My Potty Mouth

So Bruce Jenner becomes Kaitlyn Jenner and the cheese ball joke heard around the world was, “I wonder what bathroom he/she will use?” (insert moronic laugh here). What few realized was that was the exact thing thousands, not millions, were dying to bring up and capitalized on Jenner’s transformation as the opportunity of a lifetime. Then all the major news outlets picked it up and the avalanche began. You cannot turn on morning TV without the transgender bathroom fight popping up. Now the President has weighed in through executive order. And even less surprising than our president weighing in on a liberal issue and interfering with states' rights, Texas is probably going to sue the federal government over it.

Current state leadership is proclaiming that keeping bathroom integrity is a top issue for the state when the legislature comes into town.  I am not happy. Not only as a mother but as a rational, educated woman the thought that this issue even ranks high enough to be mentioned disturbs me. I live in Austin, the liberal mecca of Texas. It is also a place where public the school system is facing financial challenges, our roads are insufficient, health care is mess, the list could go on but- don't worry-the state will make sure our bathrooms are safe.

Bad men sneak into women’s restrooms; it is not a new thing. As a kid, my mom would always check the bathrooms before I walked in to protect me. I do the same for my kids. Bad men will always break the law, their intent to cause harm and steal the innocence of a child will not be deterred if some man who believes himself to be a woman and dresses as such is peeing in the stall next to mine.

Bad men lay in wait in men’s restrooms too. There is a reason I make my son talk to me when he is in the men’s restroom and I have to wait outside the door. There is also a reason I ask my kids to hold my hand when we cross parking lots, why I do not let my daughter dress according to current standards of appropriateness, why I apply sunscreen to their young skin: it is because I love them and want to keep them safe from all harm. I am smart enough to know that I cannot totally protect them but I will do all in my power to keep them safe. And I reserve the right to tear apart anyone who hurts my children.

Bad men and women exist in this world and if they are intent on causing harm they will do so in bathrooms, at malls, in parking lots, in movie theaters, in their own homes and within their own families. Our country is struggling with its divided citizenry warring amongst itself: some to be all inclusive and some want boundaries and borders not only recognized but respected including the boundaries of bathrooms. It is sad. We have real issues to be addressed and this distraction is seen as a serious policy issue.

Hello, ever hear of ISIS? They want us dead. No negotiation. They scare me and they should scare you. The transgendered person in the bathroom may offend your beliefs of right and wrong but they likely will not do you harm. I am sorry I am not more sympathetic, I have kids to raise, work to do and love to share. 

The Church's Candles

          "Mommy, they sound like candles," Boone said as he listened to the choir on Sunday morning. "Candles?" I asked not sure if I heard him right.
     "Yes, mommy, candles. Their singing goes up and down like the fire" he said.
"You mean like the flame of a candle?" I asked and he nodded yes excited that I finally understood what he meant.
      "Why is she wearing all black?" he asked.
I was relieved I could answer that one easily, "she must like the outfit. Mommy is wearing black, it is a nice color." He continued his observations with the conductor moving her hands up and down was like she was putting out the candles then bringing them back to life.
      "She controls the candles," was his conclusion. And it was then I saw church through five year old eyes.
           We sat in the balcony on Sunday because that's where my kids like to sit. Boone went on to ask about the microphones that hang from the ceiling, the flowers on the stage, why the minister wore a black robe did he and the music lady plan that... who killed Jesus, "Didn't they know what they were doing?" And then he saw the baptismal. "That's where you get dunked," he said.
"That is where you are baptized," I corrected.
      "What is that exactly?" he asked and I explained it was a public declaration of bringing Jesus into your heart. "I want to do that," he said when I am like 7 or 8 which seems forever in his mind.
I asked "why wait" and he said He could fit better in an bigger heart, "He needs enough room to fit".

I did not learn any great life lesson in those moments but I came away with a fun memory. Boone is not the easiest kid to raise but despite our not so spectacular moments that morning I felt some assurance that it would all be okay.

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).