A Prayer

My heart has been heavy these last days reading the newspaper and Facebook.  And so, a prayer I wrote: ​

Jesus, we ask you to draw close to those in need, but you are already there.  You were there first, and you’ll be the last to leave.  Help us to hear the hum of your presence.  Give us the courage to reach for you in our struggles, and the struggles of those we love.  Then give us the courage to reach again when we fail or doubt.  Stop us in our tracks when we lunge into people and things in hopes of finding worthiness.  May we believe in our bones that we have been made worthy.  And, that our neighbor is worthy too.  And not just that we are worthy, but that we are a one-of-a kind.   Rally around us as we try to live into our uniqueness.   Obstruct us from trying to water down the person you made us to be.   Awaken our souls to the beauty around us.  And then show us beauty around the edges of the things in the world and our lives that are hard.  Bring those edges into main focus.  Help us leap with joy over the small things.  Quicken us to pass on kindness.   Tune out the things that don’t matter so that as days pass -- and one day our own lives --- we can hear your presence as a roar.

Celebrating a decade

​Colin, age 10

If you have a kid that’s giving you a run for your money, we have one too.  And tomorrow we get to celebrate a decade of life with him.   A decade I wouldn’t change for the world.

It gets better.  How do I know?  Because that one that gives me the biggest headache, the deepest heartache, also gives me the greatest joy.  And the joy comes from seeing him learn how to navigate the world in the package he was given.  It’s not enough to know that the kids like Colin who we lovingly describe as “pieces of work” are the same people that will change our world as adults (something I do believe), you want to see some of that work evolving on your watch.

None of us like to fail, some of us crumble at the mere potential of failure.   Colin is of the crumbling variety (crashing and burning in the toddler years), so historically he has avoided things he doesn’t feel like he’s good at.  So when Colin recently announced that he likes to draw faces in Art even though he’s not good at it, I did a little happy dance.  Ahh! How much more of the world opens up to you when you are willing to try something new.

And here, the world is opening up for Colin.  Sometimes it takes launching an inflexible person into a new and uncomfortable situation for them to see that they are more adaptable than they ever gave themselves credit for.  It’s a big reason we decided to make the move.  We wanted to give Colin some practice at learning how to deal with change (before adolescence hit.)  Colin was the first of our family to settle in to our new life here, and with that has come huge strides in confidence and independence.   He has taken the city bus on his own, has decided to forgo Baseball (a sport he’s good at) in the spring to try Track, and boldly uses his French to order for us in restaurants.

We celebrated Colin’s birthday this past weekend with a “Day of Colin.”  We did this in lieu of a birthday party since Colin couldn’t figure the right 10 year old party idea to host the six girls (three sets of twin girls he’s befriended) and three boys he wanted to invite.   (Friends with girls, consider this a heads up.)  The “Day of Colin” started with student-lead parent/teacher conferences at school (where he’s loving it), a stop at an athletic store for him to pick out something he wanted (technical shirt #38, Nike socks, and shoelaces!) his first club basketball game (where is the youngest and smallest player on his team and scored 8 points in the first quarter), homemade chocolate chip cookies (poorly executed), an indoor pool/water park (involving naked spa I mentioned on Facebook) and going out for hamburgers.

Coin, for 2!

There was much anticipation about all parts to the day, but maybe most about the hamburgers.  We had heard rave reviews about a café in Luxembourg that served great hamburgers, and it was a craving we had not satisfied since we moved to Europe.   We got there right when it opened (Brett dropped us off while he parked because we were THAT excited), and it was as cute and as good-smelling as advertised.  Happy Burger Birthday!  Almost.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t seat us.  We didn’t have a reservation and they were booked for the evening. For Hamburgers?  And to add insult to injury, the small dining room was completely empty at the moment we learned this news.  Now this is hard for people who are flexible, with 42 years of life experience, and who have not had red meat in two months.  But for the almost 10 year old...??? 

Yep, Colin rolled with it.  Completely.   He shook off the disappointment without any fuss, and rebounded with a suggestion for Plan B.  And Plan B – an Italian trattoria down the road – was a place we hadn’t even yet been too.  That’s the next level of flexibility when you can change course when something doesn’t go according to plan, and change that course to yet another unknown. 

But above all, Colin’s growth has been manifested most in his ability to receive love.  Some people need more convincing than others that they are deeply loved.  And when you are sandwiched between two brothers who are happy-go-lucky and you are not, it takes more than verbal assurances of love or love in action.  It also takes love between the lines.  Because people with a glass half empty hear more than just what you’re saying, they also hear your heart.  And you’re not born ready to handle that kind of input.  Because as we know, not everything being unsaid is a bed of roses.  So you need some skills on how to tune that kind of antennae.

The upside of those feelers however is that you have this incredible gateway towards sensitivity and empathy.  Colin knows even through a pinched smile when I am angry or frustrated.   He can feel when he’s in a situation that is “sketch.”   He can tell when someone at school is sad.  And now, he can say it himself when he is sad like he did yesterday to his brother in email – and know that it will pass.  In Seattle, when Colin was asked to say our dinner time prayer – he would always lead us in a time of silence (which was wonderfully welcome until it was interrupted by a giggle or burp, or both.)  I think that was largely because he didn’t know what to say.  Here though, Colin is volunteering most every night and he prays these long beautiful, heartfelt prayers that involve not just our family, but kids in Africa, and are layered with words of gratitude like last night where Colin thanked God for MY generosity towards him (which either had something to do with allowing him to raid my wallet for change or perhaps something more…) 

Optimism that comes naturally is a wonderful thing, but the kind that requires practice through gratitude is maybe even a little sweeter because it comes with a decision to ignore the part that isn’t always full. 

Happy Birthday to the kid that fills me up!

Working yourself out of a job

One of our favorite parental refrains is this one: “What’s our main job as your parents?”  The responses vary from a decent answer of:   “To love us” to a smart ass answer of: “To do XYZ for me.”   That’s because they know what’s coming next.  “Our main job as your parents is to work ourselves out of a job.” 

Really, it’s one of Brett’s favorite refrains.  Utensil usage is still well below 50%, so I’m not convinced.  I honestly don’t see myself retiring from my job as Table Manner Counselor until age 65.  I’m glad Brett is teaching them “How to Treat a Woman” because that will come in handy when they are blowing their nose in their napkin.

I kid the husband a little however, because that philosophy has been put to the test with this move.  With our 15 year old still back in Seattle, we are getting a preview into how well we have fared in working ourselves out a job.  A job we love, and one we’ve worked pretty hard at.  (Note: we’ve also realized that some projects are harder than others.)

It is with mixed emotions that I am able to report that I think we are ahead of schedule (at least in the areas that matter.)

It’s not when a 15 year old sends a picture of his perfect report card, or stats on his basketball game, but it’s when he sends regular texts like this one:  “Thanks Mom.  I really appreciate those kind words!! I love you too!!!” When at an age where it’s in style to be cool and evasive, he can still tell the people he loves that he loves them with 5 exclamation points. 

Several months ago, Quinn told me that he has three main things he tries to live by.  To go with the flow, that practice makes perfect, and to be kind to everybody.   I saw that to be true in his life then, but even more now at a distance.  He is open to everything and deeply content no matter his situation.  He hasn’t asked us to send or buy him anything, only to be available for a FaceTime chat.  He works hard – with or without us around – maybe even harder without us because his drive is within.   And I have a log of texts that echo his kindness to me -- the person in his life that it would be easiest to forget to be kind to.

As my six year old nuzzled into bed with me last night after a bad dream, I was reminded of how good it feels to be needed.   To be needed in that visceral, tangible way.  That a hug would not just protect, but also overcome, anything scary your child had to face.  There is still so much to fear even after you’re 15, but if you’ve established a pattern of trustworthiness with them and taught them that there is Someone even greater to trust --- then maybe they can feel their hair being stroked while on a FaceTime chat.

Pancake Dreams

“To dream of eating pancakes, denotes that you will have excellent success in all enterprises undertaken at this time.”

That sounds good.  Overly broad perhaps, but encouraging. 

These are the gluten-free-maple-bacon-pancakes I *would have* made in my dream.

I had to look it up because two nights ago I had a dream about pancakes.  More like a nightmare really.  I wasn’t eating pancakes.  I was trying to make pancakes.  For lots of hungry people.   Every burner in use, every dish in play, and yet unable to produce a single pancake.  It was incredibly stressful and vivid.  And it had never happened on U.S. sheets.  I googled further.

“Making and/or serving pancakes in a dream forecasts an exciting and gratifying increase in social activity. Eating them signifies success in your current undertakings.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah – but what about my dream – the one where I couldn’t get pancake to table.  The one where people like my son and Michelle Obama asked, “I thought this was supposed to be a pancake breakfast?” Apparently this was not a common dream sequence, so I wonder if:

I’ve read “Curious George Makes Pancakes” a few too many times.  Or I’m wishing I had a second pair of hands like George.

I’ve overly complicated pancakes.  Sometimes just adding water is all you need.

The whole world is becoming gluten intolerant, so save the sappy golden goodness of maple syrup for steel cut oats.

Would I have been successful had I had bangs? 

Come on Kate – pancakes are so much easier than crepes or waffles!  Although I was reassured to read that:  

“To dream of eating a waffle indicates that you need to come down from your lofty ideals and approach life from a more pragmatic perspective.” 

Or, as another website offered:

“If the pancakes were made of buckwheat, the augury is of a calm life with slow but steady progress.”

I don’t know if they were made with buckwheat, but I have bought buckwheat in the past and flour was all over my kitchen floor.  Slow and steady progress.  I’ll stick with that.  I can’t figure out everything I need to know, or do, all at once.  I’m not expected to throw a brunch just yet.  I’m getting to know a new place, and a new way of doing things.  And so today, I will walk with my camera and see what I can see – stop for a coffee, say something in French out loud, and buy some croissants for tomorrow’s breakfast.

Owie

We don’t have girls, so we don’t have much “drama”.  Until there’s an injury, and then Lawton can make you believe the sky is falling, the seas are rising and he’s seen a vision of bad Santa. (For those that know Lawton, remember the “swallowing issue”.)  Our first week here, Lawton sustained one of those epic injuries.  Dumb Daddy cut his thumb nail too short.  Trace amounts of blood were taken, a Band-Aid was administered, and Lawton’s hand became immobilized for 36 hours. Bum thumb = no use of left arm.  Not even on the iPad.   We tried to talk about it casually, but repeatedly got the injured hand in our face.   And so we let it go – to “heal” in it’s own sweet time.

As I watched Lawton deal with his phantom injury, it made me wonder if maybe I was doing some of that too.  Everyone knows that moving is one of life’s biggest stresses – even more so when that move is to a foreign country.  I’ve given myself a long rope of grace with this move, but wondered if I too was nursing some of my own unjustified anxieties.  It’s natural to be anxious about new things, but anxieties can render you paralyzed the more you talk about it and the longer you wait on it.

My bum thumb for the first week(s) here was driving.  I was a wreck.  I’m not even a good driver in the US.  But in the US, there are wide roads, few one-way streets, and signs I can read.   Here, there are at least two dozen signs at every intersection.  Every potential point of interest is accounted for.  Each lane has it’s own signs.  Regular lanes turn into bus lanes that then turn into bike lanes that then turn into you’re-screwed-lanes.  Traffic lights are not ubiquitously overhead.   Parallel parking is the ONLY parking.   Luxembourg City is perched high on cliffs that drop into narrow river valleys – and there are only two (hidden) ways down.   Traffic yields to the right – even when you are barreling down a street at lots of km/h.  (I still haven’t worked out the math in my head.) But when there’s a yield sign with a X in it – it means that priority is no longer on the right – so do what finally feels natural. 

There was a lot to be anxious about, but I was anxious as a passenger.  Every time Brett drove, I tried to imagine me navigating the same roads.  I would ask clarifying questions about directions and was always off by 90-180 degrees.  Brett drove with confidence (as all men do), and then accidentally find himself in the bus lane.  And Dumb Daddy thought I could do this!

Finally on our ninth day here, I ripped the band-aid off.  I got behind the wheel the morning of New Year’s Day.  While people were home nursing hang overs, I took to the empty streets.  With “Betty” (our GPS system) as my companion, I found my way to the kid’s school.  Ahh.  I was a mother that could get my children to school.  I made it home and parallel parked in front of my building.  Happy with my inaugural effort, Betty coaxed me into doing more.  So we headed for the empty mall and I visualized parking in a sea of cars with pedestrian walkways and way too many no entry signs.  I did it.  There were no accidental detours onto bus lanes or motorways, and my yielding to imaginary cars was par excellent.  It really wasn’t near as hard as I thought (and you all knew) it would be.  But often, we just need to take the first step to get over our proverbial bump in the road.  And I had done it on New Year’s Day.

I have been mostly over the driving angst since then – I even pass trucks on the motorway going 140 k/ph! – and I love me some roundabouts.  I still wait a few seconds too long on the yields and hold my breath on the parking garages, but basically I’m finding my way around.  But, I was almost undone again when I got an email from my landlord two days ago.

It turns out, there ARE cameras in the parking garage.  He asked me if I was parking in space #16 because that is not our space (I knew that) and could I please park in space #32 (our assigned space, which I also knew.)  That would be possible if not for the permanent car in space #31 and the pole on the other side of space #32.  And I reasoned, I have never seen a car in space #16, or #15, or #14, or #13 – basically the whole other freakin side of the garage.  Instead, we are all bunched together around this very dangerous pole.  I emailed him back to a) confess, b) say sorry, and c) ask for another parking space.  He didn’t respond right away, so I did the next best thing.  I got in my car, took a deep breath, and attempted to back into space #32.  (It should be noted that though Betty is excellent in many ways, she does not have a rear view camera.)  Putting aside my past encounters with poles, parked cars, and medians – I decided that if I could back into this space, I would easily be able to get out this space.  Slowly, carefully in reverse I went.  Yes!   I landed in the lines and without side swiping the car-that-does-not-move or the pole.  And then I did it again – faster (but not too fast.)   And then I emailed my landlord back and told him that space #32 was just fine.

Lawton’s hand is fully functional again now too.  Although, we had a bit of a setback yesterday with some frost nip accompanied by visions of Frosty chasing him down a fiery pit.   It took only about twenty minutes this time to thaw his hands (and stop the drama) – at which time I noticed that his nails were crazy long. But then I thought mischievously, Dumb Daddy is home tomorrow.  I’ll tell him I’ll park the car while he takes over grooming duties.

Happy Birthday Quinn

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Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Messieur.
Messieur who?
Miss your face.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Croissant?
Croissant who?
No, croissant with the accent.
Crossiant with the accent who?
Oui could sing you Happy Birthday but sortie thought this was more fun.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Chocolat.
Chocolat who?
Bon! Bon!
Knock, knock.
I’m NON home.
C’est bien that way.
(Pause)
KNOCK, KNOCK. I can s’il vous plait you.
Do you have a chocolat croissant?
Oui, oui.
Please not at my front door.
J’adore you Quinn and miss you on your 15th birthday!