On Human Kindness

I like to think of myself as a kind person. One of my absolute favorite quotes is by Henry James, “Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.” In my dream world of hearts and rainbows (and chocolate), kindness would be the most esteemed achievement in life. Unfortunately, this week has witnessed a series of events that have challenged my views as well as my perception about my own personal kindness towards others.

Last Friday, Henry’s piano teacher, who also happens to teach music out at his school, pulled me aside after his lesson and asked if Henry’s teacher or the school counselor had gotten in touch with me concerning Henry. Completely baffled, I replied that they hadn’t and she proceeded to tell me that for the past several weeks, none of the girls in his class were willing to pair up with Henry when they practiced an Irish Jig that they are performing at the school’s St. Patrick’s Day party in a few weeks. She said she always downplayed it and just used him as her partner but she found it curious. I made a note to contact his teacher on Monday.

After conferencing with both his teacher and the school counselor, I learned that Henry has essentially been the class “cheese touch” since January (if you don’t know what a cheese touch is it’s from Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Basically, it means he is the person nobody wants to partner with, play with or sit next to at school). His teacher was obviously concerned about how this social isolation (which she says the kids are really good hiding when teachers are around) was affecting Henry...if he was acting out at home or not wanting to come to school and I could honestly say that it didn’t seem to be affecting him at all. He had confided in me a couple of weeks earlier that he had gotten in trouble with his teacher because he kept touching some girls’ hands and asking them to the valentine’s day dance (what dance???) after being dared by some of his classmates who said they wouldn’t be his friend if he didn’t do it. It’s quite a bit more complicated than I feel like sharing right now but, in short, Henry’s lack of social self awareness is both partly responsible for him being targeted and also the protective bubble that keeps him oblivious to the ridicule. I’ve always admired Henry’s unique personality but also worried if and when his charm and quirk would be labeled weird instead.  Turns out...third grade.  It made me so sad.

Then, the very next day, I got a call from Seth’s spanish teacher. Like all teachers, I feel like they try to lessen the blow by saying how much potential they see in your child but after buttering me up with assurances that he doesn’t think my son is a delinquent, he went on to say that he felt Seth was really underperforming in class and possibly bullying another student. I listened, acknowledged the likelihood of him not using class time wisely, but my heart hurt at the thought of him making someone feel stupid or small in class. It was extra surprising because the other boy mentioned by the teacher is a friend of Seth’s from cross country. I know my son well enough to know that he is not intentionally mean. Well, that’s not entirely true. He can be really mean to his brothers....but, he is mostly a huge tease and if he’s really comfortable with someone and thinks someone can handle it, he can say obnoxious things to them thinking he’s being funny. I’ve seen him do it with his cousins, coaches, church leaders, friends - and 90% of them actually think he’s funny.  I can’t tell you how many adult leaders have come up to me saying how much they love harassing Seth because he “can take it and dishes it right back at me!” And he can take it. He loves it. It’s like teasing is his love language or something. I told his teacher I’d be sure to have a talk with him about it.

It felt so weird to be simultaneously straddling both ends of the kindness spectrum. How was it that my boys were not recognizing the importance of kindness? After this Friday’s experience, I worry I may not be setting the best example.

The deacons and teachers had a fun, overnight trip planned for Friday night at one of the leader’s cabin. In the winter, the remote road gets snowed in and so the only way to access it is by snowmobile. All boys were told to meet at the church at 4:00 with their snow clothes on and all of their other belongings contained within a backpack. Because they were riding in and would need to use their hands to hold onto something, sleeping bags, pillows, snacks all had to fit inside a backpack. Jay and I made sure Seth and Sam were ready to go so I could take them straight to the church after I picked them up after school.  Jay even threw in an extra sleeping bag in the off chance that one of his deacons, who is on the autism spectrum, showed up. I couldn’t imagine that this boy would come. When he was in primary, he was always a challenge because he never wanted to be there and part of his personality is to loudly complain about what is making him uncomfortable. So...we and what we were doing in primary was often “stupid and boring.” It was hard to keep him in a seat because all he wanted to do was leave and wander. Mostly, he just wanted to play on his tablet. It was extremely difficult to get him to participate so we tolerated and accommodated him. His mom is a single mother who has her own mental health issues so it has never been something anyone could really take to the family for help. Tangent over, when I got to the parking lot, this boy’s mother was quickly driving away and her son was sitting on the sidewalk, with a stuffed pillowcase as his only luggage, ranting about how his, “big, fat, stupid mother” had left him and he wasn’t ever going to move and he wasn’t going anywhere until his mom came back to pick him up.

Jay was working and there was no way he was going to be available by 4, so he had already planned on driving up on his own later and either walking in (the guy’s in shape. He could do it) or, hopefully, having someone come and pick him up on a snowmobile. Because he is the deacon’s quorum advisor and the leader who has handled this young man on Sundays (he doesn’t come to activities on Wednesday night), none of the other leaders had any experience with his social tantrums. Once they saw me, they asked me what to do. Irritation at the entire situation pulsed through me. I am not a mental health or behavior expert. Jay isn’t either. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to have to know what to do. I told several of the leaders that it was unfair and possibly harmful to have this young man go on this trip. I used the comparison of someone dropping off their handicapped son, who needs a wheelchair, without his wheelchair. He had no snow clothes other than his coat. He was mad but I might have felt just as mad. I was mad at his mother for just leaving him there (and not picking up her phone now when we tried to reach her). The other counselor in the YM presidency said they would do the best they could and if the situation turned impossible, someone would leave the activity and drive him home. That didn’t really help calm my unkind feelings. If anything, it just inflamed them more. I asked Seth and Sam that since their dad wasn’t there yet, could they be this poor, frustrating young man’s emotional ambassadors and help encourage him, or even just quietly ignore him while he ranted? They sort of glared at me but I watched Seth go and sit next to him on the curb and when they led him to get into one of the trucks, I watched Sam go and sit with him. When I got back into my car to leave, I called Jay to complain. He sighed and hoped for the best.

The rest of the story is both heartwarming and embarrassing. I was certain that this boy would be miserable and, in turn, make the entire activity miserable. I was wrong. By the time Jay got up there, ever other adult leader approached him independently and told him that Seth and Sam had saved the trip. By the time the group got to the cabin, this boy had calmed down, was laughing, and saying it was so much fun. He never snowmobiled and didn’t participate in any of the conversations or games but Jay said they eventually talked him into turning down the volume of his tablet and he helped the other boys make breakfast the next morning. Sure enough, when I picked up the boys the next morning and took this young man to his mother (who was at McDonald’s using the wifi and unable/unwilling to drive to the church to pick him up), he was happy. Not easy or socially adept or any less rigid in his conversation, but not angry and he kept saying, “I had fun.” I felt shame. Because I had been very unkind in both thought and deed.

I know I am not an unkind person. Perhaps, what I have realized is that all of us, to some extent, have unkind moments. The kids we don’t like have them. Our own kids have them. I think the goal is to try harder to show kindness to all.  I tthought of the words in a primary song, “Love one another as Jesus loves you. TRY to show kindness in all that you do. Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought for these are the things Jesus taught.” I think I am most kind when I feel secure in that love that Jesus has for me - when  I feel His spirit with me. I think of the sacrament prayer and the promise that it will be with me if I keep His commandments and always remember him. I need to do better at doing both. I didn’t realize how distant and distracted I’ve been lately and how infrequently I choose to “remember Him." It’s such a cycle. I think what I realized yesterday is that if I help my children feel Christ’s love, they will also be more likely to love others and themselves in the same accepting way Christ loves us. It’s easy to be kind to some people. It’s not as easy to be kind to others. I want to be better at being kinder to all.

Are You What You Are Or What?

Did you hear that Edie Brickell hit Paul Simon last week and their domestic dispute got them both arrested? I suppose I’ve thought about Paul Simon once or twice in the last few years as he has many hit songs that still get played here and there but I hadn’t thought about Edie Brickell since her big hit back in the early 90s. Her “What I Am” is quite catchy and her name resurfacing transferred her long ago hit into a bit of an ear worm this week. It was triggered again this morning when I miraculously managed to drop Seth off at his middle school before the morning bell and actually got to watch him walk up to a group of friends before driving off instead of hoping he’d pick up his gait to avoid yet another tardy.

Does it make me creepy that I wish I could spy on my children when they are away from me?  Seth recently turned 14 and there are so many things I love about this teenage stage but his new-for-me preoccupation with his friends and my limited ability to know who all these friends are and what they do and all the stuff that goes along with that takes up more space in my mind than I imagine is healthy. Sometimes, after visiting his Instagram page or clicking on the profile of his friends who like or comment on his pictures, I am left reeling. Teenage girls in bikinis for their profile pic. Drug references. Vulgarity. And they’re proudly showing it!

I’ve talked to him about social media standards and safety and what I expect from his end a few times but he’s a boy, nay, a teenage boy, and he seems to have inherited my aversion to talking about anything stressful so his ability to address my concerns vocally is kind of limited. What’s really interesting is right when I’m on the edge of total freaked-outness, a reassurance washes over me that he’s fine. All evidence points to him being a likable, friendly, funny boy who isn’t doing anything wrong. Do I wish he had a picture of a temple and some scriptural reference on his Instagram bio? Yes, yes, I do. But I need to acknowledge whatever comfort I’ve been given that he is who he tells me he is: a good boy.

Perhaps my cynicism or whatever negative emotion that causes the doubt comes from the knowledge of my own duplicity. I have days when I omit my lazy hours, binge sugar eating, toddler neglect or whatever less-than-proud behavior from the record. Those moments tend not to be reflected in the pictures that I take, conversations I engage in or recountings of our day that I give to Jay. In all honesty, when I used to blog more, I felt like there was a more accurate over-all picture of who and what I am. Now, I can kind of craft whatever image flatters me best.

Still, I know that my own online image isn’t false or made-up - only incomplete.  I suppose that is the root of the worry. What am I missing?  Most days, school and all that jazz consumes the bulk of my school-age children’s hours of the day. I don’t even think that schedule is odd or wrong. We are, after all, preparing these growing souls to eventually be independent enough to go away so it would be more weird to keep them by my side all day long. And yet...I wonder. What gets said in that group of friends whose circle he happily joins? Do his friends get the more real side of him or do we get it at home? Are the two sides even that different?

Oh, my goodness, I am out of practice thinking at this slow, blogger pace. I can’t remember what point I set out to make or why I felt like it was important enough to break the silence but I’m going to leave it as is. In conclusion, (my kids are learning how to wrap up an essay and I see this a lot in their writing) I worry too much. Edie warned me about that.

P.S. After much thought I decided that I’d rather blog publicly, stalker potential and all, than not blog privately. We’ll see. I’m hoping it’s not too late to try and write again.

When Two Rights Make A Right

Jay and I get tired of playing the heavy in Seth's life. We both understand the parenting concept of finding and focusing on the positive, encouraging better behavior by rewarding the good rather than punishing or complaining about the bad but I think we both struggle in its execution. I am the homework/grades, piano practice and room cleaning nag and Jay is his scoutmaster and Deacon's quorum advisor and we both feel that he hears the words, "You need to..." leave our mouths much too often. Basketball, in a way, has become a way for us to dabble in the art of positive reinforcement. We love the confidence he has gained with improved skills and we are impressed by his daily work ethic and dedication. He loves the sport. Period. Playing it. Watching it. Practicing it. Reading about it. Dreaming about it. Other than it dominating all of his free time and the cause of subsequent homework/piano/chore/scout nagging, basketball is a very good thing for all of us.

His free throw still needs work but he made it in this shot!

He's got a great outside shot even though he usually ends up playing post because of his height.

An earlier tournament from two weeks ago (this one was Saturday only) that his middle school team won.

Post tournament breakfast at Denny's.  Seth benefits when eating with his gluten-free dad and brother because he gets their toast. He loves sourdough.

For those reasons, Jay and I were both inclined to say, "Yes" when an opportunity arose to compete in a basketball tournament down in Albuquerque the weekend after Christmas. The team was a mix of players from both junior high schools and beside the fact that he would be able to continue to practice and play, we thought it would be a great chance to meet and befriend some of the boys he will undoubtedly know next year in high school. Because my parents would be in town and the tournament was a Saturday/Sunday event, Jay was the logical choice as the parent who would accompany him and bring him home Saturday night. I didn't really know any of the other parents well enough to send Seth with them and even though I'm fairly certain Seth wouldn't have chosen to play on Sunday anyway, not having to sit on the sidelines and watch others play the game he loves without him made his choice a bit easier to make.

His team won their first game but got clobbered in their second. That defeat put them in a bracket that required a 9:00 pm Saturday night game. The momager in charge assumed Seth would miss this evening game due to the 3.5 hour drive home but Jay didn't even hesitate with his response. If Seth was going to sacrifice his desires by not playing on Sunday, than he would make it possible for him to play every game he could on Saturday, even if it meant getting home in the middle of the night.

With their previous game ending at 1:00 pm and having already checked out of their hotel room, Jay and Seth had seven or so hours to kill. They went to the mall. They went to a movie. They drove to see the Albuquerque temple. They tried to nap in Jay's truck. Jay texted me a few time with pictures and warned me that they were both starting to feel a cold coming on (because there are still a few more days left in December to shore up its "Worst month of 2013" title).

Seth played tough and ended up on the ground a few times. He was more upset about the hole in his beloved basketball culottes (my word) than the painful raspberry on his knee.

In front of the beautiful Albuquerque temple.

At his happy place. Looking at all things Nike.

I wished them luck and tried to stay awake to learn the outcome of their night game. At 10:08, Jay texted, "56-20 loss. On our way home." A disappointing loss for sure, but the team they played was bigger in size and more polished from practicing and playing together for a year. The loss ended the tournament for the entire team, making the Sunday play issue obsolete - which was a relief to me. I wish it didn't matter but I hate the whole Sunday and sports issue. I would like to avoid the conflict entirely, even if it means losing.

Tournament team. I only know the names of about half of these boys.

I barely heard Jay come to bed and come morning time, we were all struggling. Well...my parents seemed fine and relaxed but all of my kids were off and grumpy and I had overslept and, in one harried hour, was trying to get myself ready, Daniel and Henry ready and in my daze of hairspray and buttoning shirts and pants, didn't realize Seth was still asleep at 8:10 am. Sam woke him up but when I saw him come downstairs, with his glassy eyes, scratchy throat and runny nose, and say, "I'm sick," I was ready to do battle. As heartless as it sounds, he had already missed church twice in the last month with legitimate illness (tis the season, I suppose) and if his dad, who was also sick, was well enough to go, then so was he. I didn't even have to say anything. Jay felt the same way and his response sent Seth angrily and upset up to his room to get dressed as fast as he could. The rest of us sat in the car and waited for him.

He came scrambling out to the garage and even though the rest of us were waiting in my car, he got into Jay's truck. With a running count of heavy sighs already, I got his attention and he switched wordlessly over to my vehicle, shirt unbuttoned, barefoot and holding the rest of his wardrobe in his hands. I had to bite my tongue from saying, "There will be no future basketball tournaments if this is your attitude on Sunday!" I knew the majority of his major moody meltdown stemmed from him feeling sick, but I still felt annoyed. Where was the gratitude for his dad's late night driving? It was a silent 20 minute drive to the church.

On the drive over, he had tied his tie and flattened down his hair but it wasn't until we were only about 2 minutes from the church that he finally started to put on his socks and shoes. With a groan and a thrashing of his head back into the front seat's headrest (Yes. His father had kindly sat in the backseat as well) he announced that he had picked up a shoe that wasn't his and he only had his right shoe. The other was an old Payless brand, black slip-on that was a size 6. It was also another right shoe.

I didn't respond but my mind made the decision that I would drop everyone else off at the building and then drive Seth back home to get his other shoe, most likely lecturing him the entire way about being more responsible, grateful, and organized. We parked and I got out of the car to get Daniel out of his carseat but left the vehicle running since I would be right back in it. Jay, on the other hand, had other plans. He efforted his way out from the way, way back and took off his shoes and told Seth to switch him shoes. I was a little distracted during this exchange, because Henry was forcing his way out and pushing the middle seat into Sam and was managing that minor squirmish but I saw Seth dash off towards the chapel in Jay's brown shoes. I didn't know what to expect when I came around the back of the car, and found Jay attempting to put on Seth's mismatched black shoes. I certainly didn't expect what had been a stressful and tense Sunday morning to become one of the most humorous and memorable of my life.

There was Jay, sitting sideways on the passenger seat, with one normal looking shoe and one much-too-small-obviously-non-matching-wrong-footed shoe. My immediate thought was to a scene in the movie "Strictly Ballroom" when a woman's husband can't be her dance partner because of his literal two left feet. That comedic genius was now Jay's reality and I laughed so hard I started to cry. He wasn't really going to church in those shoes, was he? Oh, yes, he was.

Jay usually helps the deacons with the sacrament but he didn't that day. I think he knew he might cause a scene if he attempted to reverently pass the sacrament with one foot halfway out of a shoe pointing in the wrong direction. Instead, he sat next to me and I intermittently got uncontrollable giggles if I glanced at his feet. My mom asked me what was going on and I told her and she got the giggles too. All was fine and well until Daniel sat on his squeezable pouch of sweet potatoes, making a huge orange mess on the carpet which led to his own personal meltdown. Jay, sitting on the edge of the row, swooped him up and shuffled out of the chapel as fast as his two right feet would allow.

He didn't make it back into the meeting and I don't know if it was due to Daniel's stubborn tantrum or his desire to avoid more awkward movement but I didn't give it much thought until I saw him again after the end of church. Colds that are worst in the morning had let up and both he and Seth seemed in good spirits when they returned to the car. I asked Jay if anyone said anything about his shoes and he replied, "No. Nobody even noticed. I don't think anyone checks out my feet." We all laughed and laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

It's sort of hard to tell from even this short distance. I guess that's why Jay was able to make it through church without drawing much attention to himself.

It could have been such a different story. I could have gotten involved and fumed and fussed about privilege and priorities.  In other words, it all could have gone so poorly. I'm enormously proud of Jay's handling of the entire weekend - from the late add-on basketball game and midnight drive to the sacrifice of his personal vanity. The lesson we were going for, from the moment the invitation to this basketball tournament came, was, "We support you! We love you! We want you to be happy and you can be without ever compromising your values or breaking the commandments!" Two right shoes could have thwarted it all.  Instead, his father showed that honoring your priesthood responsibilities is always the right thing to do, even when you're tired, sick or in a hurry.  We all know that two wrongs don't make a right but two rights certainly can.

Closer up. I'm still giggling. It's like Cinderella's ugly black slipper not fitting!

I Guess I'm That Weird Mom Now

When I turned twelve, I had a slumber birthday party. My birthday is in August and so my birthday parties were always a bit odd. Friendships tend to suffer over summer break without the forced regular contact of school and so my guest lists were always a mish mash of school friends with whom I stayed in touch, cousins and church friends. Turning twelve was a particularly weird year because elementary school was over and I figured some girls from church, who had attended different elementary schools, would most likely be my new school friends come September when school started. I also remember inviting a girl from church, Angie, who I didn't necessarily see becoming a close friend but who I also didn't want to feel bad should she find out at Beehives that I had invited several of the other girls. Maybe my mom asked me to invite her. I can't really remember. But she was there.

The specifics of the party I barely remember. That was the last year I was in gymnastics so I do remember doing back handsprings on the striped green couch. I remember Angie's birthday present to me: a homemade clown with a store bought plastic face and plastic hands glued onto some kind of can and a sewn blue and polka dot clown outfit sewn into the shape of a body. It even had blue yarn for hair. It was impressive although a slightly immature gift for a twelve year girl.

I also remember that Angie could not spend the night. That seemed weird to me. In fact, her whole family seemed weird to me. I'd see them at church in a row and Angie and her sister would match perfectly from their fancy homemade dresses with lace and bows to their long, curled hair. It was like their mom was playing dolls every week. Maybe it was cute on four or five year olds but I felt bad for twelve year old Angie. Her parents definitely made her "uncool."

Perhaps the world seemed scary to Angie's parents like it seems to me now. Last night, at bookclub, a friend who has a very popular 7th grade son at the other middle school told me she went through her son's texts messages (we all agreed that parents can and should check phones) and there was a message from a girl offering him a blow job. Awhile back, another friend of a 7th grade girl told me her daughter got a text from a boy about masturbation. I'm sorry if those sentences seem crude and best left unmentioned but these are the voices in my head today. I don't mean to be vulgar but that is the reality of present day middle school. Sexually developing and curious and insecure kids with much too easy access to bad information. Not all boys and girls act and speak like that, obviously, but technology seems to make bad decisions that much easier to make. So, yeah, the world kind of seems scary to me and my decisions as a mother become affected.

Still, there is a part of me that knows that while this behavior seems more overt and certainly more damaging, thanks to cyber trails, than it was during the late 80s when I was transferring from girl to woman, it isn't brand new. There were rumors about kids who did that kind of stuff when I was in 7th grade. I didn't really know what any of it meant back then, but I heard about it. Also, they were the bad kids. I had the benefit of being the fifth child whose parents had already experienced teenagers and rebellious fashion and independent hair styles (I flew the mom-controlled-hair coop in fourth grade and have the bad pictures to prove it) and they were pretty relaxed and trusting when it came to my friendships while Angie was the oldest. Maybe Angie's mom somehow thought that was what happened at parties even back then and wanted to protect her child. Now, I have an oldest who seems to be the victim of my own desire to protect. I've explained our decision against friend sleepovers before. That rule isn't changing but I also haven't had to knowingly enforce it this past year. I thought the invitations had stopped. Turns out, my kids frequently turn down sleep over offers on their own with a "My mom won't let me do sleepovers" response (seems a bit unfair that I am the bad guy as Jay is equally opposed to them). Thanks to technology and Seth being invited to a friend's birthday party sleepover tonight via text, I have his text response to prove it.

So, I'm picking him up tonight sometime between 11:00 and midnight. That's late, right? I felt so generous offering him that pick-up time yesterday but now his friend's text response is haunting me.

"Sucks to be you!"

Ugh.

At least he's not going to the party with a clown for a gift.

A right on Hereford, and a left on Boylston:A Letter About Boston

Written by Jay and posted with permission

April 16, 2013.
A letter to my boys:
So that someday you will understand…

A right on Hereford, and a left on Boylston…

On Monday, April 15, 2013, I changed why I run.

On that day, terrorists detonated homemade bombs on the sidewalks of Boylston Street as runners finished the Boston Marathon. The bombs were planted near the finish line, and were designed to inflict the most damage on innocent spectators and contestants.

The second of two bombs exploded directly across the street from where your mom, Seth and Sam stood three years ago, cheering me on to my first Boston finish.

I have had a love affair with the Boston marathon for nearly my whole life. I read about the heroics of Alberto Salazar winning when I was only 8 years old. Every year, I read with increasing interest and stronger desires to join the throng on the hallowed streets from Hopkinton to Boston.

I first tried to qualify in 1998, but fell short. I tried again in 1999, but was even slower. I gave up marathon running, deciding that a Boston run was not in my future, and focused instead on starting my family and completing medical school and residency.

After 14 years of training, three boys, some disheartening personal experiences and two frustrating illnesses, I started running seriously again. I ran to restore some dignity in my personal life.

Sam, your shock at learning that I had run a marathon before was a big motivation. I wanted you to SEE me run a marathon. And remember it.
That soon changed. I wanted you to see me run BOSTON, and remember it. I trained longer and faster and harder. I know it took away time from you. But I was stricken with a Boston fever.

I was thrilled, and relieved, in the fall of 2009, when I qualified for Boston by several minutes. Finally, a major life goal achieved!!! Charles River, here I come. Boylston Street, here I come.

Running my first Boston marathon in 2010 was almost an out of body experience. I tried to soak the whole experience in. Scenes play back in my mind like a trailer for a personal movie. Riding the bus to Hopkinton, and waiting for the gun to fire at the starting line across from the little white church. The biker gang in front of the bar (there is nothing better than being cheered on by heavily bearded and tattooed men and women (yes, bearded women) in leather chaps)! To the shrieking tunnel of college girls in front of Wellesley College with their signs screaming “Kiss Me” (okay, I did sneak a peck on the cheek of one girl – because I thought I might not ever get another chance, and I’d regret it if I didn’t. She wasn’t anywhere near as good looking as your mom, though!). To the right hand turn at the Lower Newton Falls Fire Station, and starting up the first of not one, but three separate Heartbreak Hills that ascend Newton. Cresting as I ran by Boston College, being heavily cheered by heavily drunk college guys (these guys are way to drunk for 11 AM). Descending into Brookline, and finally seeing that CITGO sign in the distance. Seeing it, but never quite reaching it. Seeing it and knowing that it is at mile 24. When is that sign going to get here? Who put up that stupid sign, anyway? Is that really the right sign? And then finally passing the sign, crossing under the highway, and then the most blessed two turns in all of distance running:

A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON

Turns so sacred that they actually sell t-shirts with those words printed on the back. Turns where the sound of the crowd actually seems to lift you off of your feet and push you from behind towards the finish line. Cheering, clapping, bells ringing. It is like the whole world is there to watch you finish.

And unlike almost every other sporting event, there are no boos. No catcalls. No references to new glasses for the referees. No wishing that the other guy will fall or fail. No jeering. No negativity. Strangers running with strangers clasp hands because you did it. Stronger finishers encourage the injured. Signs everywhere explode with messages of inspiration. Go mom. Go dad. Go son. Go Bill or Jane or Frederico.

It is just your cramping calves, twitching hamstrings, and tens of thousands of Bostonians, Americans and foreigners propelling you to finish. How anyone can run down Boylston Street with dry eyes is a mystery to me.

Tears were already flowing when I saw you with your mom in front of Lord and Taylor’s. Yes, that Lord and Taylor’s. The one across the street from the second bomb. Seeing you, hugging you and giving you a high five made every one of those previous 26 miles worth it. Reuniting with you after the finish line, with that heavy metal around my neck, made me proud to be your dad. And I think you were a little bit proud of me. I hoped that you would always remember that day. And that your dad finished Boston. And that Boylston Street is a special place. A place to be revered and treasured. A place unlike any other in the world.

I went back to Boston in 2011, but without my personal fan club to cheer me one. Because I was alone, I noticed even more than before, how much the people of Boston and surrounding areas supported the marathon runners. The number of spectators is amazing. The cheering is continuous and incessant for 26.2 miles. The signs, extra water bottles, messages written on the road in chalk; everything about the race screams loudly how much Boston loves their marathon. And how much the marathoners love Boston. I think it was that crowd that pushed me onward. Onward to break 3 hours for the first time. Another goal I thought I might never achieve.

That is why what happened on April 15, 2013, was such a shock and personal devastation to me. I was crushed for the people of Boston. Crushed for the race that I love. But disturbed that someone or someones wanted to change the most special street in Boston. Someone wanted to take Boylston Street from us.

And Boylston Street is a special street. There have been more cheers on that street than perhaps any other. Personal triumphs, joyful reunions, tearful struggles, people helping strangers, dogged determination, fist-pumping elation, and weary completion are all witnessed on Boylston Street. Everything that is positive about humanity is found there. And none of the negative.

Until last Monday. When two bombs blew the innocence and joy of Boylston Street almost off the map. Almost.

Tragically, those terrible bombs did end the lives of three. Martin Richard, age 8, reminds me in many ways of you boys. Smiling. Wearing an Under Armour hoodie. Cheering on strangers running by, because that is what you do on Boylston Street.

Krystle Campbell, age 29, was there to cheer on friends, like she had done almost every year since she was a little girl.

And Lu Lingzi, a graduate student from China at Boston University studying math and statistics, there with friends just to take in the spectacle that is Boylston Street.

All three had their bright futures tragically dimmed.

As I went to bed Monday night, before I knew all of the details we later discovered, I thought to myself, “I need to go back to Boylston. My kids need to go back to Boylston”.

The next morning, your mom said to me, “I think you should run Boston again next year.”

I checked the website. My last marathon in Denver still meets the Boston qualifying standards by 5 minutes. Registration opens up in September. I have until then to try for a better qualifying time so that I can increase my chances of making it in. I’m going to give it everything I’ve got so that next year I can make…

A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON

I hope you will be there to cheer me on. On Boylston Street. By the Lord and Taylor’s. And I hope that you soak in the cheers. The American flags that I’m sure will be waving. The Boston t-shirts. The Red Sox jackets. The positive wave of humanity crushing the weak will of terrorism. The triumph of runner, spectator, official as we complete another Boston.

I’ll be thinking of you as I climb Heartbreak Hill(s). But my heart won’t be breaking. I know you’ll be on Boylston Street. Cheering on the elite winners, surrounded by strength. Because I know that we are strong. Our family is strong. Our country is strong. Our faith is strong.

This world might be scary at times. There are people that do things that we don’t understand. There are evil people that try to rob our innocence and steal our victories. There are places to avoid. Places to be scared. Places to wonder if we’ll make it back.
But Boylston Street is not that place. And I will not let terrorists or anyone else turn such a positive place into a place that should be feared or shunned.

And so, now, I run for Boylston Street. Next year, we will return to claim that street back. I’ll run down it. You’ll stand on the sidewalk among strangers and feel confidence, not fear. You’ll hear cheers, not boos. We’ll claim it back for runners. For cheerleaders. For supporters. For friends. For families. For the Johnsons. For Boston. For America. For all that is good in humanity.

A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON!!!

The Birth of A Teenager

Maybe it's because I remember my own feelings of teenage angst. Maybe it's because the sight and sound of teenagers in public throngs always annoys me. Maybe it's because most people I know say things like, "Just wait until you have teenagers." For whatever reason, I have spent quite a bit of my parenting life worrying and dreading the day my own sons become these terrible things.

Now, I officially have one. A teenager. And I find him delightful.

He certainly can be annoying and troubling and worrisome but no more than his six month, two or seven year-old self ever was. Turns out, I really enjoy the almost adult conversations I get to have with him and his sense of humor and his actually helpful and not secretly slowing me down help.

I'm sure that there will be bumps along the road but I'm so relieved that I have a teenager and I still really like him. All that worry was for nothing. I'm sincerely looking forward to these next five years and I'm going to do my very best to enjoy every day. From the way things have already progressed, I know they'll be gone in a flash.

Now, to remember Seth as a brand new thirteen year old.

He:

• loves the Oklahoma City Thunder basketball team and especially Kevin Durant (he thinks they must have a lot in common because they are both so skinny)
• is constantly shooting "air" shots. It's not even consciously done. 
• Wears a size 10 shoe
• Is 5 ft 8 inches
• consistently makes the school honor roll (although he should get straight As if he would only remember to turn in all of his assignments!!!!)
• is horribly unorganized and quite messy 
• wears braces
• wants to be a basketball player in the NBA when he grows up
• designs custom basketball shoes for fun on nike.com
• torments his brothers
• prefers milkshakes and pancakes above all
• has been battling athletes foot since November (bleech)
• enjoys scouts and YM
• doesn't grumble too much about piano anymore
• likes to watch NBA game time
• doesn't know a lot of music but likes The Script's Hall of Fame featuring Will.I.am
• has run a mile in 6:18 and is hoping for a faster time during this spring's track season
• likes his social studies and video yearbook classes best.

Yes Day Activities Included: 

Lunch at Denny's.  The morning was really slow and I was worried that he wasn't going to have a fun  birthday because there didn't seem to be anything he wanted to do. Finally, I convinced to go on a date with me for lunch because I promised him pancakes.  Unfortunately, for me, the place I had in mind didn't serve their breakfast menu items after 11 so we ended up at Dennys, which was fine with him.

When we got to our driveway, which is 0.2 miles long, Seth asked me if he could drive. It is a scary, scary thing to be in the passenger seat when your child is driving and we never went faster than 5 miles an hour. You just don't know if they know or will forget about that brake pedal! I'm glad we live out in the boonies so he can do stuff like this and it's not too dangerous. 

Grandpa came over in the afternoon to deliver a birthday card from him and Grandma. I love that Seth gets to be close to his grandparents.

What he really wanted was to play basketball. I had sort of forced Sam to go play with him earlier (Sam hates to play with Seth because Seth cannot stop himself from taunting Sam and telling him what to do so Sam inevitably walks away).  Finally, I got in my sneakers and challenged him to a game. I'm so bad! It's hard to believe I played 2 years in high school.

I can't even look up when I dribble.

You can see the difficulty I had playing defense. I had to watch out for more than just Seth's dribble.

I did get a few good shots off.

Ha ha ha ha ha.

Foul!

Fouled him back.

Poor Seth...having to play with his mom.

We got an ice cream cake and Seth wanted to light his own candles.

You can't tell but those candles are in the shape of the KD logo

Good lookin' kid! Ahem...teen.

Doing double duty with my photo taking.

Seth got cards from his grandparents, brother and us. He shows the appropriate amount of enthusiasm when opening each one.

Because this, the thing which enables him to purchase more basketball paraphernalia, was usually inside.

Sam wrote a sweet card.

He got KD Nike Elite socks. I would venture a guess that he owns more socks than any other 13 year old boy on the globe.

He also got a fathead for his room.

Go thunder.  Yes...Seth is kissing his massive bicep.

Peekabo!

Dinner at Abblebees (this was such a nice, easy yes day for me)

Above everything else, he wanted to play basketball at the church on his birthday. We even made sure to be back from Utah in time for him to play. He loves gathering with these men each Thursday night and has improved a great deal by playing with them. I appreciate their willingness to let him play with them and not take it too hard (or easy) on him.

Happy 13th Birthday, Seth!  I love you!

Minuet and March

Seth and Sam both learned a piece to play during the student recital of this week's local Bach Festival. I love listening to Bach and even though some of the songs start to sound the same, the melodies and harmonies are so pleasing and easy on the ear that I enjoyed all hour and fifteen minutes of it. It also helped that Jay had Daniel. :)

I thought some fans of the boys might enjoy hearing them perform. I thought they did a great job. Seth gets so nervous but I think each time he performs, he gains more and more confidence in his ability to calm his nerves and do his best under pressure. Sam may sweat it, but he doesn't let me know.

What We're Up To

My throat really hurts.  For the past week, it has been hurting but only at night.  Anywhere between 4-6 pm, one tonsil (but never both) would seem to get bigger and bigger, making swallowing and talking really painful.  Ibuprofen would help and since it never really bothered me during the day, I didn't really care. It seemed like a pretty benign cold.

Then, last night, the huge lump on one side of my throat actually woke me up at 3 am it was so painful. I took some more Advil and some Nyquil for good measure and could. not. wake. up this morning. I did wake up just enough to get Sam and Henry down to the bus and probably dangerously drove Seth to school but then I went back to bed and slept until 10:30 this morning.  I had the strangest dreams I had in a long, long time.  I was out in public wearing my winter nightgown (long sleeved, mid calf) but also had on a pair of mid-calf garment bottoms on that the nightgown couldn't cover and I kept trying to get into a sitting position where I could curl my legs up so no one could tell.  It was so stressful!  Especially when a dog kept crawling onto my lap.  I think I was in a nursing home of some sort because older people kept coming up to me wanting to pet the dog.  That is what a 3 am Nyquil dose will do to your subconscious brain!  And my throat still hurts today. I am so desperate I may even attempt at gargling salt water. This has not gone well in the past.

Besides my throat pain, it's been a good week. A bit stressful, which has me stressed. You see, February was my month to host bookclub and it is always on the fourth Thursday of the month...so...it was last night. The way our bookclub does it is whoever is hosting chooses the book and then puts on dinner for everyone. As our group currently has 14 members, it can be overwhelming if everyone decides to come.  Lucky for me, only 5 decided to come so it was a very doable dinner for 6. I don't know when I turned into a person who gets anxious having people over but I definitely do now. All week long, I was dreading Thursday night and mentally couldn't wait for it to all be over. I have done some reflecting and think it boils down to a few things. One, I am simply out of practice. Having people over must follow Newton's first law of motion: an object at rest will stay at rest unless an external force acts upon it. The external force was five ladies coming over to discuss (maybe. You never know how much the book will actually get discussed) Beautiful Ruins and their imminent arrival led to me finally putting some pictures in frames, getting a few new serving bowls so I didn't have to have pots on the table, and coving my very worn table top with a tablecloth.  It also involved lots of food shopping, cleaning and then cleaning up. The evening went fine and I think everyone had a nice time but the forced object in motion is craving its usual rest again. But, I know it'd be better if I stay in motion and become more social again.

Jay has had some A.I. (Artifical Insemination) success already.  This is a big week for him as the heifers he impregnated by insemination are due to deliver if his technique and fancy bull sperm worked (that sentence needs to be taken in context or else it seems very weird). Out of the ten he attempted, three have delivered.  Unfortunately, all three have been heifers (he is trying to breed club steers for the boys). All ten got pregnant but if they don't deliver this week, then they got pregnant from his dad's bull a month later.  Every day, he is this funny mix of excited and worried and is over checking on the cows all the time as two of the baby heifers born this week had to be pulled because they were too big.  I'm a thousand percent certain that he wasn't quite as worked up any of the four times I delivered our children.

Seth competed in History Day this week and made a documentary on Jesse Owens success at the 1936 Nazi Olympics as a turning point of attitude towards blacks and competitive sports and did so well that he and his partner qualified to go on to the state competition. He is quite pleased although I don't think he has the kind of competitive spirit or natural fascination with history to spend the time making the kind of improvements he needs to make to make his project really good and coherent.  I was relieved when on of the judges echoed my own advice and said having "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry play during slides of Owens racing wasn't really appropriate. His story telling and research are definitely the reasons the judges ok'd them to state and not his annotated bibliography that includes the name, "Dogg, Snoop" on it (he must have produced the Katy Perry song).



Presenting the documentary to the three judges, including the superintendent of our school district.



Seth and Jack with their award.

Sam is on track for getting eye surgery in 12 days. He is still wearing the prism stickers on his glasses and his eyes still look crossed but at his last appointment, the ophthalmologist felt assured that she had all the information she needed to get the best alignment for his eyes. That meant no more missing Tuesdays to drive to Grand Junction and back and not missing basketball practice.  Unfortunately, a nasty fall after a ski jump sidelined him this week after he severely bruised both heels. He wouldn't put any weight on them all week and walked on his tip toes. The tipping point to normal walking came when his calf muscles became more sore than his heals. He is healing nicely and will hopefully be walking and seeing straight soon.



Eyes are a little straighter with this prism stickers.  His doctor said that his eyes "eat prisms" which means that he adjusts quickly but will adjust even more than they need to, which skews the data.

Henry came home with a very bad report from his teacher the week before our winter break. I'd blame it on me being gone, as he has had those kinds of reports from teachers in the past when I am gone and his routine is off, but it was the week of Valentine's and so probably had nothing to do with my absence. I don't know what set him off but when his speech teacher, reading teacher and 1st grade teacher all report that he is surly, uncooperative, talks back and says everything is "boring" and "he already knows everything" then mom and dad don't let it slide. He also had a bad report from his ski teacher two weeks ago and screamed the entire ride home that he "hated skiing" "skiing is stupid" and "I never want to ski again!" only to be perfectly fine this last week.  It's all about his mood and I don't know what sets him off.  Mood or not, he can't be disrespectful like that and he's been cut off from all electronics this week and his bedtime moved from 8:30 to 7 pm to ensure a well rested psyche. He really is a charmer but he can also be quite difficult if he's unmotivated or tired and it is sort of embarrassing when he shows this side of him to his teachers. He's had a good week so far.  I'm hoping he doesn't get the winter blues because this seems to happen almost every year at this point of the school calendar.




His teacher sent this picture to me. I guess he can be happy some of the time.  He's in the blue coat.

Daniel is at a super fun stage. He's still not talking or saying any words, including mama or dada, and while I don't think that's a red flag, having gone through Henry's speech delay discovery has me a bit wary. He does mimic intonation and you can tell he's trying to say, "Where's Daniel?" and "Peek-a-boo!"by the way his voice rises and falls. He's super expressive and loves to give a funny glare or pout with his eyebrows down and furrowed only to raise them up and smile when his internal comedic timer dings.  He loves his stuffed elephant and it has become his comfort object at night. I don't know if I just sleep through his wakeful periods at night at home or he quietly self soothes but whenever we travel, he  does not sleep well. We spent the February 8th-14th up in Denver and he didn't sleep through the night once. It makes this girl who likes to travel not like travel quite as much. Sleep or no sleep, I'll keep him because he is so darn cute.



Fun little mess maker. Good thing the tablecloth from bookclub dinner was still on the table this morning!

Five For Friday

1.  Jay and Seth are going on a boy scout Klondike campout tonight.  With our -15 degree overnight low temps of late, it is a relief that the expected low is only supposed to be 7 degrees while they camp.  Jay is nervous as scoutmaster that the boys he doesn't have control over, in other words, everyone else besides Seth, will be underprepared for the conditions.  I don't envy him his task or his chilly environment.

Ready before school this morning.  Jay is going to pick him up and off they'll go!

One of the challenges of the camp, besides staying warm, is a sort of Iron Chef Cook Off.  They have 50 minutes to present a meal to the judges with three components.  The meal must include something pickled, and the ingredients lime and cilantro.  Exactly the kind of things you'd think boyscout aged boys would enjoy eating, right?  Crazy enough, we found a couple of recipes that just might be good, depending on how adventuresome your tastebuds are.  For the pickled food, we found a pickled pulled beef sandwich on Paula Dean's website.  Those southerners sure think of some odd ways to prepare food.  Simple enough, all Jay needed was a 2 pound chuck roast and a 24 oz jar of dill pickle spears.  Dump the pickles with juice onto the roast, crockpot on low for at least 12 hours, add some pepper, shred and....voila: pulled pickled beef.  His troop is going to top it with a cilantro and lime coleslaw and serve it on a hamburger bun.  Neat.

I hope it tastes better than it smells

Jay considered cooking it overnight up there with a dutch oven, but neither of us have ever used one and he is already taking a large camp stove we purchased for the pioneer Trek a few years back, so, for sake of ease and making sure the meat was actually cooked, he cooked it in the crockpot, here in the house, and plans to reheat it on the campstove.  All perfectly legal but I woke up nauseated by the pungent smell of cooked pickles on beef!  It's a good thing I am not pregnant because this is the kind of smell that would have sent me hurling.  The website warned us as much (look at the bottom of the recipe) so we set the crockpot in the sunroom, thinking that would be far enough away from where we usually are that the smell wouldn't be too bad.  As luck would have it, Jay can't smell a thing!  It's like his olfactory glands don't pick up this particular scent of nasty.  Unfair but it'll all be over soon enough.  If only it would have been the coleslaw that needed to be pre-prepared.  That looks tasty!

2.  It seems like a chocolate protein shake would be right up my alley for meal replacements.  Sometimes, if its cold enough and I'm feeling motivated to be skinny enough, it is.  But, I think I like to chew too much.  I miss chewing if too many smoothie type beverages are in the lineup.  Today, I was a little disturbed when I opened my pantry cupboard to pull down the Jay Robb Egg White Protein mix and see this man staring back at me.  I get that he's ripped and he's probably trying to associate his physique with his miraculous brand of powder, but, if you're going to be showing off a bare chest, you better be at the beach or post workout.  Just posing in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt is sending me mixed messages.  Messages like, "I'm a creepy guy and you shouldn't buy my product!"

The cross...the shirt....the body oil...the goatee.  It's just not my thing. 

3.  I just got back from a soda run and noticed I am wearing my pants inside out.  That isn't good.

4.  For the past three months, our primary chorister has been very hit and miss.  At least twice a month, I have had to step in at the last minute and do an impromptu singing time.  If it was a sharing time, I'd have anxiety ulcers by now but I'm much more comfortable leading a singing activity on the spot.  Unfortunately for the kids in our primary, those off the cuff singing sessions don't come with any primary glamour, namely laminated visuals.  Truth be told, even with advanced warning, the likelihood of me bearing cricut produced good is very low.  If it can't be done on the chalkboard, it's probably above my artistic level.

Well, primary chorister has been released and new primary chorister has yet to be called so I am also officially the interim primary chorister until further notice.  The song of the month is "I Am A Child of God" and most of the kids know the first verse well enough but if I were a gambling woman, I'd bet against most of them knowing the other three verses.  So, here's my idea using a crazy combination of three oft-used primary games.  I am going to sit the children in a circle.  Following the format of the game Hot Potato, they will pass around an actual potato while singing (or listening to)  the various verses of I Am a Child of God.   Before the song begins,  one participant will roll a number die.  Whichever number faces up is the number of words in order the person holding the potato when the music stops will need to produce.  In a twist of the game "Hangman", I will bring a Mr. Potato Head and if whomever's turn it is to deliver the next few words can't successfully remember, parts of Mr. Potato Head will come off.  The last piece will be his mouth.  I'm calling the game, "Don't Let Mr. Potato Head Lose His Voice!"  We'll keep repeating a verse until he either loses his voice or I decide everyone knows it well enough to move on to another verse.  Too confusing?  Too many games going on?  I'm a believer in musical repetition being a great memory device and if you can trick kids into forgetting how often they are singing the exact same song, the words get into their head.  I write this all out because I've been burned before.  Sometimes, an idea I think is great or even just plausible, will go very badly.  If something doesn't make sense or you can imagine  this entire game going down in a ball of bored singers' flames, please speak (comment) up!  I've still got a day for adjustments or an entirely new idea.

His mouth would be the last to go.  He even looks like he's singing!

5.  I leave one week from today for Israel!!!!!

Let's hope there's none of this:

No missles!  No need to use the Iron Dome!

And lots of this:



Not promising an exact recreation of pose or outfit, but I'll try.