Happy Anniversary

Today marks my parents' thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. It would also be my mother-in-law's sixty-eighth birthday, at the time of her death, she and my father-in-law had been married forty-five years. It seems somewhat amazing, in this day and age, that both my husband and I have parents who were married to each other until death parted them. And while there were differences in how my parents and my in-laws approached various aspects of marriage (say division of labor, conflict resolution, and child-rearing) both sets of parents set an incredible example of the essentials. Without any doubt, they showed my husband and I how to be committed to each other, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as we both shall live.

Pahlee tan I doh falimming?

Last week, Tee's preschool teacher pulled me aside to ask me if I had ever considered having Tee screened for speech therapy. To be honest, the answer is yes. Tee is hard for even me to understand. It's not that she doesn't communicate, in fact she's a very clear communicator, but her diction and annunciation are not. Her nickname Tee, comes from what she used to call herself, but even now when she says her name, it starts with a "T," it actually starts with a "K."

The word "please" is a two syllable word when she says it, and that isn't even when she's being dramatic. She doesn't lisp, she just doesn't use the "s" sound at all. Most people ask me to translate. (For instance, the title of this piece is exactly how she would say, "Please can I go swimming?") Sometimes this has worked to my advantage, especially since after the death of my mom I began swearing a lot when I felt stressed, but that is another parenting issue.

Since this wasn't a surprise, I immediately called our district office to find out the process for getting young children tested. I figure a few months of therapy will redirect what is essentially a cluster of bad habits, and this won't even be a problem by the time she starts elementary school. Her screening appointment isn't for three weeks, and even though I know it isn't that big of a deal, I keep processing this new challenge over and over in my mind. I'm lucky that between my sister and a really good friend, I have been able to talk through my feelings and strategize what to do next. (Believe it or not, had it not been for some inside pointers from that friend, I would most likely still be sifting through layers of bureacracy at the district office.) But even with that support, I am really missing my mom's council.

My mom would shine in this type of situation. Not just for her children and grandchildren, but she was the kind of friend who got the first call whenever someone had an some kind of issue with a child. She was known for giving advice in an empathetic way. But more than that, I miss being able to talk to someone who can give words to what you are struggling to say. Someone who can do that because after thirty years of knowing your ups and your downs, how you react under stress, and when and how you are headed for a break down, knows what to say and do to keep you focused on the current challenge.

The good news is that, although I miss hearing the words come out of her mouth, I have all that she instilled in me to keep me pointed in the right direction. Because of her example, even without her step by step guidance, I know what I need to do to for my children.

Standing on my own

Last week on the radio, I heard a caller call a radio psychologist because she was being harassed by friends and a family for talking to her son who was an eighteen-year-old freshman in college too frequently. Either she or her husband spoke to their son for a few minutes every evening, just to check in. Often it was the son who initiated the calls. But many people they knew, were telling them they were keeping their son from spreading his wings and becoming his own man. The doctor, Ray Guarendi, encouraged the mother to maintain the relationship with her son, and to ignore critics who probably had their own motivations. Now since this was the week between Christmas and New Year's the show was a rebroadcast from earlier in the fall, just a few weeks into the school year, otherwise I might have called in to offer support to this mother, and take his point a little bit further.

You see from the time I moved out of my parents house when I was eighteen, I probably went no more than forty-eight hours without talking to my mom on the phone. Sure there were exceptions, like vacations that took us out of the country. But other than that we chatted pretty much everyday. Like I said, the last time I really lived in my parents house I was eighteen. By the time I was twenty-one, I wasn't even relying on them for any financial support. I was paying my own rent, my car and insurance payments. At twenty-three, I became a home owner. I have cooked and hosted nearly every major holiday meal at least once, including Thanksgiving for 22. I have been laid-off, owned a business, and quit working all together so I could stay home and raise my children. I have been married to a wonderful man for nearly ten years, and the two of us have been through hell and back together. We've moved half-way across the country and back. And all without any monetary support from the parents who I talked to nearly everyday.

I'm not saying this to brag on my accomplishments, because I think they are very ordinary. My point is my relationship with my parents, allowed me to spread my wings and be my own person. I knew that both my mother (and my father) would always be there as a sounding board for any idea or situation that arose. We didn't always agree, I didn't always follow their advice. Sometimes that worked out, sometimes it didn't. But I always knew I could rely on them for honesty, for humor, for love.

Today marks six months since the last conversation I had with my mom. It was either that the next time she had my daughter for a week, I wanted her to adhere more closely to a normal bedtime schedule or to tell her a cute comment Tee had made about her Mary statue. I talked to her twice that day that I can remember, and I've spent a lot of time trying to remember. The next morning she was killed just after 5:00 am.

Although I no longer accidentally dial her number, there are so many things I want to tell her about. So many times, I wish I could ask her opinion. Or just hear her voice. And I know that the strong relationship I had with my mother, not only helped me to become the strong, independent woman I am, it has also, for the last six months, been the foundation that has kept me from completely falling apart.

Christmas Music

I've been avoiding Christmas music this year. And while I know people who avoid this genre every year, normally I love it. It wasn't a conscious decision. In fact, just last week it dawned on me that I was listening to an incredible amount of news and traffic reports to avoid music while driving. I broke out a couple of CD's: John Denver and the Muppets (it was my favorite when I was three, and I knew Tee would love it-she did.) and the CD of my college choir. I listened to them each once, and put them away.

I love Christmas, even the crazy commercialism. I love the decorating, and the baking, and the shopping. I love that for almost a whole month people focus on friends and family. And I love celebrating the birth of Christ. It's not Christmas I'm avoiding-that would be impossible with two little girls. But I have definitely been avoiding music, which for me is unusual.

Both my parents were very thoughtful and thorough in their preparations for Christmas. They participated fully in prayerfully preparing for the the birth of the Savior. In fact to them there was no separation between the sacred and secular celebrations of Christmas. We only had one because of the other, even if not everyone knew it. In fact my dad would even use the so-called secular parts of the Holiday to punctuate the sacred. The most obvious example was through music.

Anyone who knew my dad knew of his prolific music collection. It spanned all genres, from jazz to country, from classical to rock. He top forty music and obscure recordings by obscure artists. Even into the last month of his life, he was looking for something new, or old to add to his listening collection. And he did not scrimp on his Christmas collection. But he did have rules for listening. From the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve, only secular Christmas music-about Santa, snow and such was played at our house. It built the festive feeling, putting everyone in the holiday spirit. But then Christmas morning, when we came downstairs, and it was still dark outside, there would be the tree, sparkling with white lights, and beautiful choral Christmas carols filling the air. He would continue listening to this music through the twelfth day of Christmas, and then it would be put away until next Christmas.

As an adult, I've never been quite as strict on the lines. In fact some of my best Christmas memories independent of my family, come from the Christmas Candlelight Concerts my choir sang in college. Those concerts, of all sacred music, had to be done before finals week, usually the second week of December. And so for me, I usually listen to all of it, all month. But something has been stopping me this year.

Finally Friday, as I was driving back from getting one last gift, I switched on the local Christian music station known for playing only Christmas music in December. As I drove up the hill towards my house, tears began to roll down my cheeks as what I'd really been avoiding all month finally hit me. By the third song, I was crying so hard I could hardly see. Thirty-one years of memories washed over me with each song. Twenty-nine of them, amazing. Two of them, the last two, a little bizarre, but hopeful. And in addition to the memories, all the dreams that are forever altered. All those visions of my girls baking cookies with their grandma, or their grandpa reading them the Christmas story are never going to happen. The collection of ornaments from their Grandma, that I thought they'd have when they turned eighteen will never be.

And I'm not mourning some ideal family that can never be. I had that family. I had two amazing parents. They were strict, but loving towards us when we were small. They knew when to let go, and give us our independence as adults. And they knew when we still needed them to be the parent. Losing one of them was hard enough, I really don't understand why they both had to die.

St. Nicolas Day and Family Traditions

Tomorrow is St. Nicolas Day. Being that my husband, and therefore my children are of Dutch heritage, we have often talked about how to incorporate Dutch traditions into our Christmas celebrations. With Tee being three and a half, this seemed like a good year to start.

Although my father-in-law was actually born in Holland, most of the information we have about this holiday comes from either my non-Dutch upbringing or a David Sedaris essay. So it is with these sources that we started to put together what will hopefully become cherished traditions our children will want to share with their children as well. Except...

Tee's best friend is named Nicolette. So she was having a hard time trying to figure out why she couldn't stay up if Nicolette was coming over to our house tonight. So for this year, we had to give up on St. Nicolas coming to our house, and went back to Santa Claus (I know, I know he's based on the real St. Nick.) He's just coming for a preview tonight. And since Santa Claus is coming later in the month, we had already planned to keep St. Nicolas day true to traditional Dutch custom, and have the girls leave their shoes out to be filled with candy. Tee really liked this idea, and chose to set her new party shoes, black patent leather mary jane's outside her door. Even Sweet Potato got excited about the idea, and went and grabbed one pink mary jane from her own closet to add to the collection. Seemed like we were ready to make some memories, except...

Tee remembered that candy makes things sticky, and started to freak out a little about her new black party shoes getting sticky when she hadn't even worn them and there are so many parties this month. So we compramised that Santa Claus would as part of his preview visit leave candy next to the shoes.

So while things didn't go off as perfectly as imagined, I now have cute stories to repeat to the girls about when they were little, and that is the beginning of a beautiful family tradition.

Shifting

I am an extrovert. Look up extrovert in the dictionary, and you will find my picture. Yes, I am that stereotypically extroverted. I get energy from being around other people, I think by speaking, and I will drive across the metro area in order to have the company of another person. I also know that I will get far more done if there is someone I can chit-chat with while I work, than if I am stuck in an isolated corner. And anyone, whether they have met me or not, knows exactly how I feel from across the room. This is how I operate, I know this about myself, and I'm fine with it.

But lately, I find myself acting very differently. I am withdrawing from activities. I find myself thinking long and hard before I speak, and then sometimes not responding at all. It's like I can't get outside myself. It isn't a selfish thing, because I want to respond, I want to be there for my friends, to let them know I am thinking about them and praying for them. I want to be able to step up to the plate, and take on new projects. But the idea of doing any of that, simply exhausts me. I find myself wanting to be alone. And that is something, I have never done.

I don't really know what this has to do with parenting, either what I do as a parent or what my parents did. But I'm sure it is the effect of their recent deaths, especially my mom's, as unexpected as that was. The events of the last three years, have left me completely drained, and what I have always done to regain my energy is no longer working. I'm not sure that alone time is really working either. So what do I do now?

Christmas Stories

It's really starting to sink in-just how weird and awful the holidays are going to be this year. On one hand, I've known that since July 8th. On the other, I feel like I have to make sure it's not. After all, I have a three-year-old and a one-year-old, and small children shouldn't know anything other than an amazing magical Christmas. I know that's what my mom believed. Over the years, she made every effort to make sure Christmas was special for everyone she encountered. Not just for her own children and grandchildren, but for all kinds of people. If she knew of anyone who would be alone or under financial duress at Christmas, she would find a way, anonymously if she could, to make sure that person had something special for Christmas.

I'll admit, it doesn't take much to bring me to tears. But tonight I saw a Hallmark commercial, that started me crying the hardest I had in at least a week. (If you haven't lost a parent or a child, that may not seem like long, but around here that feels like a record.) The ad featured two little girls listening to their Grandma read the night before Christmas, only Grandma wasn't there. She had recorded her voice into the book. If you know my mother at all, you would know she would have been the first in line to buy this, and send it off to her grandchildren so she could be a part of their nightly routine from four hours away. And it wouldn't have been the first time.

Like most people, we have chosen to find out the gender of our children before they are born. And with Tee, we even told people her name. Mostly because it was the only female name my husband and I agreed on. Knowing this my mom tucked into her shower gift, a small picture of herself, in a recordable frame, in which she had recorded the words, "I love you." So strong was her desire to be a part of her first grandchild's life, that even before she was born, my mom was looking for ways to bridge the distance.

We kept the frame on Tee's dresser for the first several months of her life, pushing the button to make it talk a couple of times a day. It was just a small gray, plastic square, so when Tee started to carry it around with her I didn't think twice about it. I had to put the picture back in several times. Now, I have no idea where it even is. I would give anything to have that now. I know the sound of my mom's voice, and I can hear it when I think of things I want to tell her, and I imagine how she would respond. But her voice will fade from Tee's memory. And Sweet Potato, I don't think she has any memories of her mammah.

Of course, that commercial was meant to bring up sentimental feelings, the kind that might bring a tear to even the happiest person's eye. But for me, it brought up such a feeling of emptiness, that the tears just poured down my face. And this was for something new, something I never would have imagined sharing with my girls even this afternoon, but they won't ever have their grandma (either grandma) read stories to them at Christmas time, in person or by recording. And I just don't understand why.

I know I can tell the girls stories about her and bake cookies using their mammah's recipes. I can put up pictures of Christmases past, and try to carry on the traditions of generousity and hospitality set by my mom. And that will make their Christmas amazing. But I really wish I could give them Christmas stories read by Mammah.