my due.
But he's right. I never had this opportunity to be national anything. On the other hand, he does. And he may never get this opportunity again.
Opportunity knocks. I'll make sure he answers the door.
Winning matters not. It's all about the journey.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Life lessons well-learned (while running long distance)
My eighth grader is thrilled. I can see it shining in his eyes from 50 yards as he rounds the bend toward the finish line.
I see he has 15 seconds to meet his goal time this week from the digital time-keeper at the finish line and can't help jumping up and down. "GO NIC! RUN IT IN!"
He's grinning, he's gasping, but he digs in deep and sprints for the finish line--and makes it over just one second shy of his goal for this week. He falls into my arms gasping, grinning and immensely pleased with himself.
After all, he just ran 4K on one of the toughest cross country courses in the country. He know this, and this pleases him, also.
He will not win any speed records, mind you. He stands to come in last for every race. "And doesn't that bother him?" people whisper to me. "Doesn't that bother you?"
No. And no.
Because for us, it was never about winning. For us, it's about finding out what we can do,
And Nic is tickled pink about being able to run a 4K. And he's motivated to run it faster every week.
When he toed the starting line last week, he admitted to being nervous. "I don't know if I can do this," he said in a moment of candor. Despite that, when the starter pistol went off, so did he with the rest of runners.
And he ran it in his first race, too, his eyes bright with pride. Because he proved to himself that he could finish. And every week, he will compete against himself and challenge himself to do better than he did the week before.
Isn't that what life is all about? Constantly improving our personal best?
It's never about us versus anyone else--but I think we forget that in the bustle of living.
I see he has 15 seconds to meet his goal time this week from the digital time-keeper at the finish line and can't help jumping up and down. "GO NIC! RUN IT IN!"
He's grinning, he's gasping, but he digs in deep and sprints for the finish line--and makes it over just one second shy of his goal for this week. He falls into my arms gasping, grinning and immensely pleased with himself.
After all, he just ran 4K on one of the toughest cross country courses in the country. He know this, and this pleases him, also.
He will not win any speed records, mind you. He stands to come in last for every race. "And doesn't that bother him?" people whisper to me. "Doesn't that bother you?"
No. And no.
Because for us, it was never about winning. For us, it's about finding out what we can do,
And Nic is tickled pink about being able to run a 4K. And he's motivated to run it faster every week.
When he toed the starting line last week, he admitted to being nervous. "I don't know if I can do this," he said in a moment of candor. Despite that, when the starter pistol went off, so did he with the rest of runners.
And he ran it in his first race, too, his eyes bright with pride. Because he proved to himself that he could finish. And every week, he will compete against himself and challenge himself to do better than he did the week before.
Isn't that what life is all about? Constantly improving our personal best?
It's never about us versus anyone else--but I think we forget that in the bustle of living.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Down Another Rabbit Hole
I had another meeting last night; I need to learn how to say
no. It matters not how I got there, only that I'm there, waiting for the meeting to start. As I stand in line for dinner, I see
some familiar faces and exchange pleasantries and small talk.
I remark on the heat, and one mom says “I know and tomorrow
will be hotter, I feel bad for my son running cross country…..”
This gives me pause. I am coaching a team, a team that
consists only of my two kids. Then I freeze, realizing that she’s talking about
another school’s team. I blurt out
“Really? We have a cross country team here at (our parish).”
“Well, you have to start somewhere!” she said breezily, and
moved on. Leaving me to wonder, start
where? What’s she talking about? I have
a team, but my team isn’t good enough for her? In any case, it feels like a slap in the face.
And gets me to wondering, what else have I kept other people from engaging in,
simply because my name is attached? Should I quit? Drop out of teaching because people don’t
want me teaching their kids? Drop out of other things because I don’t know what
I’m doing?
It’s a rabbit hole, and I’m deep into it quickly.
She’s sitting at the table and trying to catch my eye. I’m
looking past her because I am trying not
to cry. The demons don’t waste time when you’re down. I stare into my lap, and
will myself to sit tight. The door is behind me, and escape would be easy……
Too easy. In turn,
hurt, anger, wounded pride have their way with me. And I sit. Face cast down.
Knowing everything can be seen and willing myself to be still.
In the end, she makes eye contact and beams at me. I have no
idea what it—or she—means by it.
So my meditation for the day is :
How will
anyone know that You are pleased with me and with Your people unless You go
with us? What else will distinguish me and Your people from all the other
people on the face of the earth? (Exodus 33:16)
I need to pray on this question. And listen well for the
answer.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
In the moment
In two weeks, we'll be readying for the start of school. Actually, the kids are doing their reading and math packets now, so you can argue that readiness is an ongoing process. We're cleaning out, assessing what supplies we need to get, seeing what we have ready to go.
The materials portion of readiness is always the easy part. It's the intangibles--the soft skills, the social stuff--that always gives me pause.
My older son is psyched and ready for 8th grade. His summer program with the township finished, and he liked it so much he told me he'd rather do that than ESY next year. He had more get-togethers and sleep overs with friends this summer than he's ever had up until now. One can argue that it hasn't been much; on the other hand, it's been nonexistent til this year. Progress has been made.
My younger guy, as closed and internal as ever, remains my mystery. He's had an easier time in his programming, but his social interactions come bundled with big brother's. and why not--everything they do comes bundled, because they are de facto best friends. Hubby worries that their childhoods suffer for their lack of friends; I argue they at the very least have each other. And us.
So, they don't go and hang out at other people's houses. I can't worry about that anymore. We do as much as we can, continue to create as many opportunities as we can for them, and outside of that, we can't make anyone like either of them.
We'll keep on doing what we can. Looking ahead, Big guy makes communion and confirmation together this fall; little man moves into Webelos scouts and starts trombone lessons. We'll see how these things go.
All we can do is keep moving forward. We've come so far, yet have so far to go.
The materials portion of readiness is always the easy part. It's the intangibles--the soft skills, the social stuff--that always gives me pause.
My older son is psyched and ready for 8th grade. His summer program with the township finished, and he liked it so much he told me he'd rather do that than ESY next year. He had more get-togethers and sleep overs with friends this summer than he's ever had up until now. One can argue that it hasn't been much; on the other hand, it's been nonexistent til this year. Progress has been made.
My younger guy, as closed and internal as ever, remains my mystery. He's had an easier time in his programming, but his social interactions come bundled with big brother's. and why not--everything they do comes bundled, because they are de facto best friends. Hubby worries that their childhoods suffer for their lack of friends; I argue they at the very least have each other. And us.
So, they don't go and hang out at other people's houses. I can't worry about that anymore. We do as much as we can, continue to create as many opportunities as we can for them, and outside of that, we can't make anyone like either of them.
We'll keep on doing what we can. Looking ahead, Big guy makes communion and confirmation together this fall; little man moves into Webelos scouts and starts trombone lessons. We'll see how these things go.
All we can do is keep moving forward. We've come so far, yet have so far to go.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
The Least of my Brothers (and Sisters)
It all starts and stops here.
Whether or not exactly true, details matter not. The crux of this story is how people who call themselves Christians treat the very ones that Christ himself had no problem hanging and breaking bread with.
For me, this is personal.
I've been thinking lately of a family; the older son I taught in Sunday school a number of years ago. His mom, I was told at the time, had volunteered to teach, but was turned away because a number of families threatened to withdraw from the religious program if she did.
I remember thinking at the time how appalling it was that some one willing and able to volunteer to teach (especially given the dearth of volunteers and none of these people threatening were willing to step into the gap) would be turned down because of her differences. I won't lie; she marches to a different drummer. So do I, so I can certainly appreciate what that looks like.
I didn't say anything, though; I just nodded, the conversation continued, and that was the end of it.
But the family was always kind of there on my radar, since ours is a small community. And I watched the kids grow up at a distance. I was told at the end of that year teaching that my student had an IEP. I hadn't realized it until it was pointed out to me. I had treated him as I treated all the rest of my students, and he did a great job of learning what he needed to learn.
I saw him again about a month ago at a community function while I was manning a food stand. He approached me, and I remember, inwardly, my jaw dropping. Food on his face, ketchup smeared on his shirt, he asked me for something. I smiled at him, answered, gave it to him. And inwardly I wondered what happened to the small, bright-eyed boy who had been my student years ago.
And of course I couldn't help comparing him to my older boy, who is nearly the same age.
Which leads me to wonder what happened in the intervening years, and led me to appreciate how my family looks, and how we are treated in the same context.
After all, it wasn't lost on me that some people opted for their child to skip PREP K when they found out I taught it. I never really cared, frankly. My students always had a good time.
But, getting back to my original thought. I've spent a lot of time thinking and praying on the least of my brothers and sisters, and what I can do to help.
The answer is always "Look in the mirror."
Before you change the world, you need to change your heart.
Forget Christian. Be Christ-like.
That's what He wants.
For the least of your brothers.
Whether or not exactly true, details matter not. The crux of this story is how people who call themselves Christians treat the very ones that Christ himself had no problem hanging and breaking bread with.
For me, this is personal.
I've been thinking lately of a family; the older son I taught in Sunday school a number of years ago. His mom, I was told at the time, had volunteered to teach, but was turned away because a number of families threatened to withdraw from the religious program if she did.
I remember thinking at the time how appalling it was that some one willing and able to volunteer to teach (especially given the dearth of volunteers and none of these people threatening were willing to step into the gap) would be turned down because of her differences. I won't lie; she marches to a different drummer. So do I, so I can certainly appreciate what that looks like.
I didn't say anything, though; I just nodded, the conversation continued, and that was the end of it.
But the family was always kind of there on my radar, since ours is a small community. And I watched the kids grow up at a distance. I was told at the end of that year teaching that my student had an IEP. I hadn't realized it until it was pointed out to me. I had treated him as I treated all the rest of my students, and he did a great job of learning what he needed to learn.
I saw him again about a month ago at a community function while I was manning a food stand. He approached me, and I remember, inwardly, my jaw dropping. Food on his face, ketchup smeared on his shirt, he asked me for something. I smiled at him, answered, gave it to him. And inwardly I wondered what happened to the small, bright-eyed boy who had been my student years ago.
And of course I couldn't help comparing him to my older boy, who is nearly the same age.
Which leads me to wonder what happened in the intervening years, and led me to appreciate how my family looks, and how we are treated in the same context.
After all, it wasn't lost on me that some people opted for their child to skip PREP K when they found out I taught it. I never really cared, frankly. My students always had a good time.
But, getting back to my original thought. I've spent a lot of time thinking and praying on the least of my brothers and sisters, and what I can do to help.
The answer is always "Look in the mirror."
Before you change the world, you need to change your heart.
Forget Christian. Be Christ-like.
That's what He wants.
For the least of your brothers.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
On the Verge of Summer
So as I dropped the kids off at summer holiday camp this am, I was amazed at how 'normal' we look. Mom, dropping off kids for the day, heads off to work.
Normal.
Or, at any rate, just like anyone else. And by hubby's reckoning, we are as crazed as everyone else, and something needs to give.
It's been an eventful year. Nic wrestled, played basketball, ran track (not very well or cooperatively, but there's always next year) and Gabriel played piano and violin and sold more popcorn than any other scout in his den. And we've gotten both of them extra help in the form of social skills groups and even found friends for them both to hang out with.
But the ends are fraying. It's been a tough but triumphant year. And we are all ready to hit re-set.
I'm struggling with what's next. I gave a keynote speech at a luncheon last month, and the president of the school asked me "so what's next for you? You should be lobbying in DC." I sent him a follow up email inquiring what that looked like and have yet to get an answer. Sweet talker.
I don't know. For the first time in a long time, I can't see what's next, only what's now. And what's now is that I need a break, to unwire, to disconnect for a little while to see what I really want.
But as near as I can tell, what I want is what I have. It's crazy, it's busy, it's maddening, but it's all mine.
I just want some quiet to hear myself think. I wonder what I have to say.
Normal.
Or, at any rate, just like anyone else. And by hubby's reckoning, we are as crazed as everyone else, and something needs to give.
It's been an eventful year. Nic wrestled, played basketball, ran track (not very well or cooperatively, but there's always next year) and Gabriel played piano and violin and sold more popcorn than any other scout in his den. And we've gotten both of them extra help in the form of social skills groups and even found friends for them both to hang out with.
But the ends are fraying. It's been a tough but triumphant year. And we are all ready to hit re-set.
I'm struggling with what's next. I gave a keynote speech at a luncheon last month, and the president of the school asked me "so what's next for you? You should be lobbying in DC." I sent him a follow up email inquiring what that looked like and have yet to get an answer. Sweet talker.
I don't know. For the first time in a long time, I can't see what's next, only what's now. And what's now is that I need a break, to unwire, to disconnect for a little while to see what I really want.
But as near as I can tell, what I want is what I have. It's crazy, it's busy, it's maddening, but it's all mine.
I just want some quiet to hear myself think. I wonder what I have to say.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
