Month: March 2024

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

We need each other

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#29 Lenten Reflections – Endless Lessons from Geese…

Last week I visited with a friend who was having a tough day, or rather week.

I knew the look on her face too well.

The helpless one.

The moment your child is struggling or a doctor calls with tragic test results, or your own mother’s Alzheimer’s robs her from getting herself out of bed independently. The things that cause a seismic rattle in your head and heart telling you to TRY to control everything yet everything is just out of reach and the tide keeps pulling you away.

She began to cry, so I suggested we step outside for air. I immediately looked up to the sky, because that upward glance always feels like I’m dipping my hand in holy water. Blessed by a blue sky or baptized by a shower. It’s a reminder we are not alone. Rain or shine, this wild celestial sphere tells me no matter how far away my parents, our kids, or friends are, we all share the same sky.

A pair of geese passed overhead, “Ahh, Look.”

She exhaled, “Yes. So beautiful”.

I went on, “Geese mate for life, you know.” Stating the fact as if I were some sort of ornithologist/goose marriage counselor.

“…and”…I continued, “If one goose is injured or hurt while flying in formation, two other geese will zoom out of formation with it, to ensure it is cared for and it is never left alone. Geez, if only we had the sense of geese, we would always be there for each other.” I sighed.

“You’re right.” she agreed.

We talked. I listened hard, a lot was going on in her life. Too much. God gave her a heavy serving of worry. I wondered if He does “give us only as much as we can handle” and when he accidentally adds too much to our plate, He places someone with us to hold our hand through it all. Someone to sit on the edge of their seat for us and hear and feel what we are going through and care about something that isn’t even ours. Someone who can be our “Plus One” through the tough times. So that’s what I did. I was simply there for her.

V–Formation- Teamwork

I thought more about the geese. There was a flock overhead. Their flawless synchronized vee formation held my gaze. The first goose flapped like crazy with each bird behind drafting with the corkscrew of air coming off the leader’s wingtips. A type of aerial tailgating. What’s cool is they just fall in…without planning or thinking about it. I mean, I can’t picture one goose saying, “Hey guys, we’ve got a heck of a flight ahead, let’s form a V and I’ll lead, you guys draft, and we’ll take turns.” Nope, they just form their V, share the load, and get to where they are going. What a team.

How does it work? (Fun Fact)

The updraft, called a tip vortex, helps geese save considerable energy during long flights. It may also enhance birds’ ability to see and hear each other, which helps avoid mid-air collisions. Picture the Tour de France. The peloton (the main group of cyclists) takes on an inverted V shape similar to the V-shape of geese flying through the air. The only difference is the cyclists position themselves where they have the best opportunity to attack or to challenge an attack if other riders try to jump ahead.

What I learned…

Geese are quite the role models. They mate for life, and stay by the other’s side if injured or dying, even if the flock moves on. They raise and protect their young together and take care of each other on the way. In fact, in the 16th Century, the Celtic Christians – those Christians in Brittany, Wales, Ireland, and the Scottish Highlands – the wild goose became a symbol of the Holy Spirit more so than the dove. Makes me think it’s like someone up there is shuffling these geese around to help us all figure out how to be a little more loyal and devoted to God and each other. Brilliant.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Quotes I love:
“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly — that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” – Anne Lamott

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#28 Lenten Reflection

My Mom has always loved St. Patrick’s Day. When I was younger, Mom would play the piano and I would sing Danny Boy and When Irish Eyes Are Smiling. I loved those moments with Mom at the piano and me sitting next to her, leaning on her (as always), turning pages when she nodded. Dad would yell from the living room, “Louder Lucretia! Sounds good guys!”

Our Irish connection was my Spanish and Irish great-grandmother Maria McCulloh with bright blue eyes and a strong Spanish accent. In 1891 she was in an arranged marriage at 16 to my great grandfather who was 70 years old. Alarming to say the least…but we have no control over our history, we can only embrace it, be grateful we are here, and perhaps NOT marry someone 54 years older than us. But thanks to Grandma McCulloh, I have a great story and a little bit of Irish in my blood.

Have a blessed day. I’ll leave you with my Mom’s favorite St. Patrick’s Day blessing.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Lost teeth = Kid Trophies

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#27 Lenten Reflections

I’m betting at most schools it’s tooth season. To a kid under ten, a wiggly tooth or a lost tooth is like a tiny trophy. So recently, to help my students celebrate their toothy triumphs, IF they can tell me they have a wiggly or lost a tooth in Spanish, they can write their names on a poster in the classroom. It’s kind of like graffiti for kids. If you’re five or six years old and can slap your name on a poster with a fat Sharpie, it’s a BIG deal.

This took me back to when our daughter’s teeth seemed almost cemented into her mouth.

In August 2009, our daughter realized something was happening to her tooth. She was seven years old, and most days, our walk home from the bus included at least one story about a friend losing a tooth, and the coveted sparkly tooth necklace they toted home. Finally, she had a loose tooth and she was going to get it out!

In various attempts to loosen her tooth, she wiggled it with two fingers, then tried the single-finger jiggle, and soon discovered her tongue could enlist her tooth to dance. Like most kids under 10, she hoped her tooth would fall out at school where lost tooth recipients received a free trip to the nurse’s office, where the tooth holder necklaces were stashed in the bottom file drawer. Later that day, much to her dismay, the tooth fell out while playing with her brothers on the backyard lawn. The tooth was found, placed in a homemade tooth necklace, and was set gently under her pillow that night. Note: Our Tooth Fairy was frequently “off duty” on the nights the teeth were waiting to be replaced by a gold dollar or a $2 bill.

Fast forward eight years. Waiting for Cora’s teeth to fall out was like watching paint dry. They held on tight. Some things just need to happen naturally, we thought…until talk of “small jaws” was slipped into the description of our children’s mouths. Awe. Sounds cute. But then, much like a baton passed in the 400 relay, a little piece of paper from the dentist was handed to us encouraging orthodontia services. After googling ‘orthodontia’ my first thought was, “Who even uses that word?” And second, I realized all the chatter about braces was true. These metal wonders cast a wide net. Everyone from ages 7-60 were donning colorful mouths, and pockets filled with teeny rubber bands, special floss, and disposable toothbrushes. All were welcome for the low low price of $5,000-ish.

So without looking back (not sure why), we picked the best (aka – most economical) orthodontist we could find. A gem of a man, Dr. McLendon understood my matter-of-factness when I told him we did NOT want the multi-round plan. That’s when kids get braces right after they kick the diaper habit, give their mouths a break while they learn to walk, and then jump back into the metal molds by grade school. Perhaps a slight exaggeration. We settled on the standard package with a 5% discount when paid in full, and as many “free” tiny containers of floss as you can “acquire” upon exiting.

Once we paid our admission for the braces roller coaster, our trips to the orthodontist were more frequent than our Costco runs. Maybe it’s just me, but either kid’s teeth are growing in looking as haphazard as the megalithic monument Stone Henge, or impeccable, movie star teeth are now the norm. Have you seen anyone under 40? They all have beautiful pearly whites.

Back Then…

Growing up in the 70’s, our family dentist, Dr. Johnston had a hardy laugh and reading glasses permanently perched on the tip of his nose as he peered into our small-jawed mouths (oh, genetics). While we waited, my sisters and I marked up the well-loved stack of Highlights and heard rave reviews of “no cavities!” hollered boisterously from the back of the office. We’d happily head home, and Mom would mark the calendar for six months when we’d see our jolly dentist again.

You see, back then, moms like mine possessed the orthodontist superpower. This braces radar, or “BRADAR” was so powerful, that with one glance at their children’s smiles, they could determine whether they truly needed braces. 9/10 times, the answer was no. Sometimes, moms could transfer these stellar abilities to their children and let them decide whether they wanted braces or not. Brilliant. Was the word orthodontia mentioned? Never.

In today’s world, orthodontia is as common as watching YouTube for a DIY project, or a funny cat video, so buckle up – the braces train is coming!

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Words connect and carry us

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #27

As I get older, I’ve heard the line, “I’m becoming my mother” more and more from my friends. “Me too” I concur. The way she rolls her tortillas in just one direction, or nods off in her chair. The way she fights for her family above all and the way she pounds her chest in a mea culpa at mass.

Luckily I was blessed with a mom who nourished us with love and common sense. She measures her words like a baker uses a knife to smooth the flour across a measuring cup, precisely and without an ounce of overflow. If Mom says it, she means it. One of the many traits I’ve picked up from Mom is threading “dichos” or sayings in my conversations.

So on one of my recent visits home with my parents, I made a list of all the Spanish and some “Spanglish” sayings they use. The one new phrase that resonated with me was: “Son los años compadre.” This means: it’s the years, my friend. This is used to assuage their frustration when they can’t remember where they set their glasses or are disappointed because they are tired after doing a fraction of the yard work they used to do. So they sit on the patio exhausted and say “Son los años compadre” like a confession – an exhale – a declaration: we’re getting older, let’s have a seat in the shade, drink some Gatorade and rest.

Aging takes its toll on all of us. First thing in the morning my Dad will say, “Come on body! Join me!” My mom lovingly teases Dad about his arthritis in his hands as the tip of his index finger points south. “Watch Dad point,” she tells me chuckling…it’s always something on the ground he needs.”

Their routine continually changes, zipping around in the truck to run several errands, and detouring to yard sales just doesn’t happen anymore. They still spend much of the day working in the yard which they are so grateful for, yet the amount of work wanes with the years. “We feel like if the sun is out, we should be out,” says Dad. So they plant and prune, check on each other, feed the cranes, rearrange the woodpile, take apart anything that has metal and can be recycled, and breathe in the fresh air.

Once back inside, the aches and pains kick in, and through all the “Ay, yai, yai’s” I can hear Mom say, “Son los años compadre.”

Dad replies, “Yo se, pura ay, yai, yai.” (I know all I say is ay, yai, yai).

They have a good laugh, another glass of water, Pedialyte, or Boost, rest, and watch the hummingbirds buzz around like they used to and drink their fill of sweet water.

Quotes I love:

My father’s wit, and my mother’s tongue, assist me!

Shakespeare – Love’s Labour’s Lost

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Mary Oliver’s Poetry = Healthy Content Diet

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

The 1930s began in depression, marring the soul and conscience of the nation. The timeline continues as the Boulder (Hoover) Dam was completed, horrific Dust Storms occurred, and Amelia Earhart flew solo across the Pacific. Finally, in the mid 30’s along with my parents, great sonneteer, Mary Oliver was born.

Mary Oliver is a ubiquitous poet known for her writings on the natural world. Her poetry speaks directly to the reader, using flora and fauna as her perpetual backdrop. Oliver’s words read like prayers, organically creating a community of believers in the joyful celebration of nature.

As we walk through our tattered world, each step feels steeper than the last. Therefore, I leave you with Mary Oliver’s poem, “Wild Geese”. On our hardest days may it lift us from sadness and leave us floating “high in the clean blue air”.

“Wild Geese”

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

-Mary Oliver

Here's more information on the amazing Mary Oliver: The Poetry Foundation

Thanks for joining me,
❤️Lucretia
Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Life through a 4-year-old’s eyes…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#24 Lenten Reflections

Some days I feel like I’m painfully inching up-up-up the Splash Mountain ride at Disney. Creaking and chugging along the way, thinking about the full nightmare of Gaza, Ukraine, cancer, acne, election year, school shootings, love handles, and the picture of the lost dog I’ve passed for the three weeks wondering if he’s home.

Then one day while I was chatting with Hadrian, a sweet and wise four-year-old who sounded like he should be God’s East Coast Representative. with all the answers for a simple life.

Here’s what he said:

“Life is like this…someday I’ll be in kindergarten, then first grade, then second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, then medium school, then big school. Then I’ll drive the car. Then I’ll have my own babies. Then I’ll die.”

That’s it. All we need to do is look at life in an outline form, big Roman numerals I, II, III.

While you fill in life’s hierarchies inside that simple outline, dig for the goodness: look up at the butterfly that drinks his fill at the milkweed and smell the bright purple crocus that pushed itself up even though the earth is dried and cracked, and my God listen to those frogs scream and sing in the ponds, and please when you get to the top of Splash Mountain of whatever you are climbing, throw your hands up and enjoy the ride down.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Caretaking management – my minutia marches on

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#23 Lenten Reflections

When it comes to taking care of our parents, we have a system. When I say “we” I really mean my sisters. One sister is the manager of us all and does a zillion tasks daily. The other two do a million things and I, call Mom and Dad a lot, yet it feels like not enough.

I am also in charge of…wait for it…calling the exterminator. This is crazy because growing up Mom and Dad would NEVER spend money on someone to kill bugs. In fact, when we were kids my oldest sister was hunting all over the yard for insects so she could pin them in a box for her entomology projects. So essentially, she was our exterminator. Of course we had a few stray mouse traps around. And no home in the 70’s and 80’s was complete without a fly swatter. Dad would walk around the house with that thing, swinging at flies, scooping them up, and saying, “Sorry guy”. Late at night, I remember grabbing that same swatter and hunting the relentless chirping South Valley crickets also.

Growing up I shared a room with my sister and if there was a spider sighting in our room, she was on a mission. The entire room was vacuumed top to bottom, furniture rearranged and the spider and its family was sucked into an Electrolux vacuum bag. I played it cool, and got out of my sister’s way. All I had to remember was which side of the bed to get up on in my nice, clean room.

But as the years passed, the bugs showed up more frequently when we visited and didn’t bother Mom and Dad) so I said, “I’ll take care of the exterminator!”

I took the job seriously and when hunting for the right bug guy or gal. I, of course, tried to find someone who spoke Spanish, mainly so Dad had someone to visit with while spraying poison around the house. I also had to make sure mom’s plants were not harmed in the process. All went well, but unfortunately, after the visit, I got a call from Dad, and nope! Antonio knew only a little Spanglish. “El Antonio no habla español,” Dad told me after his visit…” but a nice guy!

Darn it Antonio, couldn’t you fake it?! ——I had ONE JOB! 🙂

Per routine, Dad quizzed me on the cost. “What does that run?”

Then he usually shoots out a guess – “What? Like $50?”

I respond…”Más or menos…see not bad!”.

So the ants marched on, Dad got to visit with someone, Mom’s tomatoes and jalapeños were safe, and I made a small contribution from a distance. I’ll call them right now too.

I love my parents.

Take time for each other. Life is fleeting.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Lifelong learner…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#22 Lenten Reflections

Dinner conversations change when the kids are home from college. There’s more chatter about immigration law and the state of the economy and less about PTSA and batting practice. One thing is constant. I am always reminded how little I know. Yes, I realize the kids are benefiting from a well-rounded liberal arts education and I am teaching 3-7-year-olds to speak and sing in Spanish, but still, I listen to podcasts, the 99X Celebrity Sleeze, and NPR and should know something! So when they are home I sit a little deeper on the 20-year-old couch we would read stories on, listen more intently, settle in and prepare to learn.

Yesterdays lesson:

Since I am on a break from running (slow dramatic scream here). I have been spinning. It’s not as invigorating, there’s no sunshine, and well, think about the word spin, it’s a tad monotonous.

To jazz up my rides, I signed up for one free month with the Peloton app. Let’s be clear, I DO NOT have a Peleton. I DO, however, have a five-year-old Schwinn spin bike. So I ride the heck out of this bike or a spin bike 5-7 days a week.

Today as I was using the Peloton app, I saw the option for a “60-minute ride EDM”. Feeling hip, I thought EDM definitely had something to do with Endurance and I was ALL IN! As the class began, the instructor said she felt very connected with the riders because we were all EDM fans. I gave some virtual high-fives to my fellow riders on the screen and started the endurance ride! About 10 minutes in I was spinning fast and furious with the techno beat reminiscent of dance clubs in college. “Let’s go riders! You are killing this! You’re not knackered already are you? Listen to that EDM!” yelled the super fit British instructor who didn’t break a sweat the entire 60 minutes.

Wait. Listen to EDM? Listen…oooooohhhhhh! It’s a genre of music! I immediately yelled downstairs to the kids, “What’s EDM?!”

Cora yelled…”Whaaaaat???” I said, “Whaaat’s EDM???”

“Oh! It’s Electronic Dance Music!! EDM!”

Ah ha! So it’s a type of music. Got it.

After the ride, I was curious about EDM, and here’s what I found…

Think back to the days of dance clubs. The dizzying lights, the throb of the beat, slow crescendos, and long songs. Electronic Dance Music is a mixture of subgenres arranged for crowds of dancers, with disco music, synthpop, techno, house music, trance music, drum and bass, dubstep, trap, hardstyle, and others I had never heard of. When you hear EDM today, it’s a much different experience than what listeners of EDM would have heard in the 1970s, ’80s, ’90s, or even early 2000s.

Get this! There’s even a class at the UCLA Herb Albert School of Music called:

Origins of EDM – “In this course you’ll survey groove-based electrified dance music from its origins in 1960’s pop and soul to present, covering disco, house, techno, ambient, rave, and jungle. This course will emphasize the interaction of technology, musical structures, psychoactive drugs, and club cultures to induce altered states of musical consciousness; promise (versus reality of) political and spiritual transformation; electronic dance music as new art music.”

What I learned:

-Don’t be fooled into thinking the E in EDM stands for endurance. Although whether dancing or spinning to this synthesized, techno music, you will get a great workout.

-Ask your kids questions – there’s a good chance they know the answers.

Quotes I love about learning:

“When you learn, teach. When you get, give.” -Maya Angelou

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” -Mahatma Gandhi

“I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand.” -Confucius

Have a great day and get outside for some fresh air, it makes every day better.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

I knew every moment of their day…now it’s all in a text

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#21 Lenten Reflections

I was scrolling through the first 200-plus(!) pages of a journal I kept when the kids were little, and happened upon a daily schedule I drafted for Cora and Dexter when they were one and two years old.

I drafted it in preparation for the arrival of our third member of the “Irish triplets”. I had folded the onesies, unpacked the sun-faded baby Bjorn, scoured the toilets, and read “I’m a big sister/brother” books ad nauseam. Our cozy 1,400-square-foot townhome in Falls Church, VA was dusted, decorated, and definitely ready for Zavier. I pretended I was ready like I do before big things happen, but the unknown was as terrifying as it was terrific.

Luckily, our dear neighbors agreed to take care of our kids while I got a “night off” – I was excited about the hospital in Arlington where our charming Dr. Crowther from England was waiting for us. Her posh, polite voice sounded like the queen was monitoring my contractions. “Looks all good so far…Nice weather innit? Back in a jiffy”.

Here’s a snippet of what I left the neighbors…looking back I was amazed at how I knew every moment of the kid’s day…

Back then…I was pretty detailed.

I knew Cora loved peas and Dexter would forcefully spit out his sweet potatoes. I knew their favorite water bottles (yellow with red lids), and I memorized all the best books on repeat: Go! Dog! Go! “One big dog going…” –UP! “One little dog going…” –DOWN!

Then I blinked.

Literally, blinked, and off they went to school one by one and other people started guiding and teaching them stuff. Outside influencers! All I knew was what I sent them to school with and the “suggested” supply lists were loaded with things like Clorox Wipes, pencil pouches, and Skittles aka “smart pills” for good behavior. Let’s just say the Skittles did not make it to school. I was THAT mom who sent stickers instead. Soon you are simply picking up and dropping them off, reminding, yelling, and then listening before bed. As parents, we know everything if they talk to us or ask way too many questions if they don’t. Little by little I knew less and less of their lives.

Now… I don’t even know the classes they take and just learned their majors. When anyone/Dad asks me excitedly “How many hours are the kids carrying this semester?” I take a guess “Probably fifteen”.

Dad is their biggest fan, “Fifteen?! Well, that’s enough! They are workers! And their grades, holy toledo! I was happy getting a C in accounting and these kids are getting A’s!”

Back then, I knew their moods:

Now…I get glimpses into their days…a sunrise, or a note to say they are exhausted or have poison ivy, back pain, or a paper due.

They say good night…

Send mascara recommendations…

And sometimes they even take care of me and I get sweet messages like this:

What I learned:

As our children grow up, it is like watching a Polaroid photo develop slowly…letting a little light in as it begins to show the outline of a shape on the paper. You shake and shake that photo then realize that is what you have left, what you are holding in your hands. But this is how this goes? Every day with someone for 18 solid years and this is the ending?

But it gets better and I remember what wonderful Gabriel Garcia Marquez said:

“Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mother gives birth to them. Rather, life obliges them over and over to give birth to themselves.”

  • ❤️Then
  • Now❤️
Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Holding on to Childhood by a Thread

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#20 Lenten Reflections

I wrote this years ago -I hope you enjoy it.

Since my son, Dexter was 16 months old, he loved laying his head on anything to rest. One day he raced over to where I was feeding his baby brother, Zavier. Dexter did the quick toddler stop and rested his head on my lap. At the moment, I had a burp cloth ready for after the feeding, but when I reached down to use it, my sweet Dexter’s head was resting on top of it, eyes drowsily shutting. He looked perfectly comfortable. So, as all good mothers do, I used my shirt to burp his brother. After that day and for years following, Dexter slept with, traveled, and kept it by his pillow every day.

The duck-printed cloth had been transformed into something special. Dexter’s “Burp”. That’s what we named his buddy. Luckily, when these particular burp cloths were given as a gift — it was a two-pack. So, thinking ahead, I squirreled away the “Back Up Burp” (another named piece of material), just in case “Burp” was lost. (Yes, I saw the movie “Mr. Mom” and knew we should ween him from a security blanket-type appendage. But, we can all agree that despite all the teasing from Lucy, Linus seemed to be just fine with his blue blanket in tow.)

Throughout the years, Burp got lost in the covers, and we’d hunt and shake blankets and pillows, always to find it tucked on the side of the bed, tossed to the floor, or swaddling his stuffed lamb. He found comfort in that little cloth. And quiet. And calm.

Dexter is bright. As a kid, he was the guy that would take apart the engine, and reassemble it flawlessly; find wood, whittle it down, and make whatever was on his mind. He would ask over and over for things his friends had, and finally, just made them himself. Like the trailer for his bike, lacrosse shaft, bow, arrow, quiver, rubber band bracelet loom, paracord bracelets, phyton-type necklace, bike ramp, small car, tent, longboard, holster, a belt fashioned from a bike tire, and, fidgets made from bike chains.

You see like most people, Dexter gets antsy. Call him a kinetic learner, busy, jumpy, or just a fun kid –or you can cram him into the nearly 12% bunch of 12–18-year-old boys who are diagnosed with ADHD. Whatever it is, he’s Dexter. Smart, amazing, and so cognizant of his need to strategize, move, and find comfort in who he is, that “burp” just became a part of him, and us.

As the years passed, Dexter got bigger, and Burp began to get thinner and more waif-like than a potato chip, so I decided I should swap out the old for the new. I was sure most parents and childhood experts would advise against it, perhaps saying I was encouraging a rare “cotton cloth co-dependent behavior.” Despite my thoughts, I reached into my “everything in my pockets at the end of the day” top drawer — pushed aside special rocks, matchbox cars, doll parts, and legos, and in the waaaay back, I pulled out a bright white cloth with yellow ducks ready for their turn in the pond. In its place, I tucked the now fowl-less cloth in the drawer. Truth be told, it was his ninth birthday. Yes, nine. Not months, years.

Fast forward three years — and after prayers one night Dexter holds out what looks like one of my dad’s handkerchiefs I used to iron — and asks, “Mama, will you please fix this?” I looked at Burp, looked back at Dexter, and said, “Of course I will.” After unknotting the frayed edges, soaking, and drying it, I began to sew. I was slowly piecing together each strand, noticing how much smaller it was and thinking about how much bigger Dexter was at the time. I finished and held it up as if it were a priceless quilt. I thought about the many memories in one piece of fabric, so much security, and love. I knew for a boy like Dexter who had been pining to grow up fast, buy the dreaded motorcycle, and play by adult rules, clinging to his childhood was just as important to him. So I thought, — I’ll mend, sew, stitch, and hold together as much of his boyhood as I can, for as long as possible. “Dexter, Burp is ready!” He came in quickly, said thank you, and zoomed out rubbing it on his face.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia