No good deed goes unpunished or Lessons in the joy of giving from a 5 year old

I thought I was so clever finding a scout elf, for my girls, who isn’t interested in expensive couture apparel and appreciates a more modest skirt length in a more traditional, Polar style, even though it might slightly resemble the pattern of a $3 knit bottle coozie from Target. 

Then I took my girls shopping last night at our local big T.  The only two reasons we were there were to get snacks to put in E’s class’s snack barrel and to select pajamas and books to contribute to La Petite’s participation in the Great Sprout Tuck-In.  

  Well, in the book department, such that it is, there just so happens to be an Elf on the Shelf adoption station.  There were no elves to adopt, but there were some elf accessories, including some “limited edition Elf couture” skirts. 

  E was delighted.  “Mommy!  Look at this!  Looks like I found a present for Samantha,” she gushed, while grinning ear to ear, so proud of having found what had to be the most perfect elf gift ever.

  “Do you really think it’s something she’d like?” I respond.

  “Oh, yes.  Look it’s special for the Elf on the Shelf,” she says pointed carefully to the words on the display.  “Please, Mommy, please, can we get this present for Samantha?”

  See, now this is what you get for trying to teach your children the joy of giving AND the belief in Christmas magic.  How could I say ‘no’?  After all, we were there to buy gifts for strangers and she’d been great and thoughtful with that. 

  “Well, if you think she’d really like it.”

  “Yes!  Can we get her a card to thank her for being such a good elf?”

  “I think she’d probably like it more if you made her one.”

  “Yes, but won’t she see?  I want it to be a surprise”

  “No, I’ll tell her to give you some privacy and stay upstairs until after bedtime.” 

  Grin.  “Okay.”

  E took so much delight in making the “card” and wrapping the present.  She was so happy to put the present where Samantha could see it.  It was beyond sweet (I may have gotten a cavity watching it all).

Both girls were so excited to see Samantha wearing the new skirt and E was beside herself over the thank you note she received.  It was worth the ridiculous $6.96 for tiny piece of fabric--cheaper than a movie and more entertaining and definitely more memorable.

Samantha is responsible for the snowflakes.  She's a messmaker, that one.

Please follow links for information on  the Great Sprout Tuck-In and how you can support the Pajama Program.

30 Days of Public Gratitude

I was raised by parents who taught us to count our blessings.  I try to remember to do it daily.  I usually do it multiple times a day.  During the month of American Thanksgiving, I like to share a little of that gratitude more publicly than usual.

11/1

Grateful to be blessed with the opportunity to be a mother to two precious little girls.

11/2

Grateful for a job opportunity that sparked an interest and led to a career with a company filled with great people. It'll be 20 years on 12/17. :-)

11/3

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev'd;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believ'd!

I am grateful for grace.

11/4

Grateful for friendships, longtime and new. Grateful for how they broadened my horizons, strengthened my resolve, opened my heart and mind, provided me with encouragement and shown me patience and forgiveness (and helped me practice those things). Grateful for the shared experiences both joyful and sad. Grateful for the lessons in the unique sort of love that stems from friendship.

11/5

Grateful for laughter--the sound coming from my little girls, the sore muscle from the belly laughs when I get together with my silly peeps, the inappropriate stifled snickers during church or a corporate meeting, the silent, tears rolling down the cheeks sort of giggle fits, the blasting bahhahas. I love them all and love to hear them and am so very glad there are moments in nearly every day that seem to be filled with them.

11/6

Grateful for the women who came before me to break down the walls and barricades and stupid laws to ensure I can vote today. 
Grateful, too, to live in a republic in which I can freely take part in electing the people I want to represent me and guide the direction of my local and federal government. While it may not feel like my vote always counts, I know that it is more than a right and it is an important responsibility.

11/7

Grateful (always grateful) that no matter how unlovable or even unlikable I have been I have never known a time when I did not have a family that loves me. I am grateful to have grown up surrounded by unconditional love and grateful to know it exists even beyond the safe and known realm of my family.

11/8

Grateful for having my mother for 23 years and 360 days. 
My mother embodied grace, love, kindness, integrity and humility.
A natural teacher with great intelligence, she viewed the world as a place of learning and took every opportunity to expand her horizons and teach her daughters to love learning, particularly through experiencing. 
She had a heart so big that it loved everyone--really. If she could not think of at least one good thing to say about a person, she would simply say, "I just don't know him/her well enough."
She saw the potential for goodness and greatness in everyone. She held her daughters accountable for their behavior, their efforts and their results.
From her I inherited a great deal of my compulsion to create, to DO things and to serve. My goodness, did she know how to serve. In support of my father's military career, she chose the route of stay home mother but that did not mean she stayed home. Girl Scout leader, substitute teacher, camp counselor, PTA officer, Academic Booster Club leader, museum volunteer, OWC, Sunday School teacher, adult literacy teacher, reader for the blind, transcriber for the blind, chaperone, school play costume maker, base Santa Claus and Easter bunny costume maker, bake sale queen, ESL teacher, homeless shelter volunteer...I could go on and on. And while doing all those things, she made our many different homes warm, inviting places, was a loving wife, an engaged mother, a devoted daughter and gracious sister, and a thoughtful and considerate friend to so many people.
From my mother I learned to be grateful for even little things, to forgive even the big things, to make the most of what you have and to never sacrifice quality for quantity. She taught me that doing things well and doing things right were their own reward, so while appreciation and recognition are nice they should never be the motivator nor an expectation.
She was not flashy or loud, clearly I inherited that from another part of our family, but she was strong and brave and confident.
Some folks might think it sad that she left us much too soon, and it is. But for almost 24 years I had that kind of mother and I am keenly aware of how very fortunate I am. I am extremely grateful.

11/9

Grateful for my father, Phil. He is an amazing and incredible human being. He just keeps getting better as person, which is something special since he’s always been a great person. He has simply chosen a path of continuous discovery and with each experience he adapts and grows. 

His childhood was the kind people write books about as case studies about how hard life can be. Yet he still knows how to enjoy things from a child’s perspective—you should see him with his grandchildren. They adore him. He really plays with them, on his hands and knees, hair bows in his hair, foam swords at the ready and surrounded by geo tracks. He is present with them and still connects to the “wonder and fun” of life. And my sister and I have great memories of play and laughter and silliness with our father. Our father’s sense of play and fun and silly definitely has kept him young at heart.

He has led by example, showing integrity, patience, discipline, responsibility and wisdom. He is a wonderfully fun person but he knows when and where to be serious. He has stood up to authority when morality and ethical principles were at stake and did not back down, regardless what it cost him professionally and personally.

Like my mother, he loves learning. He reads with great passion, relishes new experiences and has never let go of the wonder in this world. Their shared devotion to experiencing the world around them is deeply ingrained in their daughters.

From my father I inherited a deep and passionate love of music. Even my very eclectic taste can be attributed to him. And his great love of song and dance can be seen not only in his daughter but in his granddaughters.

He taught me that the coolest of people where the ones who know exactly who they are and embrace that—geek, princess, jock, leader, follower, whatever. And like my mother, he sees the great potential within people.

His heart is enormous and his capacity to heal himself and others with love is powerful to behold.

He showed me what a good husband was supposed to be—devoted and loving and true partner with distinct personality, interests and passions. As a father he was present, engaged and took pleasure helping raise his daughters. And as a grandfather to my children—there is none better.

His life has not always been easy (sometimes it was downright awful) and he has been handed some thorny branches but he carries not even an ounce of bitterness. For him life is sweet and his vision is as infectious as his laughter.

I am truly blessed and so very grateful to have such a man for my daddy

11/10

Grateful for my stepmother, Grace. 
As a CPA and longtime single mother, she pushed through glass ceilings and helped redefine the role of women and mothers in the workforce. Her skill, work ethic and high standards paved the way for women like me, who could enter the workforce just assuming we belonged there.
She accepts and loves my father the way he deserves to be loved and she let my father love her the way she deserves to be loved and the way he needs to love. 
She is a loving and spoiling (despite herself) grandmother and a supportive and encouraging mother and a great friend.
She is a remarkable woman in a thousand different ways and I am grateful to have her in my life and in my family.

11/11

Grateful for the men and women who served in our armed forces and to their families for the sacrifices made in the defense of peace and our nation.

11/12

Grateful for music--it tames the savage beasts (and the crankiest of my moods), brings joy to heart of many, and is a universal language through which we can all connect.

11/13

Grateful for babies. In them is our future--the next big thing, the next great thing, the opportunity for amazing things. In them, one can see a miracle.

And, today, I'm especially grateful for the arrival of a new baby girl and send love and cheer to her parents.

11/14

Grateful that people who are called to teach answer that call. So pleased to have so many friends who are in this noble and too frequently underappreciated profession

11/15

Grateful for modern medicine and the people who practice medicine!

(yes, the migraine is gone--thoroughly killed by modern meds, client visit a success)

11/16

Grateful for my sister, Casey.
She spent almost 25 years as an only child, not having to share her mother with anyone. She has adapted beautifully to having share her mother with two sisters and our father. She and her husband have provided my girls with cousins they adore. She was even so thoughtful as to have her son born with red hair, so I could delight in someone else in my family sharing my hair color. (My nephew has, since, stubbornly become a towhead and refuses to go red again but now I've got two of my own so I'll forgive him). She's a fun travel companion, guaranteed to go out on the dance floor with you, a source of inspiration and advice and an all-around terrific person. It is a great blessing to have her in my life and my family.

y family sharing my hair color. (My nephew has, since, stubbornly become a towhead and refuses to go red again but now I've got two of my own so I'll forgive him). She's a fun travel companion, guaranteed to go out on the dance floor with you, a source of inspiration and advice and an all around terrific person. It is a great blessing to have her in my life and my family.

11/17

Grateful for miracles big and small and the loving God behind them all

11/18

Grateful for the weird road that led us to northern Alabama. It's a great blessing to live close to family and to make new friends, and it's extra special to make friends who feel like family.

Plus, the weather today 11/18 was sunny, mid 60s. just saying.

11/19

Grateful for a cozy home with climate control and a stocked fridge and pantry.

11/20

Grateful for silly, ol' Facebook letting me connect and reconnect and on various levels share, get to know and/or get a peek in the lives of people who have crossed my path over the years. It doesn't replace face to face contact but it does make a big world a little smaller and I really do appreciate that.

11/21

Grateful for traditions. They connect us with our past while we enjoy our present.

Pass the sweet potato casserole

11/22

Happy Thanksgiving! Grateful for friends and family, food and fun and the fact my dad and Jeffrey are totally in charge of the meal!

11/23

Grateful for extra-long weekends

11/24

Grateful for a creative streak and even happier to see it has been passed on to my children.

11/25

Grateful for the resilience of children. They flourish and thrive despite and in spite of the mistakes and failures of their parents.

11/26

Grateful for an internal clock that woke up on time to get Monday started off properly even though I forgot to set an alarm.

11/27

Eight years ago today, I married my Mister.

Grateful for a husband who can do almost anything--build, cook, fix, hunt, protect, snuggle and so much more. Grateful for a father to my girls who is present in their lives. Grateful for a partner in life and love and parenthood.

11/28

Grateful for all the wonder and magic of the holiday season.

11/29

Grateful to have so much for which I can be grateful that sometimes its hard to decide what should make a post.

11/30

My last installment for the month of Thanksgiving and 30 days of public gratitude:

I am grateful for my baby sister, Elise.

She is amazing. She inspires me, encourages me, raises me up and keeps me grounded all at the same time. She is smarter than I am, but I’m the big sister, so to keep my big sister authority I work hard to have just enough knowledge to be able to offer her useful advice from time to time. I read more just so I can keep up my end of a conversation with her.
Her bravery humbles me. I have an artistic streak, but she has the heart of an artist. She has sacrificed much to be true to that heart and it amazes me what she capable of doing. With all the sacrifice an artist’s life requires, she has never compromised her principles or character. She may sometimes feel small but her heart is enormous. If she had only $5 to her name and you needed $4, she’d give it to you. Never big on material things, she does like to surround herself with beautiful things—primarily art and books. While I may sometimes question her taste in shoes—no one can rock a platform sneaker like her.
She isn’t always easy to get to know but every bit worth the effort. To her nieces and nephews she is fun with legs and arms and a thousand voices for storytelling—they adore her and she showers them with love and affection.
There is no one who is more like me and simultaneously so diametrically different. I am so thankful to have been blessed with a sister like her.
Now, if she’d only move closer so she could babysit and I could borrow her shoes...

Human Race

I have two tattoos (my father prefers to say it's only one—inked at two different times). My first tattoo is of three shamrocks and my second, inked in Ireland, is of an Irish harp. The original shamrock tattoo is centered in the strings of the Irish harp so it does look like a single tattoo.
I chose those symbols as a tribute to my obvious Irish heritage. Just one look in the mirror and there was no question what I was. Heck, when I was traveling in Ireland, I got stopped twice by British tourists for directions. Sure, I knew that I had some Cherokee in me from my dad's side. His grandmother was at least half Cherokee, but that only made me a sixteenth Cherokee and as far as I knew the rest was Irish, with maybe a little English. My family being full of great story tellers was because we were Irish. Our being prone to debate even when in perfect agreement was because we were Irish. We were all great lovers of art and literature and history because we were Irish. This was my hypothesis, not anything my parents remotely suggested or encouraged. To the contrary, really, they had a great fondness for absorbing interesting cultural traditions from wherever we lived or visited so our family "traditions" are rooted from Hawaiian, German, British, Mexican and varied American rituals, but I digress. The point is that I was very sure of my ethnic makeup because of the way I looked. Family names like Harrison, McAnnally and Hardiman helped solidify my assumptions.

Then I started doing genealogical research. Good bye theory. Technically, I was not wrong about being of Irish descent. But if I choose tattoos based on pedigree, I need to add a thistle, bagpipes and a crown. For the record, it is very unlikely I will get another tattoo. And if I really want to represent my heritage, I should be sporting more Americana. It turns out, while many of my ancestors came from the British Isles, my mother's family tree goes back to the Mayflower and early colonists of Virginia and my father's pedigree includes Cherokee, several generations of Scottish and Irish Americans and, according to census records, a "mulatto" from Puerto Rico. These days when people query me about my ethnicity or heritage, I proudly state, I'm more than 400 years of American made. 
For my daughters, I researched my husband's genealogy as well. My husband's side of the family made a claim about his mother's people being descendants of Pocahontas. I thought it might be just lore, but I researched my mother-in-law's ancestry using multiple sources and yielded consistent results. The claim is true. Pocahontas is a famous Native American so, so unlike many Native Americans whose family ties have been lost for a variety of reasons, her legacy is well documented and my daughters are clearly, direct descendants. His father's side of the family has a healthy concentration of Irish and German and, relatively speaking, they are recent arrivals to North America. 

Our girls

My girls, like their mother, could as easily be cast as Scottish or Irish by first glance as they could American. But I want them to know that ethnicity and even race cannot really be determined by a glance. I want them to know that bloodline, while interesting, has precious little to do with who you are as a person. I don't want them to spend any time trying to box themselves into an identity associated with something as arbitrary skin color or race or ancestry. I want them to focus on being part of the human race and loving their fellow humans as the uniquely beautiful and remarkable people they are today.

Genealogy is fascinating and heritage based traditions can be really cool but they cannot dictate your character. You are who you decide to be, not who your parents' grandparents were. I want my daughters to understand this and I pray that they grow up into a world that finally understands this, too.
And if they ever decide to get a tattoo based on their heritage…frankly, I just hope they don't decide to get any tattoos. But if they do, I hope they choose symbols that reflect how varied that heritage really is, and really small versions of them, placed somewhere discreet.

Lessons in Beauty from a Four Year Old

We took our girls to a family reunion in the Outer Banks. From the moment they saw the beach it was next to impossible to pry them away from it. They are part mermaid, I'm sure of it.

The beach was littered with all sorts of shells, including many black scallop shells. I started picking up the black shells. There were so many that I started getting picky, putting down any shell with chip or holes. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with the shells I collected but I was going to have perfect specimens for whatever it was.

As I was collecting my "perfect" scallop shells, E decided she wanted to collect shells, too. She grabbed a sand pail and in about 2 minutes she had it filled. She was very proud of her haul. She had picked up anything—oyster shells, broken shells. She had no plan, no specific preference. I wanted to tell her to leave the dull gray oyster shells on the beach, they filled up the pail much too quickly. I did tell her to slow down and that she might want to concentrate on just the really special ones. She picked up another oyster shell and said, "This one is special." I did not agree but I didn't argue. I just watched her enjoy the collection and went back to gathering perfect black scallop shells.

We brought our pails back to the house and left them on a table on the deck and went inside. During the night some strong winds knocked over our assemblage of shells. I saw the toppled over pails and I figured I'd lost a couple of my pretty black shells. I wasn't particularly concerned with E's shells; half of them were broken when they originally went into the bucket.
As I walked over to the table to pick them up I noticed that my pile of black scallop shells looked rather flat and unremarkable. E's various shells were more interesting.
E was right, her shells were special. Even the oyster shells had character. I mixed my black shells with hers and made a temporary little shell collage and gave thanks for a daughter who knows beauty isn't about perfection.

May Day

     My birthday is in early May so I've always been a fan of May 1^st since it means my birthday is right around the corner.

     In my opinion, May is the best of the spring months. It is, usually, not too hot and there are still lots of flowers all around but the pollen is usually under control . May 1st is the beginning of one of the most glorious months of the year.

     In Germany, as in much of Europe, many towns celebrate the first of May with a huge festival and something called a May Pole (and, I suspect, beer drinking but I was only 6 or 7 when I saw this celebration so I can't be certain). I remember seeing such a festival and watching the dancers in their traditional German folk costumes holding long ribbons and dancing a wonderful jig of sorts around the pole, starting from quite a ways away and ending right next to the pole with the pole wrapped in a gorgeous plait of ribbons. Cool memory. May 1^st =something to dance about.

     When we lived in Hawaii, May first was the day of a big school festival, aptly named, May Day. At Kailua Intermediate School May Day meant a pageant of Polynesian dance performances and I think some singing. I can distinctly replay in my mind Karen and Kristin and Laurie doing a hula performance and thinking it was so cool that these three haoli chics could do such honor to a non-haoli tradition. I remember how hunky (that was the exact word that came to mind back then) the boys looked all shirtless and barefoot doing the Hawaiian and Tahitian dances that showed off both their physical strength and rhythm. I also remember how May Day meant malasadas and shave ice and not a thing that resembled school work or classroom time. I recall that my sister's elementary school had a similar pageant on May Day as well and her learning a song and dance about going to a Hukilau. I missed May Day celebrations after we left Hawaii and thought Florida was seriously lame for not recognizing what an important festival day it was. May Day=awesome.

     Seventeen years ago today, May 1, 1995, May Day, I stood in a conference room in Fairfax, Virginia doing my audition presentation to join the team on which I continue to work to this day. It was an exciting day for me. I'd finally convinced the sales consulting team manager at the time to take a chance on a 23 year old with little industry experience and to give me an opportunity to show I had the skills necessary to be an asset to her team. I'd taught myself how to use PowerPoint (it might have been Freelance, it was so long ago) and built a slide deck to present on the most effective way to submit an expense report (I was working in accounting at the time and processing the expense reports during a time we didn't have a standard policy). I presented to a packed room of sales people, managers, sales consultants and a VP or two. I totally rocked the presentation. I felt fantastic.

     Apparently, while I was presenting, the front desk was paging me. I couldn't hear the page in the conference room. My boss at the time, a wonderful lady, knew where I was and took the call. She met me outside of the conference room. She had news for me. It was not good. My mother, who had been battling a vile cancer called melanoma, lost the fight while I was doing my presentation.

     Here's the thing about losing a loved one, there is no way to prepare for the loss. Hospice was coming to our house and my sister and I still believed she would get better, even though we fully understood the purpose of hospice and why they come around. Losing someone you love knocks the air right out of you and creates a hole that cannot be filled (though you can, absolutely, learn to navigate around it).

     At first I was so upset that I hadn't been there with her in her last moments. But, the truth is, my mother would not have had me be any other place. She wanted nothing more for us than we valiantly pursue our passions. She had an amazing work ethic and she would have insisted that I go do my presentation even if she had known exactly what time she was going to die. Through her, I can accept I was where I was supposed to be. The "audition" did lead to a job I have loved for years, a job that afforded me a life of travel and adventure and amazing friendships.

     But now, May 1^st, May Day, always finds me in sloshy mess of mixed emotions. It will undoubtedly always be remembered as one of the saddest days of my life. And it is a day that is associated with so many wonderful memories. It is also the day that led me to a career I truly enjoy. And this morning, May Day 2012, I danced in the kitchen with my girls to E's new favorite song, the ABBA hit, SOS. I cannot adequately express how fun it is to have your child really enjoy the music you love. This song is the reason I bought my first album, ABBA's greatest hits with my own Deutsche Marks (I also bought Best of Blondie) over 30 years ago in Germany, the place I first learned about May Day.

May 1^st=May Day=awesome (+random bursts of tears).

Lesson from E #240

good times with good friends

Last weekend the girls had a big weekend, especially E. She attended a birthday party of a good friend from school in addition to the rest of the activities. After the birthday party, I took E and B to get their pictures taken a mall portrait studio. They behaved remarkably well. So, I rewarded them with rides on the little coin rides (I don't know why they love them but they do), ice cream cones, a spree at the dollar jewelry store, and some candy shopping. On Sunday, after church, we went to a local festival called the "Chicken and Egg" festival. We went with their beloved Opa and Gigi and started with lunch on the fairgrounds (chicken, naturally). Just as we were checking out the rides, we saw some familiar faces, our good friends and neighbors. The girls squealed with delight and got in line to ride all together. The rest of the festival involve four little friends running around giggling and included a pony ride and a petting zoo. It was, indeed, a packed weekend.
On the way to school, on Monday morning, I asked E what were the fun things she did over the weekend. She said, "Play with A--- and C----." That was it.
What? She went on her first pony ride that Sunday and all she could think of was the playing with her friends who live down the street. She didn't even mention the fair at all. When I asked, "anything else?" She replied, "and E's birthday party." Nothing else. I was a little irritated—all that time spent running around trying to do things that would be fun for the girls and they only remembered playing with their friends. Sheesh. I knew it wasn't cool to get too frustrated with a 4 year old but she knew I was annoyed, even if she didn't understand why. The irony of the situation was I was one who had forgotten something.
Today, the message at church was about Martha and Mary. I'd read the story and had heard sermons on them before now and thought I understood the passage, but today something finally clicked.
The passage is from Luke 10:38-42.

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. ³⁹ She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!"

   ⁴¹ "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, ⁴² but few things are needed—or indeed only one.^[a] Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."

As I listened to the message, beautifully delivered by our good friend, Jack (the father of the girls with whom we shared the festival), the events of last weekend played through my head. I thought about my sweet, little girl and how out of all the fun happenings of the prior weekend, from her perspective the best, most important part was being with the people she loves. And I'd gotten irritated with her. Doh! Mommy fail.
An important lesson from Luke 10:38-43, is that, time with Jesus, their friend and loved one, was more important than all the preparations or tasks at hand. The lesson from E, the best activity is the one shared with your friends. E is a little Mary.
We are tasked to love God and told that one way to do that is to love each other. E has already figured that out. Hopefully, now her mama will be able to remember that.

Reality Check

I looked in on my sleeping girls and thought, "they are really such agreeable little things most of the time, but, dang, if they don't have the fiercest of stubborn streaks."
Then, it occurred to me that most people I know, even the ones who love me best, might describe me the same way and realized the "stubborn phase" was never going to end.
So I said a little prayer of gratitude for my beloved babies and for wine and chocolate and all things that make life a little sweeter.