What kind of Salt are you shaking?

One of the advantages of living in Europe is access to affordable Fleur de Sel, the revered French finishing salt found off the coasts of Brittany.  Not only does it make everything it comes in contact with taste better, its name – unlike the ordinary Table Salt - encourages you to season with a flourish.  

Salt has often been used as a metaphor for words we speak.   It got me thinking about all the different types of salts and how they, like words, have the ability to enhance or bring out the best when used in the right context.   They say women speak close to 20,000 words in a day in contrast to a man’s 7,000.  I don’t know what they say about American women living in a French speaking country, but I do know that word count takes a massive hit.  Either I’m delivering fewer but more potent words, developing my masculine sensibilities or simply creating space in my head to think about things like Salt.  It’s still early in the day, and already I’ve launched some careless, gossipy and impatient words so the former can’t possibly be true. 

Yet, as I study and learn more about the many Salt options that line my counter – all of which flavor whatever it touches – like words, we can all use different salts for different purposes to create a salty pleasure or a salty disaster.  None of us want to intentionally ruin a dish because we weren't paying attention to our salt shaker.  

First, let’s just agree to table Table Salt.  It’s not interesting as a flavor enhancer, and because it’s laced with additives it conjures up the disingenuous words we parrot, or use to embellish or hide what we really want to say.  It’s the words we say for an audience, but would have a harder time saying to a mirror.  Sadly, it’s the blather we hear when most politicians speak.

Chunks of Rock Salt, while not suitable for cooking, serves a specific function in ice cream machines and as a chilly bed for oysters on the half shell.  It’s those words we use only in specific situations that demand it.  These are not words that enhance as much as they are words that help lower the temperature or preserve safety.   It’s the “Look Both Ways” command we give our children.

Kosher Salt is used in all kinds of cooking as it dissolves quickly; its coarse crystals applied in rough pinches rather than precise measurements.  It’s like small talk – the words without staying power, the ones that don’t have to be measured.  It's permissible gab that can be flung far and wide.  Kosher Salt is also used (in abundance) for curing meats, but then rinsed off before cookery begins much like the permeability of mindless chatter of talking too much or about nothing at all. 

Sea Salt, the dancing partner of caramel and chocolate and anything in need of a burst of flavor, is most often used not during cooking but after.  Like the words we speak - context matters.  A word said in haste, before the thought was fully baked, loses its impact for pungency.  Sea salt comes in various textures and irregular sizes depending on its mineral makeup.  Our words too can be coarsely delivered or spoken with fine precision, and what we say won’t always be consistent.   But the beauty of Sea Salt is that it’s naturally occurring impurities can add a subtlety to a dish that may not be repeatable just like the arcs of our words in unexpected conversations.

Then there are the infused Sea Salts.  Lemon Salt, Rosemary Salt, Truffle Salt and a hundred other combinations you didn’t think possible.  Perhaps those lovely embellishments of citrus and herbs are the gestures of attentiveness we do as we speak, or acts of kindness that follow up to what we say.  Or, maybe when a combination is unsavory or imbalanced it’s like body language that doesn’t match our words, or when a flavor like truffle overpowers everyone in a room.

Some salts, like Sea Salt Flakes, are best enjoyed when you release the flavor by crushing the crystals between your fingertips.  Likewise, some of our words need to be massaged first in order for them to add the right flavor note.  An uncrushed Sea Salt Flake might be rendered tasteless, or worse leave a bitter after taste, when a slight adjustment could have made the difference between a word falling on deaf ears, or hostile ones. 

Concentrated Pickling Salts, made of 100% sodium chloride and not fortified with iodine, release their flavor over time, turning cucumbers into pickles and radishes into something almost edible.  These are the words we speak with a bite because they are true; the unfiltered words that can sweeten or sour for months under a tightly capped lid.   These are the words whose trajectory we may never know.

Finally, Fleur de Sel, the special occasion salt fit for a beautiful jar, the Caviar of all salts which has spawned a new industry of Finishing Salts like it.   The unevenness of the crystals which are harvested by hand which "bloom" with just the right mix of sun and wind means it lingers in your mouth – the smaller crystals dissolving first, making way for the larger crystals to then melt and follow with a punch of their own.  The resulting bite tasty, multifaceted, yet wonderfully balanced.  It’s the words we say that linger because they were spoken with thought and care.  It’s about allowing our unique experiences of growth from the sun and tumult from the wind to shape what we say into something real, maybe even vulnerable.  It’s about leaving room for a pause.  It’s the words of genuine interest or well-timed encouragement that travel from ear to heart, lifting that which was ordinary into something special.   But it doesn’t have to only be a special occasion salt.  It could be our everyday salt - because a little bit can go a long way.

“Let your conversations be always full of grace, seasoned with salt.”

(Note: I got some info on the types and tips for using salts from this Real Simple article.) 

Bumbling Fool

Watching my happy-go-lucky six year old son at play recently, I asked him one of those ridiculous, impossible questions: “What’s the secret to your happiness?”   He did not have an answer for me.  I didn’t really expect he would, but I hoped.

It felt a lot less ridiculous of a question when my good friend Holly mentioned (unprompted) that she had JUST asked her six year old daughter the exact same question.   Word for word, in fact.   Either Holly is keeping the told secret to herself, or I’ll choose to believe that her charming daughter did in fact demure with “I don’t know.”

We must all want a little dose of that six year old carefreeness.

It got me thinking that if I were ever asked that question, I should think about how I might respond.   So far it’s not a question that has come up much.  We read books about it, but rarely do we ask each about it.   I’ve got a long way to go before one might ever mistake me for a beacon of carefreeness, but I’m pointed in that general direction and I do have my what's-up-with-her-Jim-Carey-happy-days.  And if ever someone asked ME what the secret to my (not) youthful skin was, I’d have to segue straight into my secret for happiness answer.

If I want to play it safe, my answer would be gratitude.  It’s definitely part of the answer, but it’s more a byproduct of the honest, braver answer.   No one is offended by gratitude which makes it safe, and most of us have experienced the altering impact that gratitude can have on one’s outlook.  I’m a total believer in the whole Gratitude movement.  But … it’s not “thank you” that I murmur under my breath countless times a day.  It’s “Jesus.”  He is the source of my happiness, and He’d really rather me not keep it a secret.

I’ve been a Christian for a long time, but I only started this bumbling of “Jesus” throughout the day in the last couple of years.  I’d like to call it a spiritual practice, but really it’s just my shorthand for wanting to stay in touch with the God of the Universe when I’m too lazy/tired/annoyed/angry to offer a real prayer.   As my pastor says, “Jesus didn’t say ‘Come to the Truth’ (like Socrates) or Come With It All Figured Out, he said ‘Come to Me.’” Right before that Jesus talked about how he was the Way to the God of the Universe.  And He specifically directed this open invitation to those that are weary and need a rest, which for most of us, happens about a dozen times a day. More if you have children.

The daily workings of our own life along with the myriad of relationships we simultaneously enjoy but have to work at, compounded by those few relationships that we can’t escape, is enough to make us all weary.  Then there is all the mess we can’t control, but also can’t ignore – another grim story about Syria and the 2 million refugees, a friend who’s gotten cancer.  And then there’s the stuff like wet towels on the bathroom floor we wish wouldn’t get under our skin but does.  These are the moments I offer my “Jesus” popcorn prayers.  The moments where thoughts of gratitude are maybe helpful, but completely inadequate.

Turns out that when “Jesus” is what your inside voice is saying, your outside voice naturally moderates.  My words soften, and my outlook shifts ever so slightly.   I never see the big picture, but I see more of it.  You can will yourself into a more hopeful mental state, but this is different.  This is taking Jesus up on his invitation to plug into my life – right where I am, trusting that He is the life source that He promised.  Jesus talked a lot about transformation, not obtained through intellectual pursuit, but rather realized through this radical idea of leaning our full weight into Him.  Popcorn Jesus prayers are exactly what I believed He had in mind.   They are the beginning of a chain reaction.  Of course, I sometimes muddle that chain reaction up later downstream giving me yet another reason to bring Jesus right back into the picture.

It’s harder to believe that my little Jesus prayers will have any bearing at all in places that are beyond my control, but better to put Jesus on the job there then shore up my own position on how I would fix it.  Most of the time I/we have no idea how best to help in these places of desperate need,  and when that’s the case – it seems best to invite Jesus to go into those places and situations and meet the people where they are. He knows and that's a lot more useful than me knowing.

I want you to know that I also still say “Shit” under my breath too.  It’s possible I may even say it out loud more than I say Jesus.   Jesus knows this and loves me just the same.

So even though you didn’t ask, “What is the secret to my happiness?”, now you know.   

15 kinds of Facebook Super-Heroes

I love Facebook and I'm not shy about it.

I read the “14 kinds of Facebook people you want to block, but you can’t because they’re sort of your friends” article.  It made me laugh, so I shared it on Facebook, and added some of my own.

•  The non-discriminating photographer who shares all 40 of their photos, one post at a time.
• The monthly Facebooker who posts that viral video two weeks after everyone has already seen it.
• That guy who’s keeps taking a selfie photo with his shirt off.
• The sports fan (and anyone out past 1am) who posts play by play action.
• The person who doesn’t believe that you will click to read the article and so posts an overly large chunk of it in their status.
• The MORE THAN THIS MANY ########## PEOPLE!!!!!
• Another George Takei fan.
• That person living abroad who’s posted one too many “Look where I am!” status updates (with photos included.)  That's me!

It also inspired me to write this list.  My list is 14 + 1 though, because there are way more awesome than annoying people on Facebook. #icanproveit #noicantreally #lifeisgood

1. The women who look amazing not just in their own photos, but also the ones they’ve been tagged in and the women who are confident enough to keep all their tags on, no matter how unflattering.
2. The guy who can’t help but tell the world how much he loves his spouse and children.
3. The teenager who friends you.
4. That person who has achieved just the right balance of posting/liking/sharing – who in conversation, you know or imagine would be a great listener.
5. Those people who don’t mean to make us feel bad, they just have their sh** together – even at the end of the school year.
6. The Goodreaders who finish and review books.
7. The amazing photo caption writer followed by the person who knows how to make those nine image photo collages.
8. That fascinating person who compelled you to click a link you’d normally not be interested in.
9. That thoughtful soul who doesn’t miss a Facebook birthday, who in a previous FB life may have been a poker, but who now drives by you Wall to give you smooches just because.
10. That courageous person who follows the narrow path, but who does it graciously enough that you’d take a step off the super highway to have a look.
11. The artists who share their work with us.
12. The routinely grateful person who causes us to pause when we feel a rant coming on.
13. The funnyman and especially funnywomen who makes us belly laugh.
14. The real people who tell enough of their small moments - and disclose a few of the messy ones - to make us cheer loudly when a big one comes along. 
15. The people who are quietly doing important work at home, in the workplace, and in the world – who may not get as many likes or comments as their work deserves – or who are more likely too busy to tell us about it … to you: “WELL DONE REAL WORLD SUPERHERO!”

The Long View of Marriage

You can always tell when someone is newly in love on Facebook because they use words like Soul Mate and TLoML (“The Love of My Life” for those not in the know) in every reference to their significant other.  With those references come an abundance of couple photos with both people looking better and brighter than they ever have.  Naturally the first like and comment on all these photos if the other half of the Soul Mate – the virtual equivalent of hanging on every word.  I love every Facebook minute of it.

I do confess however that I sometimes want to say to those newly in love and especially those newly married, “That’s awesome but don’t forget The Long View.”  We all know that love ebbs and flows, and from time to time The Love of Your Life will become The Pain in Your Side.    And those occasions at least double once he has provided The Loins of Your Children.  One day your significant other may stop referring to you as Soul Mate or stop being the first to like your Facebook posts, or stop liking them all together because he figures you already know.  Don’t even be surprised if when you gently suggest that he post a picture of the two of you on a big event like an anniversary, he might say: “Nah, that’s not really my brand.”  The thing is:  You’ll already know that, and it will make you laugh.

Brand loyalty isn’t as much in vogue as it used to be.  We change brands all the time and dispose of relationships as soon as there’s a tear in the paper plate or the lease is up.  In order to be brand loyal, you have to have a high relative attitude toward the brand (marriage and commitment) and you must exhibit repurchase behavior (you must do the things that work, and do them repeatedly.)  Thank goodness there are lots of brands to choose from, because we all have different tastes -- but there are some good brand principles. Here then are some of my observations from a limited sample set on how to make it work. 

The great thing about the long view is that only shared history really helps you understand your significant other’s brand.  There’s no short cut to understanding how to correctly share a bed with someone when your nine months pregnant, or when you have a killer sunburn or the swine flu or when a futon is your only option.   We all come with different touch points – physically and emotionally – and there is no substitute for having someone know your good ones, the ones to stay clear of, and the ones you have trouble feeling.  Longevity also allows you to say, “Like you mean it” when the other person is giving you a back rub because you know when they can do better and when their heart’s not in it.  But you also accept that not every back rub is going to be sensational.  After all, if you were still keeping score, you’d be in the deficit column when it comes to giving back rubs.

It’s hard to keep score after a long time, and that’s a relief.  Once you have jobs and kids and a house, your brain is already overloaded with more than it can handle.  Keeping a tally on who last unloaded the dishwasher only adds to the chaos.  Tally sheets are especially dangerous when one person is working and one is at home raising the children you brought into the world together.  So having a spouse that comes home from work to see the children playing extra iPad time while TLoHL is busy writing means that it’s his turn to make dinner.  He’ll be even more appreciated if he doesn’t interrupt with dinner-related questions and if he pours her a glass of wine.  And while we won’t be keeping score, she may even choose to shave her legs later that evening.  Out of love, not obligation.

You’ve seen each other through bad haircuts, pudgy winters and fashion changes.  When he downsized from XL to L not because of weight change but because he finally believed you when you said that clothes that actually fit do look better.  When he agreed to retire a couple of ratty old college tee-shirts for the sake of the marriage and you agreed to let him keep the special one.  When you went through your suits phase, your unsuccessful bohemian phase, your scarf phase, you tights phase (still in), and he pretended to believe you when you demanded it wasn’t a phase.  When he traded in a baseball cap for a beret (not yet, not ever – it’s off brand.)  You’ve watched them expand their wardrobe to include crazy patterned shirts while you’ve added running gear.  They’ve watched you make 29 different purchases of a black dress -- none of which fit exactly right -- while you’ve watched them save their 19th pair of shoes for working outside.  It’s just not fashion hits and misses, it’s about making the boxes you came into the relationship with a little bit bigger.  It’s about a woman who used to be sure that she would die running a mile choosing to run a marathon.  It’s about a man who hates stuff but loves to buy his wife her 77th pair of earrings.

Even when you are past the point of hanging on each other’s every word, over time you start to feel like it’s hard to have a social interaction without them.  One person is the details, the other the color commentary -- the stories always better when jointly told.  Actually some stories stop making sense unless told together but there are key details you count on the other person knowing.  It feels like a limb missing when there isn’t the person across the room to make eye contact with to say “come here”, “let’s go”, “get me an adult beverage”, “you’re cute” and a million other things you learn to read with only your eyes. 

You learn how to prop each other up when falling asleep during a boring lecture, or how not to wake each other up for any reason even if you think it’s the “best movie you’ve ever seen.”  You learn how to shut up in Home Depot and assume he has it under control, but you also know the exact moment when it’s gone over his head and it’s time to bring in the help.  He knows to help in the kitchen, and you know to not move his piles on the desk.  You know to compliment him on his yard, he knows to compliment you any time you get dressed up and when you are dressing casually adorable.

She can even say, “I look old.” And he can say “Me too.”  At some point, truth telling is just easier.   Besides that, he was there twenty years ago telling her to apply the sun screen.  She didn’t listen then, she’s listening now.  And though he doesn’t look as old as she, she will let that slide because it feels better to be in it together.   He can even say when everyone else can’t, “YOU are good, but you’re screenplay isn’t good enough.  Yet.”   It’s about telling the truth, but doing it gently and adding in the “yet” at the end.  Long term couples also know where to layer in the benign white lies, like when after 20 years she is finally doing laundry because of abnormally long European wash cycles, they will still claim publicly “He does all the laundry.”  Not only it is part of their couple brand, it's also his short hand for saying, “You must know.  This woman is not just a housewife. We are IN IT together.”  The secret is not just being in it together, but both believing you got the better end of the deal.

TLoML will not be sending me flowers anytime soon.  He probably won’t even “like” this post, but he will be buying me a train ticket to Paris today.  Yesterday he sent me his schedule and asked me what day to block on his very full calendar for my May trip to Paris.   It feels extravagant (and it is) -- this going to Paris every month plan – there is stuff to do around here – he has a very busy calendar -- but he wants me to go.  Every month.  Knowing what feeds your Soul Mate’s soul and then pushing them towards it, that my friends is The Long View.   

What would it take to not be completely annoyed by discovering a soaking wet bath towel on the bathroom floor?

The easiest solution would be an overly sentimental declaration of love accompanied by the hug of a sweet-smelling, soft-skinned, cherub faced human at the exact moment of the towel discovery.   Knowing however that this conversion of events is unlikely to happen, one must find other means of coping with this annoyance “in the moment.”

It’s a real question.   Yesterday I found said soaking towel.  My “in the moment” was not filled with grace or peace or happiness.  More like grumble, argh the cherub!, grumble.

I didn’t swear, or really say anything out loud.  But it totally got under my skin.   Mindful of the disproportionate share Mothers do in picking up other people’s messes, I wondered if the responsible children I was charged with raising were learning anything at all.  Perhaps I was enabling.  Perhaps I was raising entitled little brats.  Without even meaning to, my imagination wandered off to sad daughter-in-laws picking up trails of my sons’ clothes. 

No doubt we had covered Towel Etiquette 101.  Wash before you use the towel.  Hang it up when you’re done.  Try not to use Mommy’s towel.  We may have skipped:  Don’t shower with your towel, but I thought this was implied with: Don’t shower with your clothes on.   Apparently not.

I considered pretending I didn’t see it.   I could have chosen not to pick it up, but my blood pressure had already been elevated.  Plus the thought of a stinky towel only upped the ante.  So I did would most of us would do (when the offender was out of the house.)  I picked it up.  I also wrung it out.

As I squeezed (too) hard making puddles in the tub, I asked myself the question I started with.  While not to excuse or fail to correct the towel behavior, I wondered what it would take for me to not react in the same way next time.  I really don’t want to get mad about towels.  I want to save it for the big stuff.

My first thought was very basic.  Show gratitude.  Be grateful that you have a towel and a warm shower.  The shower part's not hard for me to think about having been to Africa.  It’s probably not hard for those of you who overnight camp to think about (not so much me on this one.)  This approach actually works with just about anything that is seeking to annoy you, but it does require practice. Gratitude for sunshine is easy.  Gratitude for towels takes a little more association, but it too is possible.  What if bath towels never existed and a hand towel was as big as it got.

My second thought took it a bit further.  Celebrate the action taken.  I had failed to appreciate that my son had done the thing that was asked of him – take a shower.   Stopping to take a shower when you are 6 years old is hard.  It would be like someone asking you or me to put down our finds at an incredible one-day-only sample sale because it was time to go.  He’d done it willingly, albeit incompletely.  After all it was only two years ago when he screamed having to put his head under the shower head.   It made me think of how easy it is to catch people on what they missed instead of catching the fact that there were trying to do the right thing.  Not to mention the distance these people, especially the annoying ones we love, have come. 

The third thought came later.  After the 6 year old was back in the house and the issue of the towel was raised, I learned something.  The boy-who-took-the-towel into the shower with him wasn’t actually trying to pull my chain (I intellectually knew that part, but it did come back up for brief consideration.)  He was trying to find a wash cloth, but couldn’t.  He didn’t want to call for help, so he did the next best thing he could think of – he used his towel as a washcloth.    Which leads me to that third thought:  Don’t rush to judgment.  We don’t always know what problems people are trying to solve for.  People do dumb things, and not only are those dumb things usually not malicious or personally directed, but they often make more sense when the person is given the opportunity to explain.  There are excuses, but then there are thoughtful misfires.  The latter category is big for 6 year olds, and perhaps ... men.  Did I just throw the entire gender under the bus?  Yes, I think I did.  Misfire ... but thoughtfully done.

The last thought was one that I often have to come back around to as a parent.  Assume a smiggin of personal responsibility.   Had I really ever explained what’s so bad about wet towels? Probably not.   Yes, we all need to follow basic house rules, but it wouldn’t hurt to explain why those rules are there in the first place.   Until you’ve paid for and then encountered a stinky towel, you don’t know what the big fuss is all about.  He too was dealing with incomplete information.  Could I have waited a few hours and let the towel sit there and let natural consequences -- smelly mold, little stocking feet in puddles – take their course?  Sure, but I confess it’s often easier to make problems go away more than it is to clean it up with another person.  That whole "working it out together" takes time and patience.  This is big for  .... okay, for all of us. 

Of course, no test is complete without a re-test.   Right now the 6 year old is eating potato chips without a bowl.  He is being followed by a trail of crumbs.   And so --- I am grateful for potato chips (especially these mustard potato chips) and vacuums.  And guess what – I’m eating them too – without a bowl.

Game of Thrones (a confession)

While you've been playing/watching Game of Thrones, I've been busy learning new pool rules.

I have no idea what “Game of Thrones” is.   Literally no idea.  I don’t know if it’s a game, a TV show, a movie or all three.   I see and hear it referenced everywhere, but I simply haven’t engaged at any level.   I refuse to even Google it to see if I’m spelling it correctly.   I’m totally sitting this one out.

I hope it’s the right call.  I made a similar decision with “Homeland” for a while, and when I finally decided to watch Season 1 I was like “What? Why didn’t someone tell me loudly this was so good?”  But by that time, everyone except my friend Patti was done talking about it.   The Homeland Season 2 DVD is now available for pre-order on Amazon, but it will likely be Christmas before I can watch it online over here.   I might as well skip it because I haven’t had the same restraint in Googling spoilers for Season 2 and hearing the overwhelming chorus of meh.   On the bright side, I suppose I’ve saved a little time.

I’m of the age when I open up a “People” magazine and only have about 50% celebrity recognition.  This move to Europe is only going to set me further behind.   I can’t even count on hair salons here to have “People” magazine for my every two month pop culture trivia catch up.  They’re still playing Celine Dion music in hair salons as near as I can tell.  I do however know that Halle Barry is pregnant.   This caught my attention because I know who she is, and that she is in her forties.   You go girl – glad you kicked that sex addict second husband of yours and then that gorgeous but no-good model Gabriel (see I was doing good in earlyish 2000s) – but pregnant at 46?  Hearing that makes me tired, and so happy my husband has taken care of business.  I do know about the band “The Airborne Toxic Event.”  That’s only because I know a couple of really cool high school kids who I stalk for music and have some fortish friends like Jennifer who go and listen to live music and rightly report it on Facebook.

In the advent of unlimited access to so much news, you have to learn to sift.   When I was back home, if I’m being honest, I used to sift out most International News.  Now that I’m in Europe, I find I’m reading more International News and sifting out most US Entertainment News and US News of People Behaving Badly (ie “Ex-Partner at KPMG Under Scrutiny in Insider Trading.) Of course, people still behave badly, really badly, internationally - take Kim Jong-un or Bashar al-Assad for instance – but those stories are getting more of my mind share.    It seems to matter what those guys are up to a little bit more than who was on Letterman last night.  It’s not as if this kind of news wasn’t available before, I’m just choosing a little better. It’s easier for me to recognize how globally interdependent our world is becoming with a border only 50 kilometers away.  Not that I’m doing anything specific with that knowledge,  but it’s nice to fill my mind with other things or nothing at all, and to not feel caught off guard by not knowing about who is Throning who. 

Ok, Lindsay Lohan was on Letterman last night. 

I’m only slightly more disciplined.

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.