The Glitter in my life...

...turns 15 today.

I started this momentous week in bed with the flu. At 9:45 on Monday evening I was in bed hoping to be well enough to go to school the next day, willing my body to sleep. Enter #1.

"Um, Is now a good time to talk about something that is going to make you feel old?"

For an eloquent child she sure needs to work on how she approaches her parents!

Her father said NO. I groaned. She practically skipped on over to my side of the bed and handed me a giant stack of college brochures.

"I went to a Catholic college fair today. These are the colleges that looked interesting."

Stunned silence. Sooooo not ready for this conversation.

She continued, "I am freaking out. I don't know what to do with my life. I don't know where Iwant to go to college. I don't know how I will decide." On and on.

We pursued the college discussion briefly and I tried to send her away.

"Oh and one more thing, I turn 15 in 3 days and I need to go get my permit."

AAAAHHHHHH!

I love number one and everything about her. But I fear her on the road. It is a scary place to be for the most veteran of drivers. This is going to take awhile to process.

#1 has recently started to blog. Her writing is still experimental, but as it has been since 2nd grade, her writing voice is strong. I believe there is in her a WRITER. She has to work through that and decide how she wants to share her voice and passions with the world. Readers who follow my blog really should look at hers, it is more entertaining and life affirming.

http://moreglitterplease.blogspot.com

Many years ago I was shopping with #1 in a fancy pants store. We were looking through women's clothing. A sales person brought a very bright and sparkly shirt over and asked #1 if she thought her mommy would look pretty in that shirt and didn't she think mommy should buy it.

#1 replied, "No thank you, my mommy just wears black pants."

What is it that they say about out of the mouths of babes? It is true, I am pretty bland.

In fact I am vanilla. The quintessential square. There is nothing glam about me. I have a new sassy hair cut and am trying to wear earrings. Those are my big fashion risks in the last 15 years.

So how did I get a glitter child like #1? She dances and floats everywhere she goes. I don't dance and people often ask me not to if I try. Her wardrobe is as varied, with as many options and looks as there are stores in the city. I have about three looks. I alternate them over the course of 5 days. She sings in the shower. I shower fast and furious and move on to the next project.

The list goes on.

And yet she is mine. She is my first. I learn and grow with each step she takes forward.

I think God knew that I would never chose glitter on my own so he gave me some. The kind that will never lose its sparkle. The kind that twinkles so joyfully all around her must feel joy too.

So apparently I may never figure out how I got this glitter child, but it seems that perhaps I do know why. And I am so grateful.

Love to you #1.

95! Apparently you can teach an old dog...

While the morning of 9/11 was spent celebrating my new teen daughter, the evening found us celebrating the other end of the age spectrum: Gram turned 95 on 9/13. We celebrated the way Gram likes with a whole family gathering at Sortinos. (Most of south Omaha was there too and it is NOT kid friendly.) Anyway...

I distinctly remember growing up in this weird dichotomy of feeling loved by my grandparents and thinking they were pretty neat, but also being aware that some of my Gram's feelings towards others in the world weren't quite right. There were words, phrases and attitudes that shocked, stunned and upset me more as I grew older.

When I brought my husband to family gatherings, pre husband status, I found myself apologizing all the way home.

"Gram was raised when people talked like this" "She doesn't mean it" "It is her generation"

On and on

I tried to make it OK.

When I brought children to these gatherings I hoped that I wouldn't have to explain away anything. Most of the time I was safe.

When we decided to adopt from Haiti I didn't discuss this with Gram. After all, I didn't know when it would happen, what child it would be, etc. Why rock the boat?

I was nearly sick with worry and anxiety when I drove to Gram's with a photo of #3. I had decided I had to tell her. She handled it with grace and a certain aplomb. No big deal.

It was weird. How could this be? Then she told me, " It is just like you and Thomas to try to save the world by adopting. Well, I hope it works out and we get this girl home soon." End of story.

Fast forward to a 93 year old little woman, recently moved from her house to a home. Showing her age more all the time. Meeting three, not one, little Haitian children and trying to figure out how come there are three and why we have them.

Her questions so poignant.

Where are their parents? Will you be in contact?

Won't the parents want to see how they grow? Can you imagine how hard it would be? Why did they give them up? Do the kids talk about their parents or miss them? Whoa Gram! You are crushing me with the weight of these questions!

Over time she has come to know these knew grandchildren. She is warm and loving to them. No one would ever guess that the racial epithets I heard in my youth ever came from her kind smiling mouth.

What is the saying about old dogs? 95 is pretty old and yet it appears she did learn. Her heart had room. And she chose to let these little black children in.

I am so proud that my 5 children know Gram and love to visit her and have her visit us. They are not afraid to kiss her papery skin, hug her bony shoulder or rub her veiny arm while sharing popcorn or pizza or chips.

It is one of the best things I have done to cultivate this relationship.

So the family is gathered in long rows in a loud pizza place. Thing one and two are on the cruise from relative to relative. Mr. Man settles in with my lovely cousin and dearest friend. Poor Jackie made the mistake of calling attention to the fact that Mr. Man was lovin' on her...

That's when Gram hollers across the table... "Don't you get too fresh over there, you are messin' with my boyfriend. You like me best don't you John John."

A cross racial relationship Gram? Really? At age 95?

I laughed openly at this funny exchange. But I have to admit my heart swelled a bit and it is possible that my eyes may have leaked too. ( a great phrase I am borrowing)

What a learning moment for us all!

#2 = teenager= so many lessons still to learn

Last year I wrote my first child specific blog entry about 9/11 and my 9/11 birthday girl. This year we approach the 10th anniversary of that tragic day and there are signs of the memory every where. Flags in Memorial Park, flags flying at half mast, billboards and kiosks and church marquees all telling us that we must not forget.

And we must not.

But the saying goes Forgive and Forget. And as surely as we must not forget, we must forgive.

The chapel service at Awesome School (I am borrowing this nickname) was focused on forgiveness. "How many times must I forgive someone?" asked Peter of Jesus, "Seven times?"

And Jesus replied, "Seventy times seven times." That is a lot.

Tonight at church the same reading was shared and the homily was similar. How can we forgive something like 9/11? Fr Gelig's thesis was how can we not? How can we carry such a weight?

Our soul needs us to forgive. Our hearts need to shed the burden of carrying the hate and anger. Forgiveness does this. Whether we are forgiving a truly horrendous act or ourselves, forgiveness heals. Always.

I realized tonight during mass that my child will always have a birthday surrounded by messages from a variety of sources based on the memory of 9/11 and how it changed the world. Those messages will no doubt contain words like hope, forgiveness, change, acceptance, peace. There will be other words: revenge, hate, war, anger.

I hope she will put the first set of words in her heart. I hope she isn't even aware the other words exist.

I think it is a gift to be reminded that one must forgive and one should have hope and one should work for peace every year on your birthday.

My #2 is a special girl, but she is hard on herself and hasn't learned yet to forgive the mistakes she makes. She is a child of hope. I see that in her fresh attitude and openness to the world and all its people and lifestyles.

I want her to forgive her parents too. Goodness knows we have made mistakes. We will make more. I hope on her birthday I am reminded to forgive and let go of all the little things that annoy me. I hope she is reminded to forgive her dear old mom too.

How easy it is to hold on to grudges, big and small. How hard it is to let go of the power that is withholding forgiveness from someone.

We celebrate a new teenager today. My heart is full in good and bad ways. I am so proud of the young woman she is. I am so sorry that growing up means growing away.

I am not ready for her enter high school and live such an independent existence like

high schoolers do.

So I will work to keep the fullness of my heart focused on the hope and beauty of #2. Living with her and watching her will make that easy.

I thank God for #2. Love you dear!

Home

5115 Grant St and I have been at a sort of stand off. I think it began when I had to install a porta potty before I could move in. Score one for the house. The house continued to rack up the points: washer floods the basement, weird electrical causes random outages, no AC and it 100 outside. I nearly gave up. It was not a beautiful beginning to the relationship.

BUT once the boxes were in and trash was out I moved on to the fun stuff. Which involved beating the house with a hammer and drilling holes through the plaster. The plumbers and

electricians came and I began gaining ground and winning the battle.

However, I have to say that I was worried. The house wasn't feeling like home. Jobs were hard. There was no routine for cooking dinner or doing laundry or cleaning the place.

Meanwhile everyone else was settled in and making the neighborhood their own.

Everyone seemed comfortable. When I mentioned to my husband that I was having a hard time feeling at home he said he was willing to start house hunting again if I needed to.

Now that is love.

School has started and time in the humble abode has dwindled. We are here for eating, sleeping and scant minutes of quality family time. I thought my window for falling in love with the house had closed til next June.

Labor Day weekend brought the last hurrah of summer. I spent 2 days cleaning, hanging more art and such, doing yard work and straightening the patio. My efforts were rewarded twice:

English teaching buddy and her great kids came to play on Saturday and Fairy Godmother and her clan brought dinner over Sunday.

I watched a Husker game and chatted with my

buddy while our kids played nicely (even the twins). It was so great that I forced them to stay for dinner.

Sunday evening brought dinner, wine, dessert by #2 and a fire on the patio. It was lovely. Homey. Natural. And a lot like hanging out in the bungalow used to be.

I woke uphung over on Monday but feeling just a bit of warmth for the old tudor.

Today my husband let me stay in bed till 7:30. After that amazing start the day flowed by in a relaxing and productive manner. When I put my feet up and opened my book after the Husker game I realized that I was pretty happy here.

I am sure the journey of making this home is not over. But I think I am accepting that making memories to make a home is a journey I am ready to take.

Once you stop...

My last post was July 11... Holy Cow! July 11th? That was forever ago!

My new house count down must have gotten lost in the move. It is not the only thing.

I had some great photos of the over stuffed SAM unit, moving day and some of the finished rooms. I can't find most of the photos and I can't figure out how to get the ones on Facebook off that site and on to mine.

So I guess I am using this post as an opportunity to force myself back in to the habit, photos or not.

The bungalow is someone else's home now. The tudor is ours.

Everyone says, "are you all moved in?" Well, our stuff is in and some of it even has a place. The boxes are gradually getting unpacked and we are cooking and living here like real people. So, yeah, I guess we are all moved in.

Sometimes it even feels like home here. Little by little the space is growing on me. The house is filled with all our old stuff (much to #3's disappointment- she thought a new house meant all new stuff) but it looks and feels much different here.

The kids are loving the neighborhood, back yard and short drives to everywhere. Their enthusiasm is helping to increase mine.

We are back to school now and the routine is helping also.

The Beckers have lived in the new abode for just over a month now and I do think it will be alright.

I hope my next entry will have photos and something interesting to say.

This entry is all about getting back on the horse.