I'm a Fan of a British Drama, Apparently

Not that this is a surprise.  I may have mentioned once or twice that I enjoy Downton Abbey.  (Ever heard of it?)  Two minor circumstances have opened up a richer world for me of late.

One: We moved around our bedroom furniture.  We've had the same arrangement for about seven years and I always remark when we stay in hotels that I enjoy having the TV right in front of the bed for maximum enjoyment and our TV at home is across from the bed and I have to crane my neck 45 degrees to watch and MY LIFE IS SO HARD.  We've been purging and big-kid-bed-mattress-buying so in that spirit, moved our bed to face the television and then mounted the TV to the wall and if I may say: It is a revelation.  My bedroom feels like a quiet oasis of mindless electronic consumption.

We did go without a TV in the bedroom the first year of our marriage, bless our hearts, but we've been together 11 years and ours is a simple love and that includes an endless loop of Everyone Loves Raymond from 9-11 p.m.  Plus, our bed is now right under the air vent, oh happy day.

It's big times in my house.

So, with all the wonder that is the Netflix and its viewer profile, I have crafted my recommended feed to serve up any and all British dramas of the romantic variety.  I have enjoyed two mini-series (best)
Death Comes to Pemberley and North and South (like a Les Miserables lite meets Jane Austen) based on the 19th century novel by Elizabeth Gaskell. I liked North and South so much I read the book and plodded through the obscure quotations and dialect.  To continue with my theme, I rented Far From the Madding Crowd and spent a fun two hours mocking the female lead's inane romantic choices, even if the plot would have resolved in the first 5 minutes if she'd just married that sheep farmer. Anyway, if you like your romance with lots of meaningful gazes, stony silences and crushing rejections to be reversed by sudden enlightenment, I give each my full endorsement.

The gazes!  The whispered asides! Hand holding!  It's all so romantical!

Two: I picked up a great read on the giveaway table at my church library (wild child, am I right?)  I have two more book recommendations. The first is Dear Mr. Knightley by Katherine Reay.  The female protagonist lives in a world of literary heroes and uses books as a coping mechanism. Christian fiction is tricky because the plot is typically weak and the spirituality is heavy-handed.  Not so with this book.  It's a good story first, and like real life, the woman's journey toward faith is not immediate or pat.  I devoured it and the many literary references.  In fact, the reference to North and South made me want to seek that novel out.

I also ordered and tore through Jen Hatmaker's latest book of essays For the Love: Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards.  There's so much chock-ful-o-goodness in this book that I won't try to summarize, but I really appreciated her words about the insanity of our "be better, do better" culture specifically as it relates to women.  We go through our hurried and harried day, attending to the needs of others, and end it thinking "I am doing a terrible job at everything."

And that's just madness.  The author continually exhorts the reader to appreciate her one. ordinary, precious life and look up and just live it, right now, with all its messy details instead of waiting for the day when the stars align and circumstances are easier.  She also notes that the Western church can get caught up in a performance trap (not a shock) and in a trickle-down mentality, Christians become discouraged if their "ministry" does not have a far reaching aim.  Love-- loving the people around us and being transformed by God's love is the message of the book and you know, the whole Bible.  While in no way competing with the Bible (caveat in place), this book does have several hilarious moments including Jimmy-Fallon-style Thank You Notes and perhaps my favorite part about what she (and I) want our kids to take away from childhood:

" 'Mostly good' (childhood) is later remembered as 'loved and safe.' I now label my childhood 'magical' though Mom slapped me across the face when I was in seventh grade and never bought me Guess jeans and accidentally left me at church several times.  Mostly good is enough.  Mostly good produces healthy kids who know they are valued and either forget the other parts or turn them into funny stories."

The book is very funny, practical and poignant, and the author's style of delivery directly to the reader makes her writing approachable instead of authoritative.  As it is a call for love and grace, her tone fits the subject matter.

And now I have approximately 33 minutes left of a toddler's nap to squeeze in some Gilmore Girls.
#RealLife
#OrdinaryLife
#ItsEnough
#NetflixIsMyBff
#AdultConversationNeeded

Shedding Dragon Skin

Today began with a slow morning.  Without any place I had to be, I took Rachel to our local pool for a late summer swim as she has been asking everyday since school began.  We were the first to arrive and my enthusiasm to join her in the water was tamped down by algae growing in the deep end.  Ick.  I'm no germophobe, but pool algae is the kiss of summer death for me.  We mostly splashed and snacked and I pulled out the mother's ace in the hole: lunch at Chick-Fil-A. 

 We had a fine lunch and I enjoyed giving her my full attention.  As I sat looking around me, I noticed a young man, late twenties to thirties, who worked the dining room, cleaning trays and greeting guests.  This man, A., shook hands with many regulars, and quietly and efficiently went about his work.  I noticed A. not for his hard work, but for his disability, as I know others did.  A. has Down's Syndrome, with the distinct facial features and stature of individuals with that syndrome.  

A. cannot hide his vulnerabilities.  They are right there on his face, in plain sight for compassion or indifference.


I do not know A. at all.  I've not interacted with him.  I know nothing of his story, his triumphs and falls. I couldn't tell you his "functioning level"  or IQ.


I can tell you this-- from my casual observation, he is a valuable member of his community.  He does his job with excellence, and makes people feel welcome.

And I, of course, connected the dots to my own son and my own dreams and wondering for his life.

I know my J very well.  I know his numbers and present levels and progress.  I know his interests and quirks and food preferences.  I know who he loves and and likes.

I know how he stands out in a group of typical peers.

And I know this-- special ed. or regular, college or vocational training, independent living or assisted or with me--

He will have value.  He will have a place. He will belong.

I've seen it.  

On her facebook page Mama Be Good, author Brenda Rothman writes:

"We believe in the dream of white picket fences, play dates, and athletically-gifted children who will volunteer in their spare time and attend a well-liked state school or the hallowed halls of Ivy League. And it is a dream. Some parents find out rudely and suddenly when a doctor pronounces the word "disabled." It is in that moment that many of us realize we don't know what cerebral palsy, or autism, or learning disability actually means. We realize how separate we were from the kids in special ed. We realize our own ignorance and fear about children who are different, non-typical, and dare we say it out loud, disabled. We realize we don't have a single disabled adult in our life." 8/19/15

I still fear it-- the unknowns and what-ifs.  But the elusive American dream for my son (and my other children) doesn't haunt me. It is an illusion, a facade, a projection. 

We have ordinary, real things.  Like each other.  Relationships over time-- developed in a classroom or a therapy room, a family room or a sanctuary.


 And I'll admit this:  sometimes I doubt people's sincerity, as if they take time to show kindness to J out of pity or to feel better about themselves.  That's petty and small, but a mother's heart is ruthless for her children's well being.  It doesn't have to make good sense. I choose to believe the kindness is because he is simply a neat kid.

Mostly I'm thankful for the kindness shown, no matter the motivation.  I'm not God, and I don't have to be the good intentions judge.

For J, and A.,  who do not hide behind a mask, and for me and everyone else whose dragon skin is being peeled off, bit by bit, to reveal what's inside, the peeling off is painful.  It feels raw and uncomfortable and leaves me vulnerable.

But there's the promise of Eustace and Aslan.  The promise of Jesus, really.  

Lose your life for me.  Then, you will find it.

It might not be as a dining room greeter at a company with excellent corporate and community values.

But after today, I'd be mighty proud if it did.

Portrait Of The Blogger As A Young Woman: A Purse Retrospective

I got a kicky new handbag for my birthday.  It's big and rugged and up-for-adventure.  It makes me feel like I should fill it up with a camera that takes film (if I still had one) and  my (blank) passport for a spontaneous excursion to some new locale instead of remembering to pack a Pull-Up just in case as I slide into my sleek mini-van with the peeling roof liner and make tracks for kid pick-up.  I'm a girl with a new bag and it makes me feel good.

As I was toting around my new accessory, I remembered the first work bag I bought for my teaching internship.  It was a black, pleather messenger bag that had a compartment for files and I felt so grown up and purposeful carrying it.  I was an adult, and my bag proved it.

And I can't help but smile this time of year at all the fresh, clean book-bags and lunchboxes, carefully adorned and filled by anxious parents and worn by too-small people.  This bag has ballerinas and that one has Batman and each is a little representation of the wearer.  Whimsical, adventurous, silly or studious: the things we carry speak to who we want to be.

I've carried plastic Barbie cases, and then little girl purses that resembled the style worn by grown ladies. I got my first "status" purse around 12.  (Remember Liz Claiborne? Was that not the ultimate in Middle School Cool?) I moved on to the Jansport years of high school and college.  I've never been able to drop triple-digits as an adult on some truly drool-worthy bags, but I happily received one on my most recent birthday.

The Liz Bag. Mine was beige.  The first thing I put in it was Raspberry Extra Gum and daydreamed
that I would snatch it as I ran to meet the The Man (Boy) I Loved In The Nick Of Time.
I was 12.

Pretty close the bag I carried in high school. Thank you, Ebay picture.

My New Bag Identity- The Explorer Tote Crossbody.

The bag isn't overly fancy or ornate-- it's made well, with strong materials.  It's subtle and up for anything.  And like those ballerina backpacks on mini-mes, this new bag exudes what I hope this next year is for a year-older me: stable, prepared, and ready for new things.  And cute.  Because above all, a girl wants to be cute, no matter the age.  If clothes make the man, a purse makes the woman.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

The Good

We went to Disney World!  It was great/fun/hot/expensive/magical!  We rode lots of rides, ate lots of frozen lemonade, battled emotional terrorism every time we passed a gift shop, and got to spend time with each other without the pull of work and responsibility.  That's been my favorite part of going to Disney.  You are just there for your kids to have fun.  That's your only mission.  The grind of daily life has been suspended and you just get to watch those you love experience new things.  Jeremiah was Alex's shadow and Sarah and I were partners in the park.  All of us would try to get to the park as close to opening as possible and do a few things together before splitting up to divide and conquer.  We'd try to head back to our hotel around lunch time to cool off and swim and then Sarah and I would sneak back a little ahead of the others to maximize our Disney time. We did each park and spent the last two days of our trip at Magic Kingdom.  Ideally, I would build in a rest day instead of going multiple days to the parks because it's an exhausting pace and you start to wear down.   We definitely had "The Disney Experience" and even though I doubt we'd take a big trip like that for several more years, I'd jump at the chance to go back.  Here's the link to our photo album if you're so inclined >>  Disney World Pictures 

The Bad 

Too much togetherness can wear you slap out.  Our family vibe was a bit surly leading up the the trip in late July, and I have to admit that Fun Mommy was quickly replaced by Mean Mommy when we returned home.  I've joked that after seeing Inside Out  I relate to the Anger character most-- frustration is my fall-back personality.  It's not a pleasant realization--no, you're not just put out getting ready for a big trip-- you're just a grump, a lot of the time, if you don't choose act better.  We came home on a Saturday and because I never turn down a chance to hang with a friend, the following Monday we took another small road trip to a water park a few hours from home. Oh, friend, 5 hours in the sun making sure children don't wander or drown will fry you.  I had big plans to just lounge and veg the next few days, but that looks different when you have dependents that require "meals" and "clean clothes" and "basic sanitation".  So after a few more rough attitudinal days, I packed in the dollar kiddie movies (or sixteen dollars to keep everyone's mouth full and rear end seated) and one last day at the pool.

I would like to say that we ended the weekend before school in a family devotional with a heartfelt prayer time for a new school year, but it was more like  "Here's a slice of pizza, let's get you rinsed off, now go to sleep" kind of end to the summer.  A 6:50 wake-up has been a challenge for Sarah as a most decidedly UN-morning person, but we've risen to the challenge and the kids even walked in solo the past two mornings.  I've taken zero back-to-school pictures because EARLY.  Sarah was so confident and eager that first day.  She had no problem separating from us and I was likewise dry-eyed.  She'll rock Kindergarten, I have no doubt.  Jeremiah likes his new teacher and has adjusted back to the school routine quickly.  We have one more early wake-up and then a no-plans Saturday, the best kind there is.

The Ugly & The Bottom Line

I follow Jen Hatmaker (like every other woman in my demographic) and she shared a recent cover story in which she is featured.  Her words on giving grace to yourself aren't new or profound, but they perfectly capture my end-of-summer "ugly".

Speaking personally, when I am being unkind toward others and when I am struggling to be gracious, forgiving, understanding or compassionate, [it] is usually because I am in a really bad place myself. It is when I am unhappy with something in the interior of me or I am privately struggling with something I am too embarrassed to discuss with other people or even admit, times when I am in a cycle of self-condemnation. So when I am really ugly to others, I find that I am being ugly to myself. If we can develop a kinder inner voice, we automatically develop a kinder outer voice. There is high correlation between the two. When I am healthy and I have developed a high level of care for my own soul, I am able to be so much kinder to others.   - See more at: http://www.austinwomanmagazine.com/articles/amazing-grace#sthash.Z4RBhjUC.dpuf

That day we went to the movies, I had a frustrating afternoon with my kids and then went out for a few hours and was able to talk with some other women, but still carried that "Why Do I Make This So Hard And Why Isn't It Hard For Everyone Else?" feeling.  We had received a package that I hadn't noticed earlier in the day, and Alex mentioned it to me.  

"Hey... Did you know your friend sent you a brush?" 


"Huh?" 

"You must not have seen it.  It's downstairs."

So I go to investigate and find a brush.  A Wet Brush, specifically sent to me by a friend who saw me struggle to brush out Sarah's hair in line at the water park earlier that week.  (Yes, who cares about hair at a water park?  Me.  I guess I care. Because I care that my child looks like Cousin It and that makes me seems like I don't have control over my child and guess what-- I DON'T-- because she's a free moral agent and I'm her mother, not her trainer, note to self.)  Anyway, my friend sent me a special brush and didn't mention witnessing my embarrassing episode where I'm tugging on my kid's hair and threatening to leave (because be honest, we both know I'm not gonna leave).  My friend showed me grace and kindness and it reminded me to show myself some too.

Last little nugget:  In all my Mother-Of-The-Year-End-Of-Summer-Angst, I was feeling very disconnected from J.  I just let the girls watch too much Netflix and let him take his IPad and watch The Chipmunk movie waaaaaay too many times.  The only time that day he tried to engage me, asking to go outside together, I told him "not now."   (I know. Cringe.)

Anyway, later that night, I pull him on my lap and we do this little game where I pretend to eat his face by kissing it and tell him it tastes like donuts.  I lean and and ask him "What does my face taste like, J?" 

And looking straight in my eyes, he says with a smile, "Spaghetti."  And my very mean inner voice shut right on up, because my kid loves me and he understands everything and just because he can't respond to my many verbal demands the way I expect, HE GETS IT.  He gets the humor and context and you know what, inner voice?  Yes, I need to spend more quality time with him and meet goals and learn new things to help him learn, but it's all good because we love each other.  We are just people, not projects, and when we love each other, we do our best.

I feel like I should close with a Be Blessed...

And a sincere Show Yourself Some Grace...

Melissa