How I Was

I like lists. A lot. My self-esteem bubble is not that robust, but checking off lists makes it tolerably full. I even put things on lists that I know I HAVE to do, but somehow a longer list looks better (no one is looking at this but me, of course, so what does it really matter, Katie???) than a short one. Quality over quantity, like I always say!

There's a burden, though, that comes with the glory of the list. You have to finish it. Or you fail. You have to accomplish all, not some, of the items on the list during the day. You may not add as you go. So, if in the morning you didn't plan to do something really time consuming or stupendous like waiting in line at the post office for the commemorative stamps but you did. . .good for you. But it is not list worthy. Those are the rules. And it can be as easily oppressive and daunting as satisfying and gratifying.

What if we made lists in the evening rather than the morning (you know, like starting a diet on a Tuesday rather than a Monday? It's a radical thought, I know.)? And what if, it recorded what I was rather than what I did? I know practices are typically reserved for Lent, but I've got Advent to work with in just a few weeks, so I'm going to try out the exercising in December rather than March and see what happens. I'll practice making the backward kind of list. How was I today? Was I kind or short-tempered? Was I gentle and compassionate, patient and present? Was I busy or bored? Was I reflective or preoccupied? If that little dash in between is all that represents our living, maybe I should try being as I'm doing? How will I be when I'm standing in the proverbial (and literal) grocery store line, the most boring and trying of all activities? How will I be when Jacob is trying to earnestly describe his lego landing gear he just built and I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT HE'S TALKING ABOUT and frankly, don't really care? How will I be when I'm cooking or thinking or sliding down the slide or talking to my family? Will I be intentioned and attentive or distracted and dismissive? My behavior and my being-that is what I'll write down. Not the actual doing it at all.

My parents visited over the weekend. I hate it when they leave. It's like a piece of you goes with them. And it hurts, dag-gommit. It just aches. You get over it, clearly, but you kind of don't want to. I love them, and so do my boys. I love that they laugh and eat good food. I appreciate that they love their kids and accept each of us for what we are and what we're trying to become. They see the potential in us and celebrate, truly, the lives we've created. They have opinions and "suggestions," but how can they not? They raised a good family and were good at being.

A friend recently emailed me a little reminder of our "responsibilities" and demands on that list. "It is interesting," he said, "to think of life in the terms of flying a kite, suspended by the winds of choice and circumstance.  Many of us think the tethering of the string as a hindrance; our parents, our spouse, the amount of money we have, the responsibilities demanded of us. But in reality, the restraint of the string is the only reason we fly." 

Oh, to the heavens above, thank you for my life. Thank you for my roots. Thank you for help making me a kite (please let it be a thin one with vertical not horizontal stripes) who floats and dips and soars because of the string.
 
"If I won't be myself, who will?" A. Hitchcock

Hope

"Everything that is done in the world is done by hope."

How true. Everything--the good, the bad and the difficult--are all done with a hope it will go as planned, as dreamed, as predicted. Though St. Paul tells us the greatest of the three--faith, hope and love--is love, I wonder how far love could go without hope? Isn't "hope" called "good planning" or "accurate goal making" today? Don't we read that "hope is not a strategy?" But what if it is? What if it's enough?

I went to college with a blind, bright hope it would mold me, change me, better me. I married in the great hope Steve would be all I thought he was. And more, of course. I moved, bought a house, had a baby, left friends, made friends--all in hopes it or they would be what I expected or needed or wished them to be. Some did not turn out as I had. . . hoped. Others far exceeded my dreams. We go to doctors hoping they have answers, we go to chiropractors hoping they have strength, we go to priests hoping they have guidance. I actually went to Target yesterday with determined hope! "Man, I hope this works" I thought (out loud of course) as I found the Goldbond. Jacob's feet are detectable from New Hampshire. A friend once told me that all life is is "controlling our expectations." Not a pretty way to look at it, but I suppose he's right.

Steve asked me last night, while we were watching Jacob's baseball practice and Nick was home with Ellie (call it a mini-date. . .I did!), "Katie, does it ever occur to you that you can't do it all?" Oh. Right. Yeah, um, no. It doesn't. Ever. I actually don't ever look at that dust on the floor, or that dirt in the carpet, or that recipe or practice or workout or challenge and think, "Hmmm, not today. I just can't do that AND this today." He said, "With a 13 year old boy, a 10 year old boy--both in sports and after school hobbies--and a baby and a house and, can I say, a husband who all need and want your attention, do you really expect yourself everyday to do it all?" Oh man. Yes, yes, I do. I have a hard time, as many people do, accepting "less than" what I think is manageable. Allowing yourself some grace each day is not just important, it's spiritual (my friend Shelly taught me that). It's critical that we learn not just how to prioritize the necessaries but how to prioritize OUT the "can waits." It isn't failing, Katie. It's learning how to love better and live better--it's what I hope life is teaching me! How much joy do I get out of vacuuming the upstairs' landing? About as much as I suspect Steve gets from draining a puss wound. Little. But, it's part of being me right now, and that's part of being him.

My sister posted this quote recently: "Remember that you have only one soul; that you have only one death to die; that you have only one life, which is short and has to be lived by you alone; and there is only one Glory, which is eternal. If you do this, there will be many things about which you care nothing." St. Teresa of Avila. One life, one day like today, one death, one chance. This is not a dress rehearsal, people!

So, today, my hopeful prayer is that while Ellie is pulling at my shirt and her brand new shoes are getting fig newton branded into them (because her "picnic" turned out to be a tap dance class) and my washing machine STINKS because I just attempted to wash Jacob's shoes in it, and Steve doesn't really want to know about the afternoon events and how I might need his help because it makes him feel tethered, I'll find a small peace within and hear that song, "No storm can shake my inmost calm, while to that rock I'm clinging! Since love is Lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?"

Sing. . .Sing a Song!

 "A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song." L. Holtz

I was reminded this morning of that quote when I went for a little autumnal jog. Sounds odd, an "autumnal jog," but I am so enjoying this seasonal weather, the morning run felt like that Dogwood Trail again, brisk, crisp and happy. And I could hear the geese making their way out of here because, supposedly, it's getting bitterly cold at some point. And they were so loud. Sounded so excited! And I laughed--gosh, do they know something I don't?! They're singing, not because they have to, but because they want to. Oh, to be a bird!

And my children. These past few weeks have been such fun. From collecting pumpkins to picking apples to finding JUICY caterpillars and making first tackles in 8th grade football. It's been happy.

 Does your face light up when you see your kids? I heard Maya Angelou ask that question once. Does your face register how you feel inside? Do they know, from your expression, that they are worthwhile and loved? It's such a simple thing, such a quick, fleeting little "hello." But doesn't it make all the difference? I think we can each remember how our mothers made us feel. I can remember how my mom made me feel special, really special, just by how she'd look at me when I walked in from a late night dance class. She really looked happy to see me, and I can remember feeling surprised! Gosh, I didn't know I mattered that much to her that my "hey, Mom" would make her happy! Though the moment was so short and the feeling brief, I knew she loved me and I knew I was worth it. Do I show my kids they're worth it? Do they know I love them just as they are, even when they don't brush their teeth for days (Jacob) or hole up in their room and only come down for feeding times (Nick) or break a figurine because it doesn't survive a quarterback-like pitch down the kitchen (Ellie)? I hope so. Because I do.