Flight flashbacks

Over the past week, I have had several opportunities to take to the skies as we have visited family in various places and spaces. As a mom who has traveled with children for almost 29 years, I often notice young children and their parents on these journeys. Some interactions make me cringe and others invite a heartwarming smile. All remind me of days gone by and the wonder and joy coupled with the stress and strain of flying with young kids in tow.

I recall the very first plane trip that our oldest son took when he could fully anticipate with wide-eyed wonder at least the general idea that we were going to fly way up in the sky. He was so very eager, but as we pulled up into the sky, he immediately fell asleep and missed most of this much anticipated flight. On an earlier flight when he took his seat upon my lap as those under 2 years of age were able to do, we sat next to a grumpy guy who several times asked me to please keep my son from touching him. I did my best. But this kid was an active wiggler. I had a one-gallon Ziploc bag of Cheerios (rookie mom mistake – sandwich bag size would have been more prudent) that I slowly doled out to keep him quiet and occupied. But at one point, he grabbed the open bag by the bottom and flung it up into the air. Cheerios rained down everywhere, especially on the grumpy guy’s lap. There were compassionate people and flight attendants all around that helped clean up the mess.

Our three sons were born in the span of five years. When our youngest was only a matter of months old, I flew cross-country to visit my parents in Arizona. On the trip back home, I was the solo parent accompanying our three boys. We took our seats  in the almost very back of the plane. Our middle son, almost 3 years old at the time,  loved to sing. He wasn’t much of a wiggler, but he started belting out some of his very favorite tunes – stuff like Wheels on the Bus and Jesus Loves Me. The elderly couple in front of us requested that I please make him stop. Once again, I did my best, but in my heart I wanted to say, “you have no idea how disastrous this situation could be right now – singing is the least of my worries.” Except for trying to keep my warbler quiet, this trip way exceeded my expectations.

When we adopted our two girls, it required 24 plus hours of travel to make our way halfway around the earth. There was a lot of pacing up and down the aisles with grief stricken toddlers. We weren’t the only ones. At one point when we were coming home with our oldest daughter, she fell asleep on the floor in front of us in a very awkward looking position. My husband felt like she must be uncomfortable and attempted to rearrange her splayed limbs. She woke up with a start and commenced to scream. I was not a happy person… On our second adoption trip, we juggled the needs of two toddlers as we made our long journey home.

Now that our children are well past the “I’m not sure what calamity might happen on an airplane stage”, I do my best to be kind and compassionate and helpful to all who travel along with children in this “wildcard” stage. Even when the screaming baby is disruptive to my peace and plans, I remember that there are earaches and overtired bodies and frustrated parents in the mix. Sometimes there are reasons that we will never know or understand that lead to meltdowns and freak-outs way up in the sky. Everyone can feel like a trapped animal in the narrow confines of a plane. Sometimes we make assumptions and judgments about people and situations about which we know nothing. It is a place where small acts of kindness and grace and recognizing that we never know the backstory of any one situation can go a long way.

Do you have any traveling with or without children nightmares? How do/did you handle it? I would love to hear your stories.

The boys on the bikes

Much has been shared and posted and written and in both raw and eloquent form expressed about the Stanford swimmer’s sexual assault of an unconscious young woman. Personally, I have let my thoughts and feelings and decision to publicly address this or not percolate within my heart and mind and soul. I have taken a wait and pray posture on this one.

I want to scream when I read the rapist’s delusional claim, “she liked it.” The most offensive “20 minutes of action” perspective of a father making a lame attempt to defend the indefensible has inflamed anger and passion within. A legal system that protects the privileged and so easily disregards the pain and suffering and voice of a  woman can almost make my head explode. This particular story would most surely have a radically different ending if the perpetrator embodied more melanin in his skin.

I have been reminded of what consent does and does not entail. The brave, vulnerable and honest letter that the victim wrote touches me deeply. And then to imagine the fortitude required for her to stand before her attacker and read it to his face paints a picture of brutal and raw courage. Especially when he continues to deny and justify and belittle his savage behavior. The actions of the two graduate students who came upon the crime scene and took action within this tale of darkness offer a sliver of light in a very gloomy space.

As mom, I experience this as both mom of male and female offspring. On the daughter side of this equation, stories like this can be terrifying if I let my mind spin out the worst-case scenarios for too long. Not a one of us is immune from the possibility of such destruction entering our life, our family, our children. We are delusional if we believe otherwise.

In response, I have landed upon the writing of a letter to my sons.  

Dearest sons of mine,

When I held your infant selves, I sometimes dreamed of the men you would one day become. I have not been disappointed.

As you grew from child to adolescent to fully man, by sheer genetic and gender laws of nature, there was always a line that was crossed when you had the physical strength to take me down. Only one time in all your growing up years, did I think this actually might happen. Just for one terrifying fleeting second. 

But you had a dad who demanded respect and honor at all times, but most especially if the object of your frustration or anger or any other of the passion flaming feelings rumbling deep down inside was of the female type. Especially when she was your mom.

You were born into privilege. My desire is that your random, lottery winning birthplace never leads to feelings or actions that scream out entitlement, particularly as you interact and live alongside those with a different beginning place.

I promise to never care about your swim times or your career performance or any other human measure concocted more than I care about your character. I hope you hold yourself to the same standard deep within your soul.

As you do life with your wives or girlfriends or the drunk lady in a bar, I beg of you to see them with the same eyes and heart that you would desire for any other male person to use as they interact with your sisters…or your mom.

If you ever find yourself in a space or place where you have done something that you deeply regret, I hope you will own it. As your mom, I believe that I could walk alongside you, love you deeply, but never ever try to justify any pain and suffering delivered to another.

The boys will be boys sentiment around the oft repeating stories of sexual assault makes my blood curdle. If you ever walk up on such a real life drama, my greatest wish is that you will be just like the boys, the boys on the bikes. Be like these honorable and decent men who stopped and helped and then wept tears of sorrow because of the pillage and pain to which they had become witness.

This devastated young woman whose life has exploded on so many levels wrote this to the men on the bikes: “Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me, who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this story. That we are looking out for one another.”

Be the heroes. Look out for one another. Be the men on the bikes. I love you. Mom

Hail to the middle

It hits me every year. The last week of school arrives and I feel a most deep and sincere gratitude for the amazing people who have spent countless hours with my children teaching them everything from reading to writing to arithmetic to how to be kind and compassionate citizens of our planet. This year is no exception.

Both of our daughters are currently in what was called junior high back in my day and now goes by the name of middle school. “I wish I could go back to my middle school years”, says no one ever… though actually I once met a lady who said those were her favorite years. My own experience was quite to the contrary. I hated those years. I was desperate to fit in, regularly angry at my mom, and didn’t like myself at all. It was confusing and miserable and I felt fat and out of sync. I hoped for something different for my own daughters.

Due to good fortune, in a random lottery sort of way, our oldest daughter was chosen to experience a kinder, gentler middle school experience. She then pulled her sister into the same. In our home, we had previously experienced a base middle school, magnet middle school as well as a private school, which of course required a financial commitment beyond our tax dollars. None of these situations came all that close to providing what I would call “a mostly positive experience.” With gratitude, I can now say that for children #s 4 and 5, we have moved into such territory.

I have tremendous love and admiration toward all who choose to teach children. I have written of this before and described them as some of the most incredible people on the planet. I stand by that assessment. But I have always said that middle school teachers, even a bit more than any other grade level in this sacrificial profession, seem to have a true call upon their lives. They just do. When such a divine match is made, they stay for years and years and years and wholeheartedly love and appreciate the awkward, identity seeking, sometimes goofy pupils that enter their classroom each and every year. They get joy out of doing life with children living through a stage that many a parent just desires to hold their nose and get through as quickly and painlessly as possible.

One of our daughter’s 7th grade teachers announced that she was pregnant this year. The strong bond and connection that my girl has with this teacher has been growing and was demonstrated in numerous ways throughout the year. Our girl used to go to bed every night and make lists of baby names for her teacher to consider. When they learned that this baby was a boy, she narrowed in and focused on coming up with the best boy name possible for this teacher that she loves.

Last week, a surprise baby shower was given in honor of this soon to be mommy. A bookcase was made and each student brought in a favorite title to share with the soon to arrive little boy. My girl took much thought and care in choosing one of her very own childhood favorites. It was a tough call, required some back and forth discussion and ultimately became a toss up with Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. I had a copy of Fly Eagle Fly on hand, so it won out.

Her teacher arrived and as predicted, she was shocked and tears began to flow. I heard her say something like, “I love these kids and this place.” Another mom noted, “this is why teachers do what they do.”

Along with the carefully chosen book, my girl wrote a letter to this beloved teacher. It kind of says it all:

Dear _____,

You have been a great teacher and you have taught me so much this year. I know that you would make a wonderful mother and I want for you to make his life special. You have taught me so many things and have helped shape me into who I am today. I want to thank you for this wonderful year and experiences. You have taught me to be carefree, open up and be the best version of me, along with grammar and prepositions. Teach your little boy the many things you taught me and make his life wonderful.

This little boy will be your pride and joy, while also being a great responsibility. Remember to always be as fair as possible when faced with hard decisions. Teach him to be kind, compassionate and truthful, while also giving him his own space. Let him be himself, but also keep an eye open for his wellbeing. Most importantly, love him and tell him that.

I love reading and a big part of it is because my parents read to me when I was young. I always enjoyed my bedtime story and I want for your kid to grow up around books too. Read him so many different stories and take him to magical worlds with the most unbelievable creatures. Introduce him to the wonders of reading and stories.

I want for you to have the most fun as a mother and also to grow as a mother.

Remember, a baby makes love stronger, the days shorter, the nights longer, savings smaller and a home happier. [Pinterest gets credit for that sentence.] Have fun and congratulations. I wish you many happy memories.

Best of luck,

My girl’s beautiful signature

Again, I say hail to the middle!

PS I did love to read to my kids but not all my kids love to read as much as this one. Just keeping it real…

Joy and the unexpected

Many plans and hopes and dreams had been imagined and focused toward this March weekend. Our middle son was to be wed to his beautiful, full of life fiancée. Much care and planning and negotiation preceded the four day celebration. The weather forecast was for rain and a dip in the spring temperatures. Many people from many places descended upon St. Louis to stand alongside and be with our boy and his bride. Lots of moving parts, people doing their share, and now it was go time.

As parents of the groom, our big event and responsibility was around the rehearsal dinner. It was time to set up for the evening. As I got into our rental car, youngest son and his beautiful wife in the backseat, I looked into my side mirror and saw this:

If I had been able to see a more accurate and full picture of what actually lurked alongside, it would have been this:

After a screech and scrape of metal against metal, a little advice from the man in the backseat, and a panic response that led to the meeting of a left rear bumper and a brick wall, I took a big, deep breath. “Now I have to tell your dad” came out of my mouth. Heart pounding and feeling a little sick and sheepish, I drove around to meet my most loving and gracious husband.

No one, most of all me, wanted this unfortunate car vs dumpster situation to cloud or color the event before us. After apologies, contrition and an agreement that it was most important to put this aside until much later, we traveled to our downtown destination. I practiced deep breathing and resolved to settle down for this most important celebration before us. My backseat passenger and his dad noticed my elevated stress level and put strong fingers to shoulders to assist in relief. It was a generous and welcome laying on of hands.

After an hour of technology set up, a space in which I can feel most inept, we worked through the issues and were on our way to rehearse for the wedding ceremony. From that point, all went well on this day. The energy was high, relationships were made and renewed, stories were shared and growing up child and couple photos set to music were enjoyed. I went to bed most grateful.

Around 6am, we heard groaning and crying in the loft above our room. Our youngest girl complained of stomach pains and restless sleep. After some discussion, the diagnosis was that it was most likely a case of eating a bit “off diet” the previous night and nervous energy around her groomsmaid (she was going to stand on her brother’s side) role for the day. I headed off to an early AM yoga class – yes, I now have a daughter in law who enjoys this pursuit even more than I – and soaked up the relaxing and centering instruction. A most fitting start to a wedding day.

As I rolled back to our home base, the news of our littlest girl child getting sick in the bathroom and a return to sleep greeted me. I still held out hope that this was a one and done situation. After all, this was a very big day. Her brother was getting married. Dresses, shoes, hairstyles and ceremony had been talked of for months. This was no day for a stomach bug.

The forecasted rain and cold gave way to a day that looked like this:

We were on a fairly unforgiving schedule and continued to march through the day and show up at the places required. We arrived at the bride’s home with dresses in tow, makeup and hair bags ready to roll. Having a sister in law afforded our girls a much more stylish look than mom could provide. Sister in law got to curling and twisting and making beautiful. But the stomach continued to ache.

I felt a great deal of tension and turmoil as we navigated the next hours. Between getting my own clothes and makeup in place, I checked in with our girl. Any change? Do you think you are going to be sick, or the more hopeful do you feel any better now? The look on her face was not a promising one. Trying to isolate her in case we were dealing with contagion while also knowing that if virus was in fact the verdict, she had been all around these people for the past 24 hours. Hoping with all my might that she would be able to be a part. Huddling with my husband to make contingency plans. Clarifying that mother and father of the groom being present as much as possible was the primary goal.

Pictures were made and she was able to be a part. We traveled to the church. She and I located restrooms, talked, wandered and agonized. I tried to comfort and be steady and realistic. It was emotionally draining. It would be devastating for her to miss the wedding or the reception, or both. Our family really likes to eat and dance and celebrate together.

And then, I had clarity. One last trip to the bathroom. This was definitely a stomach bug. Once I leaned into what was and quit straining for what I wished to be, calm came over the mother of the groom. Our dear and gracious and amazing sister and brother-in-law took her to their hotel room. She was in good hands. I was relieved. As much as I wanted her there, now I could be fully present for our son. And the wedding began.

It was beautiful and poignant and my heart swelled with love for this boy who was entrusted to our care for such a short time. He heard words of wisdom, spoke powerful vows and made and received promises as this new family was formed. It was holy ground, a celebration and much delight was imparted to this mother’s heart.

His little sister walked into the reception for a few moments but knew she needed to be elsewhere to give honor to her own body and situation. We all felt sad that she wasn’t among us as we ate and laughed and danced. We were most grateful for family and not one but two unselfish aunts and uncles willing to miss out so that we could fully be there. Our extended family loved us well on this day.

Our youngest girl had made fast friends on Friday with a fellow 6th grade boy from New York City while kicking a soccer ball and playing video games. His mom reported that he had a thing for sassy girls and was so sad to hear of the situation. Our girl’s sass had bowed down to sick on this particular day. He kept voicing hope that maybe she would come to the party for just a little while. I think he had hopes of dancing with our sassy girl.

During other segments of my journey, such an inopportune time for a fender bender and a stomach bug would have thrown me off balance in a more profound way. Though there were both deep disappointment and a wish for a partially different script on these days, the weekend was full of joy and laughter and tears and gratitude. We have another beautiful daughter in law and one more of our children has set up home with the one they love most deeply.

On Sunday morning, our girl woke up after about 14 hours of sleep and was almost as good as new. There were fifteen awful hours that came at a most unfortunate time. As we looked out the window on this day, we witnessed another short-lived snowy surprise. Sometimes the undesired or unpredictable happen.

Despite the twists and unexpected detours along this weekend, we still experienced great joy and true family, permeated with hope and the beauty of new beginnings. I believe this is an accurate picture of life and in particular life in partnership with another. There will be times of exhilaration and contentment coupled with periods of pain and unexpected sorrow. To this most dear to us newly joined husband and wife, when things go a bit or a great deal awry and the unexpected shows up in your days and years ahead, I wish you traveling mercies joined with true love and joy all along the way. We are most honored to be family with you.