My Christmas Story

At 5 AM we heard quick footsteps on the hardwoods above our room, then a second set joined suit. “They’re up,” was all I got out before they started down the stairs.

            “Did he come? Did, he? OH MY GOODNESS!” B squealed as he peaked into the front room. The Christmas tree was lit and presents were overflowing. The glow of the tree’s tiny white lights were exaggerated the early hour; the pitch black morning framed through the picture window behind the tree.  

            That is how the Christmas 2015 started. Just as I wanted: in our home, the kids running down the stairs to see Santa’s delivery, squeals of delight. The largest gift was from me and H but mostly well actually all of it was from him, my name got attached somehow and I did not correct anyone.  The kids opened the front door and an urban scooter was on the porch. Not a Vespa but a scooter minus the sidecar that was ordered but did not make in time for Christmas. Each kid (including my husband, the biggest kid of all) got a real helmet not like the cheap plastic ones we got them for their first bike ride. As it was pointed out to us, our children’s heads will be the same height as every car’s bumper. Ugh!

            H agreed to the kids’ demands for a ride on the new toy. B climbed up first then E got her turn when they returned. I even went for a quick spin before picking up the torn tissue and wrapping paper that littered the floor and packing for our planned trip to my parents in South Texas.  There was a lot to do to get me and the kids ready. What was a peaceful feeling at 530AM was turning into a slightly overwhelming feeling. The maternal stress that never really leaves me started creeping its way back into its familiar place in my bones. H sensed my this and offered to take the kids for hot cocoa at the neighborhood coffee joint they noticed was opened on their earlier joy rides. The house was then quiet and I started my packing.

            Twenty minutes later, E bounced through the door. I asked where her brother was and was told, “Dad is going back to get him. We can’t both ride at once.” GULP. In a calm voice, “You mean Dad left him at the coffee shop? Where?” She said he was outside on the benches. Please remember we are talking about my 5-year-old son. He’s 5 and alone at a coffee shop. E saw I was about to loose my cool and interrupted the process with, “he’s fine mom. Geesh, he’s with that singer dude you like with 3 names. John Jackson Joe or whatever.” With a tilted head and puzzled head, I asked her who she was talking about again. She said, “that guy, the singer. Me: “Jerry Jeff Walker??” With relief in her face she said “Yea, him. He’s drinking coffee by B so its all good. I’m still outraged but then both H and B walked in the door safe and there was too much to do so starting that discussion did not make sense; I kept packing and loading the car.

            Thirty minutes later I am in the car wearing my Mrs. Claus apron and Santa hat in total Christmas spirit with the kids ready to go. This is my new car. My first solo road trip in it. I push the ignition button…nothing. I had left the keys inside on the counter and could see in my mind exactly where they were so I asked E to please run inside and get them. Minutes later a crying, hysterical, red faced child comes sprinting to the car.

             It turns out that when picking up my keys E did her traditional flare thing and threw them above her head in a playful gesture. In doing so she hit one of the custom lights that hangs above our kitchen bar shattering the light fixture. I got out to clean up the mess after I got that story out of her. She was afraid her father would flip out which he probably did once he saw it but that was after I cleaned it up and left. Honestly, the broken light just matched the other one B knocked a hole in when he played football in the house. It's all good. Forward motion I kept thinking, just have to move forward.

             E is still crying when I get back to the car. I offered comfort but at 9 years old her drama meter is higher than mine. Forward motion…. Just keep moving…  I drive three blocks from our home and stop at the stop sign to hear the crying get louder, the back lights illuminated and now B is yelling at E to stop her tears. It is complete chaos. I turn around and ask what is going on, can they please stop or tone it down I was trying to drive, yada yada yada…. Sometime during that plea I lifted my foot slightly off the break and rolled forward a bit. It was then we hear and feel the crash. At the exact moment I rolled a man turned the corner and we hit. My car mostly unharmed, his back bumper hanging like a tooth that needs to be pulled. Great.

               I reverse-that’s the opposite of forward motion- park, get out and do not even begin to argue or make some excuse of it not being my complete fault. I did not have the capacity. The cops showed up, we filled out the reports and between interviews I am now telling E to suck it up and stop crying. She is telling me now hers were not tears of guilt over the light but for me wrecking my new car. My voice raises  as I yell at B to get his tail back in the dang car after each attempt to run home and get his father. "Its just down the street," he yells. "but you are 5!!!!" I yell back, "get in this car NOW". My husband was on the other line and not answering his phone and well, I was holding it together but just barely.

                The cop finally called me over to visit with the other driver.  I am now standing in my Mrs. Claus apron- minus the Santa hat- on the side of the road again admitting fault. And that’s when it happened. The cop said he should give me a ticket but was not going to, “Its Christmas”. And the man I hit looked at me and said, “and I remember those days. My kids are grown now but (he paused looking down) I remember.” My eyes welled up with tears. Two complete strangers saw me for who I was in that stupid apron and I was so thankful for their understanding. My husband showed up on the scooter, assessed the damage, went back home got some rope and tied the man’s bumper back onto the car. We all left and I finally got enough forward motion to get to my parents. Still in the apron but in need of a hug and a nap from the emotions of Christmas Day.

                   Insurance is working the claim, we have recovered, the lights are not fixed but I’m making a conscious effort to drive more carefully and no one was hurt. Most of that day is a blur. I can publish this account only because I wrote the first of this piece days after Christmas when it was still fresh in my mind. I do not remember much but I will not forget the moment of kindness shown to me that day. Their eyes were not judgmental but understanding and for that I am thankful. The older I get the more I appreciate the moments not the days that mean so much.  

Full Circle Travels

EEEEEEEKKKKKKKK!!! OH MY GOODNESS!!!!! GET OUT OF HERE!!!!  THAT IS AWESOME!!!!!  OH MY GOODNESS!!!!  EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKK!

Last year I spent some time in California on business.  It was my first out of state client, grown up,  travel.  One morning while heading to the office with a fellow employee, we drove by a huge, pretty building (see above) that caused me to experience some deja vu.  I had never been Los Gatos, CA but yet that building was familiar.  I asked, "What is that?" pointing out the structure to my coworker.  He smiled, "that is the local high school."  I felt like an idiot and told him it seemed familiar but it must just be jet lag.  Then he finished his sentence: "...That was the 90210 high school, you know the TV show."

"Dude,", I said as calmly as I could while trying to suppress my excitement, "I grew up watching that show."  Brenda, Dylan, Kelly, annoying Donna, and my favorite Steve.  Plus it was my first introduction to Dean Cain (remember, Brenda brought him home from Europe as her boyfriend totally hurting Dylan but Brandon loved him, anyway…)  I loved that show.  AND they graduated in 1993, my graduation year.  Each Wednesday throughout high school I was glued to the TV.  They were me (kinda) and I was them (not really). It was Beverly Hills 90210 at 8, then Melrose Place at 9 which was totally inappropriate for me to watch but somehow I got to see it. And for the record, Jake was hotter than Andrew Shue...it was that bad boy thing.

The above picture is not mine, I did not ask my coworker to stop to let me snap it one but I had to post one.   (Thanks Google images!)

Now to the point:  I am a getting older, ouch!  I, like Brenda, Dylan, et all and not we are all grown up.  I am a believer in tangible milestones.  I keep items that serve as a reminder of important events.  I have concert tickets, hospital bracelets, cards, letters, pictures, wine corks, etc.  Each hold a purpose and serve as a reminder of where I have been that opened the doors to where I am today.  The Los Gatos HS was another milestone for me.

My Little Camper

Tonight is the eve of our journey to E’s first two-week summer camp experience. We chose Mystic as her home for the coming weeks and I may be more excited than her to see it. Mrs. Lehman, one of my guardian angels and the motivation behind this blog, always spoke of Camp Mystic’s beauty and the magic of the Guadalupe River. I will not be with E for 14 days but I know she will not be alone. In addition to my angel, Mrs. Lehman (I have asked her to hang close to E), one of E’s closest friends will be joining her at the camp. So she will not be alone but she will not be with me, or any family members (gulp).

Like any good working mother of two, I dropped some balls and did not get done all that needs to be done before we leave tomorrow. Today she and I endured all the ugly traffic of Austin, Texas, the August heat and bad parking jobs to try and complete our checklist. I get why people hate driving here. I do not who failed who: the electorate or the city government but Austin, we have issues. Anyway, we went in and out of stores looking for the necessities that fell through the cracks. I do not remember who thought horseback riding was a good choice for a camp activity but preparing for that one session has neither been fun or cheap. In summary, today was tiring, expensive and not fun. Did I mention the heat?

At each store, we parked, locked the car and E found her way by my side and without thought grabbed my hand. We held hands all day. My first reaction was to shake her off because it was hot (really hot) and our hands were sweaty but I saw she was undeterred. The realization lasted only a second but I looked down at her and decided she can hold my hand as long as she is willing to do so. I am lucky that at 9 years old she not only wants to be by my side but she wants to hold my hand.

Saturday night she will be sleeping in a bunk and far away from my protection. Sunday morning she will wake, dress, eat and walk to chapel under her own direction. Her friend will be in her cabin and she would be willing to hold hand if needed but I doubt E will try. Secretly I hope she won’t try. Secretly I hope she reserves that for me, at least for now.

Tonight we are packing and E and her brother are fighting. I think her annoyance with him is a defense mechanism for her to not miss him as much but maybe that is wishful thinking on my part. I am doing a lot of wishful thinking these days.

Please keep E in your thoughts and prayers. Peace.

We Are Enough

Session is a complicated time for everyone who plays a role at the Capitol. The legislative process is meant to kill bills; the good ones and the bad ones.  The actual process of accomplishing this requires long hours, at times shortened tempers and attention spans and a lot of communication. Many times, after session people find that not only their bills did not make it through the process but neither did some of their friendships, marriages, sanity, and relationships. 

I try to hold things together, maintain perspective and keep moving forward but there are days where I get stopped cold in my tracks. Today was one of them. I decided, with Wednesday being my long hearing night, I would escape the Capitol for lunch with E. It was meant to be a surprise for her and therapy for me; also a reminder about what is real and what is not in my world. 

She was thrilled to see me. We joined for a huge hug and I could feel her heart racing in her chest.  I waited for her to get her food and find us seats in her cafeteria. She is so independent, tall and beautiful so while her heart raced mine felt like it stopped trying to freeze the moment and her image.  We sat and started our visit. My phone started beeping, the kids around us were loud; the scene was less than ideal and I got overwhelmed. I looked down in her big blue eyes and mine filled with tears.  I could not hold them back. I wondered if she would ever know this feeling-this overwhelming, all consuming love that I feel for her. Mothers worry, pray, bite our tongues, speak our minds and endure countless sacrifices to help keep their babies’ world whole. I am a mother. But there is a price we pay for these things and during certain moments like our lunch today I feel the weight of that price and simply broke under the pressure. 

Typical of E, she pulled from a conversation we had last night to comfort me. And with her face turning red and tears building in her eyes she said, “Mommy, you are enough.” In a broken voice I whispered, “So are you, baby.  So are you.  Today you are MORE but you are always enough.”

Last night she was having a moment where her struggle for perfectionism reared its ugly head.  I sat her down and said, “Above all else in this world, know you are ENOUGH.  I am ENOUGH, you are ENOUGH, and we are all ENOUGH.  That is the beauty of having God in our lives because we know He loves us, and because He does we are ENOUGH.  Even when we mess up, act up, whatever.”

I am enough.  Session be damned.  Bring it on.  I am enough (at least me and my family think so).

Sweet Sweet Spirit

The Christmas decorations have been carefully packed away and the annoying elf has gone back to Santa (i.e. back in his box).  The house is looking empty but I am finally able to sit down and breathe. 

Sunday morning I went to church.  I asked the family to join me but they had made other plans while I was at an exercise class (insert shock here) so went by myself.  I will confess that when I go alone, I am tempted to skip altogether. I have used the time to write or read or just sit and think. I figure God understands this precious time and is okay with it.  I worship in my own way but this week I went to the service; something called me there. 

The opening music was beautiful and I wished my parents were with me to hear it.  Mom has always loved a good church choir.  Then I noticed the “Stuff” on the front table that revealed the congregation would be “breaking bread” today.   My first instinct was to plan my escape before communion started to avoid the longer service but something stilled my mind.  I was not snapping my fingers at the kids to get them to sit, I was not having to give approving nods at all their drawings or divvy up the M&Ms that have become a requirement before the service.  I was on my own and for today another’s hunger pains did not dictate my church schedule. So I sat and took it all in.

The sermon was about the “in-betweens” we have in life; the moments we are waiting for something to happen.  The minister told a story about going to watch an orchestra once and arriving a bit early.  He heard someone was tuning an instrument, saw someone was studying the score and someone was playing a beautiful piece of music.  He thought to himself that must be her solo, her chance to shine.  The seats around him began to fill and the theater’s lighting went dark then to a dimmer light than prior signaling the concert was about to begin.  He noticed the orchestra was now perfectly still awaiting their conductor, no movements seen or heard.  His companion commented, “now all there is to do is wait.”  His clever summary was this: in our everyday lives some of us may study His coming, some of us may practice our talents, and some may tune our selves in various ways like learning, exercising, etc. but we are all waiting for the next thing to happen in our lives and what we do while we are waiting matters.

So there I sat debating on if I should sneak out and get my alone time when the deacons rose to get their serving plates.  Normally, the congregation fills the aisles and walks down front to receive the bread and wine but today was different.  The deacons walked the aisles and passed the bread as they do the offering plates.  In watching this change of routine I missed my window to leave and realized I did not care.  I felt like I was where I needed to be.  An older man approached my pew and leaned in with the bread.  I broke off a piece and looked up to smile at him and say thanks but before I could he looked me in the eye and in a baritone voice said, “this is the body of Christ given for you.”  He was so serious and the gravity of the act we were partaking in struck me.  Tears filled my eyes, the intimacy of communion was clear.  I wasn’t aware of my craving for that level of intimacy with my faith but it was real and I was fulfilled with the Holy Spirit. 

Last year was not an easy one for me in some respects.   As the days of this New Year reveal themselves I am hopeful for what could be and what is to come.  I pray the in-betweens of my todays and my tomorrows are filled in purposeful and positive ways.  I do not want to count the minutes between sunrise and sundown because I only want the day to end, for the noise to stop and for life to give me some reprieve from the stresses I carry.  I hope I keep my courage to continue practicing, studying and tuning myself to be a better whole person not the fragmented person that I found myself to be at the end of 2014.  On Sunday, a soulful voiced messenger reminded me the body of Christ is in me and is a constant companion.  Today I am trying to let him carry the load for a bit and give my back a break.  Our relationship is a work in progress.