Throwback Thursday. This post is from 2020, time just flies by, savor the moments and build your stories.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 20

It wasn’t long ago when I could still pick up our youngest. He’d nestle his head in the cozy crook of my neck and we’d sway back and forth like a pendulum.

Then one sunny day after picking him up from baseball practice, I looked into the rearview mirror and there it was…adolescence.

Oh, you’ll know it when you see it.

It looks a lot like the top of a teenager’s head. Yes, all I could see in that little rectangular reflection was a blue screen shining up at my son’s face and the curved top of a baseball cap.

Where was my little guy who would yell out the make and model of every car that passed and guessed how long it would take for every light to turn green? Why wasn’t he singing “Wheels on the bus” loudly or recounting his slick baseball moves play by play?

He was changing by the minute. One second we’re holding hands walking home from the bus stop recounting recess triumphs and the next he can’t wait to start weight lifting class and drive to high school with his brother and sister. Ugh.

Honestly, my son is a teenager who is quite independent. But he’s still just a kid. I mean, out of habit (and my keen sense of smell), I still have to remind him showering is not optional. And like a broken record, I futilely encourage flossing and turning clothes right side out. Luckily his love of play supersedes all. He still asks me to be his quarterback, play Yahtzee, and read together…I’ll hold onto those moments as long as possible.

Time ticks by without even asking. So as I file the snuggly moments away in my heart, I remind myself to make every minute count. He may have passed me in height, but I still get my hugs — that’s usually when I whisper…”time to shower”. 

Here’s a great blurb I found from The Center for Resilient Leadership. I love the way it describes adolescence:

Adolescence is a period of transformation, not unlike a chrysalis changing into a butterfly. If you have never seen this process, it can be painstakingly difficult to watch. The butterfly gradually breaks free of his cocoon, pulling and pushing, stretching and contracting for what seems like an eternity before he finally emerges. If a benevolent onlooker decides to help the process along, the butterfly will likely die, because it is only through the struggle of metamorphosis that he gains the strength to survive on his own.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 19

I love connecting with people, young and old. Conversations spark memories, stories shared signal similarities among us, and spending time with others is just good karma.

Typically when I’m at a field, court, or pool waiting for a game to start or practice to finish, I follow my “workout while I wait” philosophy. I usually just go for a run. Yesterday, however, I arrived at my son’s baseball game about 45 minutes early, found a stadium seat in the sun, and settled in with a cup of coffee and my computer. I’ll write. I thought. That’s a workout for the mind, right?

I greeted a few parents who nestled themselves under blankets with snacks, phones, and their classic cast of characters surrounding them. Some had grandparents, siblings of players, or friends. I instinctively started a conversation in Spanish with a player’s grandmother who is originally from Texas. We exchanged our philosophies on life in Spanglish for a bit. The flow of our conversation was similar to the chats I have with my parents. Sing-songy with a lot of joking and English woven in, yet said with a slight Cheech and Chong accent so as to blend in with the Spanish. No explanations for colloquialisms, no apologies for not knowing a word in Spanish, just conversation. 

She talked about leaving her hometown years ago, following her kids to Georgia so they could be together. Then back in 2010, their son got a job in San Antonio, so they assembled dozens of moving boxes and moved with them to help care for their grandson. Feeling like minimalists, they parsed down their belongings to whatever would fit in the rented moving truck.

Three months later they repacked the Uhaul and returned to Georgia because “Sometimes jobs don’t work out.” She paused, “But it was fun and we were together.”

Once the game started we all found our spots, phones ready to record at-bats and base running. I opened my computer once again, took in the setting, and began cobbling words together.

“Looks like you’re taking score today?” I heard from the gentleman sitting one seat away from me.

“Yes, sir” I replied knowing he was joking. “I’ll have all the answers if you need them.” I closed my computer again, a natural instinct when I’m around anyone who strikes up a conversation or is over 70. Something I wish all teenagers would do when speaking to adults. He went on to tell me how tired he and his wife were because they just walked up a long hill to a baseball field, only to realize they were in the wrong park. They sat, exhausted and thrilled to watch their grandson. “Which is yours?” he asked. “Shortstop”. “Ahhh, he’s a sly one! Quick hands, quick feet.” I sat up a little straighter, honored someone noticed our guy.

We went on for the next few hours chatting about how the wind was “whipping and storms were brewing”. He lumbered back from the snack bar balancing two hot dogs wrapped in foil and steaming white cartons filled with mini churros sprinkled with white powder sugar. I pictured him at the snack bar chatting up the teenagers saying something like “You kids sure are working hard! Do you make those hot dogs yourselves?”  

He unloaded his dinner delivery and announced to his wife and anyone listening, “You can’t say I didn’t take you to dinner!” They shared their meal and insisted that I “help” them eat the churros. I had one, knowing it’s just plain rude to say no to something so greasy and delicious.

We continued our visit, scrolling through pictures of his grandchildren and listening to stories about volleyball games they attend and the cakes baked together in their kitchen.

The wind picked up and in his jokey grandfather tone he reached for his vest on the seat in front of him and said, “I should go ask my daughter if she can get me the sleeves for this jacket she bought me!” I laughed, channeling my father’s humor and joining in on the conversation…” Maybe she’s saving up for the rest!” we laughed.

The game ended and he pulled a well-folded paper towel to wipe his eyes out of the back pocket of his creased Levis. Again, I connected the sight to all the handkerchiefs I ironed when I was young. Small, white squares piled at the end of the ironing board ready for Dad.

1930 and 1940’s babies are so similar. They are conversationalists, conscientious, grateful, and simple. Honestly, I love sitting with grandparents at games, helping them locate the Ovaltine at the store, or complimenting them on their haircuts in the checkout line. It always brings me comfort to hope someone is kind to my parents or in-laws. Maybe a child smiled at them as they waited for an appointment or a teenager held the door for them at church or a neighbor stopped by for coffee and conversation. So I pay it forward and try to make meaningful connections with grandparents. After all, family is family – and my parents love hearing stories about the people I meet and the fact that we take the time to enjoy each other’s company.

On the way out, the grandmother from Texas and I caught back up to each other and her husband told me it was her birthday, so I sang “Las Mañanitas” to her and she sang along, blushing. She let out a deep sigh, “Ai, ai, ai, I haven’t sung that in years. Gracias. Muchas gracias.” It reminded me of when I’d sing it to my Godmother over the phone every year until she passed away.

Reach out to one another and make meaningful connections. Just listening is a true gift.

Now for a cup of Ovaltine. I’m such a senior citizen.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 18

When we were mentally planning our move from DC, I pictured our moving truck loaded with exersaucers, onesies, and boxes of photos heading either north or west toward grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I saw all of us swapping stories around a big, full Norman Rockwellesque table for holidays, cousins living down the street on deck for fishing, playing ball, or exploring, and aunts and uncles ready to solve all the “trains traveling in opposite directions” word problems with our kids. Instead, after a 15-hour drive we pulled into a driveway even further from family, the 108-degree weather making me want to rewind the whole event.

We were going to be fine, I convinced myself. Because you go where the jobs are. We have three kids. It’s the right thing. It is. Immediately after we moved, my dearest of friends sent me a 1,000 thread-count periwinkle set of sheets and a handmade card that read “Bloom where you’re planted!” written in her jaunty script. But I currently hated where I was planted, (there was red clay everywhere and what the heck were fire ants?!?!) I wanted to go home and three of the four people I knew were being potty trained. I desperately wished she could drop by with a bottle of wine, her funny stories, and a hug.

As time went by, we adjusted, and each summer we’d pack up the crew and head to one of the grandparent’s homes. We’d alternate years, and try and make 2-3 weeks stretch like a long, lazy summer day. Waking up early for coffee and walks, telling stories, and playing games late into the night.

As our kids get older, the time they spend with family lessens each year…and in a blink, their adulthood begins to bloom. College, church, clubs, teams, work, and commitments seep into every moment. In a flash, they know how to work with people, look them in the eye, shake hands, and maybe even have a joke in their back pocket if needed. Their schooling, interaction with the real world, and appreciation for others have taught them to have bottomless faith in themselves.

Although Facetime is a gem, I still imagine what it would have been like if the kid’s grandparents could have seen this day-to-day, witnessed them in their element, watched them navigate friendships, given advice, and watched them bloom.

But it’s okay. Our visits to see our families are priceless. Our friends here become family as well and the kids have become fiercely independent.

Stay tuned for more on this topic…

March 17: The mother of Maj. Ivan Skrypnyk, who was killed during Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, mourns over his flag-draped coffin during a funeral ceremony in Lviv.

Yuriy Dyachyshyn/AFP via Getty Images

Count your blessings every day and pray for all those battling fear, sickness, loss, and war.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 16

Last night we watched our son play with his high school Wind Symphony. The talent kids have these days is astounding. He sat smack in the center of the group holding his saxophone and playing effortlessly. He’s not one of those students who comes home and practices endlessly or rather, at all. But I’m sure the nearly two-hour class every day gives him time to run through Shuman’s poignant “When Jesus Wept” with his bandmates.

After they played last night, they moved to a band room where they were tasked with showing their sight-reading skills. The families watched as the wind symphony sat with new music and used their sight-reading skills to mentally prepare themselves to play.

The process of sight-reading intrigued me.

In music, sight-reading also called a prima vista (Italian meaning “at first sight”), is the practice of reading and performing a piece in a music notation that the performer has not seen or learned before.

I love the idea of mentally preparing for a task. Like warming up in the bullpen before pitching (I’m at a baseball game) or planning your dinners for the week. My husband constantly says, “preparation wins championships”.

If you ever have the opportunity to watch a sight-reading session, take it. According to the University of Connecticut’s Visions of Research in Music Education Journal, sight-reading is a critical skill for musicians, enhances every aspect of music-making, and creates the complete musician.

Here’s the process:

• Clap/Tap to a steady beat
• Say letter names in tempo
• Say finger numbers (strings)
• Pizzicato (strings); Vocalize with syllables (ta/ti)
• Finger with sizzle
• Play

After six minutes, they played something that did not sound like a first try. If only we all stopped and did some mental sight-reading before we spoke or emailed or interacted…maybe kindness would prevail.

I love that my kids have been part of bands, orchestras, and teams. Being a small cog in a wheel that makes beautiful music, wins a game, or stumbles together and recovers is priceless.

Please pray for Ukraine.

When Jesus wept, the falling tear

in mercy flowed beyond all bound;
when Jesus mourned, a trembling fear

seized all the guilty world around.

William Billings (1770)

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 15

As a mom, some of my favorite moments are spent chatting with other parents. These long, relatable, hilarious, commiserating, conversations occur on sidelines, bleachers, parking lots, auditoriums, PTA meetings, churches, or anywhere our kids take us on their childhood journeys.

Tonight was no exception – here are snippets from my recent cache of conversations:

• One dad talked about his son’s happiness when he made the Varsity team yet his playing time diminished and now spends time on the bench.
• After exchanging quick pleasantries, a friend dashes away from the tennis match announcing her next stop to deliver her son to baseball and daughter to softball. There’s something about audibly sharing our destinations with other parents. The interpretation is: I’m crazy busy, please watch my kiddo while I’m gone.
• My phone dings and I quickly click the side of my phone to silence it…it reads, “I’m swamped at work and won’t make the match, is Luke playing yet?” I quickly respond. Another mom making sure our band of mothers stays strong.
• Pushing a stroller with her nearly two-year-old, another mom heads out to take her 12-year-old to his tennis lessons asking if someone helped her 17-year old jumpstart his car yesterday…and if they knew who it was, to please thank them. It takes a village.
• A dad chats for a minute about orchestra and sports and suddenly remembers he needs to buy a hamburger for his son because the provided chicken sandwich is not on his preferred foods list. The dad rolls his eyes knowing how ridiculous it sounds but we all get it…anything for our kids.
• Another mom stops to say hello and when I asked about her son, she confesses she worries because he doesn’t come home very often from college. “He will,” I tell her, just give him time…I think about how much easier it is to give advice than to take it.
• My son then tells me a player’s parent passed away this week. An acquaintance from our church and I imagine the empty pillow next to her every night an indent still fresh and her struggle to explain it all to her boys.
• On my walk with the dogs, I visit with our neighbor who said he gets frustrated as it takes him twice as much time to do the same things he used to. I recall a tennis mom earlier in the day who told me her father just turned 90 and his mantra was “A body in motion stays in motion”. I share it with him. He then mentions his upcoming 80th birthday in August bragging a little like my son who just turned 18 today and my student who wore a crown for her 5 3/4 birthday. Yes. 3/4. The connection and joy to reach the next age when we are children or senior citizens is uncanny. Our middle years tend to blur if only the celebration mentality would seep in…

These chats with moms, dads, kids, grandparents, teachers, and coaches, remind me life can seem like a pretty deep pool sometimes, so the more we latch onto each other the more buoyant we become.

Just imagine if we all tried harder to seize the pockets of time from our busy days, and stopped to ask people how they are. It’s just nice to have a friend sit beside us on our roulette wheel of emotions reminding us we’re not alone.

Please pray for Ukraine and maybe say a Rosary this weekend.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 14

Throwback Thursday! This is a post about our sweet dogs and how the minds of our four-legged family members find joy in every walk, every meal, every hello.

My plan was to walk our dogs this morning…

but Lola, our fluffy, tailless Border Collie, yanked me and Sancha (lab/golden mix) through the neighborhood instead. Her tugging seemed to say, “Come on! We’re missing all the good stuff!” So just like obedient sheep, we followed along as she plowed through the world nose up, eyes straight ahead, one ear forward the other pointing at me like a periscope.

Poor Lola. I feel the life of a suburban Border Collie is mentally more labor-intensive than a farm dog. There are no sheep or livestock to organize, no big fields to hunt and explore, and barely one unamused squirrel in our backyard.

Basically, Lola is left to plan her whole day like the rest of us. Dog breeders will swear you have to exercise them at least 37 times a day or they will get bored and expend their energy otherwise. Oh, it’s true, I feel guilty as heck when I come home to a scene from The Killing Fields with stuffed animals strewn about and plastic noses and eyes carefully dislodged from their stuffed owners.

But Lola, much like our kids, came without assembly and upkeep instructions. She was rescued from inside a screened porch somewhere in North Georgia, surrounded by her own poop and no food or water. In retrospect, we often wonder if Lola was a little bummed when driven away from all that land. For all we know, she could have built the porch herself and was just drawing up the bathroom plans. She’s THAT smart.

Bottom line. I hope our children channel their inner Lola in life.

Lola is a worker and a leader.

Give her a washcloth and she’ll wipe the face of Facebook clean again. Pass her a laptop and she’ll have a business reorganized and gleaming with success. Lola would be a blur on the corporate ladder as she escalated to the top while others envied her drive, agility, and vertical leap. She efficiently pees on all the spots necessary to make her way through life.

Border Collies like Lola, are smart and driven – a good breed. She has just the right amount of affection with a smidge of jealousy woven in her fluffy coat.

If Lola had her own flock, here’s how she would lead.

LOLA’S TOP 8 LEADERSHIP TIPS:

1. Leave your mark:

Pee several times throughout your life and all over the place. Just always remember where you’re food is and eat fast.

2. Take a stand:

Showing you believe in something is like pooping, do it when and where you need to…holding it in will just lead to bad feelings (especially if you ate a sock).

3. Listen and observe:

Always be ready to change directions. Lead your herd wisely.

4. Keep your paws clean:

Be honest and wipe your feet even if you have plans to go out again.

5. Wag your tail:

Exude positivity and wag like mad, even if you only have a stub of a tail.

6. Use your speed and strength:

No matter the setting, be the hardest worker in the room.

7. Beware of shiny objects:

Don’t let your sheep go astray, stay focused and on point.

8. REST on top of tables (or whatever works for you):

Stop and look at life from other perspectives. Truly, things are clearer from above – said, God and Lola.

Lola is a sweet girl. She and Sancha make every day better. But in a pinch, if you need a CEO, look for the Lola’s of the world. If you’re in need of a social worker-type, Sancha is your gal. She’s your lifer, she’ll stay with the company and be faithful for years. On walks, she pees for a long time in one place ONLY…much like the small town plumber in a Hallmark movie that is happy living in the same place for life.

Like people, every dog is different. But unlike some people, dogs love unconditionally, are forgiving, and ever-loyal. Let’s learn from them.

As Anne Lamott said, “Having a good dog is the closest some of us are ever going to come to knowing the direct love of a mother or God.”

Let them lead you home like Lola, comfort you like Sancha andalways “stick” together.

Pray for Ukraine.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 13

So Jane my daily visitor came by herself this morning to say good morning. I have to admit it brought tears to my eyes when I received her hug. Maybe I’m just old, sensitive, and/or tired, but it was endearing.

“Flying solo today Jane?” I quickly rephrased for someone under ten years old, “By yourself today?”

“Yes I am!” she responded confidently, a smile hanging on her words. Her hug was strong, intentional, and true.

“Bye!”

Off she skipped to the next stop with her bottomless backpack overflowing with love.

99% of the time I dig too deep and overanalyze. Turning moments, events, and even glances inside out, like a cat squirming to find a comfortable spot.

This time it’s warranted. Jane’s spirit is what I pray all young children are able to discover in themselves. Their ability to be confident, caring, warm, and wise.

This is a young girl who was not told to go out and seek tired adults in the mornings and deliver hugs, nor was she taught to wait in the hallway until you arrive to ensure you got a glimpse of her big toothless smile. Jane is innately loving. (But I’m willing to bet her parents are pretty amazing like her).

I read somewhere that the “Duchenne smile” (named for a french physician who pioneered modern neurology) is an expression that signals true enjoyment. Basically, the muscles of the corners of your mouth lift your cheeks and crinkle your eyes at the corners making for a sincere, trustworthy grin. That’s Jane’s smile.

She makes every day better for so many.

Find your Jane smile and share it, maybe throw in a hug. Trust me. It’s worth it.

Pray for Ukraine.

40 Reflections: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season

No. 12

As our nest empties from five to four, my mind fills 
With worries, wonders, wishes
Success is prevalent around me
20-somethings finding their niche
a start-up here a podcast there
50-somethings searching for new fires to forge
searching and searching
What will happen when the school bus doesn't pass and 
the tennis matches end?
When there is no one to take the forgotten trumpet to 
or pick up after practice?  
When the garage door closes only twice a day?
When five goes to four and then three?
No need for a chair at the end of the booth or the long side of the pew 
When the house falls silent, what then?
New careers? 
Travel? 
Retirement? 
A mother never retires