God Bless America

I love being an American. I love our history, our culture, the good the bad and the stories of each family's journey from lands afar. As a kid, I had no idea where the "purple mountain's" were that we sang about each morning after the pledge of allegiance, but I respected their "majesty." (Still not sure which mountains...) Politics is my science and I am thrilled that in second grade, it is not too soon for our son's class to begin their own study of it.

As they learned about Martin Luther King Jr., John Andrew's class covered all of the major themes: difference, tolerance, the value of each individual and the sacrifices some made for many to experience the full range of opportunities available in our country. I was impressed with how far we have actually come when John Andrew shared why he was thankful for MLK Jr. During that holiday weekend. He shared with me: "Mom, do you know why I am thankful for Martin Luther King?...Because if it wasn't for him YOU might not have married DAD." I had to think about this. (Andy is white and so am I. Andy is of Greek descent and I am pan-European.) "Oh." I said, "You mean because dad's skin is "darker" than mine?" He gave me that, "well of course, silly look." (As an aside: If you ask our middle daughter what color she is, she will tell you, pink. Kalina is also proud to be a little bit Spanish, because she lives in Orlando.)

It continued. The following week at school, John Andrew brought home a book on the life of Martin Luther King Jr. He asked if I remembered when there were signs for "whites" and "coloreds." When I answered that Andy and I were not born, but his grandparents lived through that time, he looked thoughtful. "Oh," he replied, "so, was Pappou (Andy's dad) not allowed into the places that said "whites?" I really, really wished John were here at that moment to talk with our little boy, but I knew he was smiling in heaven. "No, honey, he could go in." "WAIT...You mean...Pappou was...WHITE? Hey, IS OUR WHOLE FAMILY [insert stunned silence]WHITE?" There was a look of his whole world shifting inside him. "Yes, John Andrew, we are all white."

Just the fact that this information had never been conveyed or material to our son before was a huge sign to me of where we are at as a nation. I know America is not a utopia, or even favorable for every group or individual. But, I can now say, based on my conversation with our 7 year old that we are getting there. The idea that people would rally around skin color or race as a way of creating differences seems arbitrary to our kids. The idea that they are not the beneficiaries of Martin Luther King Jr.'s life sacrifice seems wrong to them too. And the truth is they do benefit...we all do.

CHIParenting

(ABOVE: Andy and kids on Pensacola Beach over Christmas Vacation; Tiana gardening; John Andrew lego-ing; Kalina making "hummus" which is really compost for her garden)

Chi-Niki
The book I am reading right now on running makes me want to "chi" (read: energy force) my entire life. ChiRunning (Danny and Katherine Dryer) takes all kinds of runners and focuses their energy into the least resistance and most beneficial way to log miles. Not being naturally inclined to run (I'd probably rather argue with a bear than flee if faced with one in my path), this book has been life changing for me. Instead of ending a run spent, sore and ready for a "hover round," I can't wait to run again. I actually wake up EARLIER to do this (and I am NOT a morning person.) I thought to myself this morning, what if I had the same energy parenting through a no-nap meltdown (meaning when either myself or Tiana has not gotten her nap and is therefore less reasonable than otherwise is the case), or to get the chi flowing during clean-up time? I'm not sure exactly how all of the focuses transfer from running to parenting, but I am working on it.

In running, it's all about your posture, making a "column" that is straight and aligned from your head through your torso and visualizing yourself like a needle in cotton (i.e. your spine inside your body). I suppose parenting is a lot of posturing, except maybe we are the cotton around the needle. The other concept that has been tremendous for me is just letting gravity propel my run, instead of pushing back against it. In this way, you accomplish the same goal of running, but you are not fighting force with force. Certainly, this seems like a useful concept when approaching parenting. I have certainly had days when the force of my will has met the force of one of our kid's wills and I have left sorely defeated. What I think I still have to figure out is how to motivate using the least force and optimizing the gravitational pull of the kids.

Fall and the Future

I love fall. I love fall festivals, seasonal beers, pumpkin lattes and leather boots. I am an October birthday and happy for a change in weather, in the pace of the days, and the excitement of the election season. I relish gathering closer to home; circling the wagons; cheering for our teams. Andy and I met in the fall, were engaged in the fall, found out we were expecting our first child in the fall. Usually, sometime in the beginning of October, I take stock of where I have been and where I am going, and I conspire.

This summer I re-read the Little House books, which I planned on introducing our kids to. After much build-up and a few restless chapters before bed, I realized it would be the most enjoyable if I read them to myself. Reading again, as a grown-up, I am struck by how hard Laura's family struggled on the prairie, and how grateful they were for small blessings. Fall was hard on those prairies...no latte, and lots of chores. But somehow, the rhythm of their days better matched the pace of the seasons as they unfolded, and it seemed as if they moved in sync with the world a little better than I do. I love most of all, how Laura was able to preserve the heart of her family in the sweet stories.

Tonight, I tucked John Andrew in and snuggled close for a minute, trying to memorize this seven year old boy and somehow also look into his future. He said (since Andy had left to work out) that he was looking forward to being a dad, and lifting weights. That made me laugh, so I said, well I think you'll be a great dad...and husband...and I think there are a few things I want to share with your wife, before you marry her. He was smiling wide and very interested in this scenario. "What will you tell that lady, mom?" Well, for starters, never ever give John Andrew G2 orange Gatorade, because he won't drink it. Also, when you get his sub from Subway, make sure they don't put cheese on it...he hates that. But, he likes the cucumbers in his sandwich, not always in his salad. He's really, really into trains. So, you have to plan your vacations around trains. I want to be sure to tell her that she should never hurt his feelings maliciously, because he is so kind and loyal. And I know he will take the very best care of her and the six kids he'd like to raise with this lucky lady. John Andrew thought this was hysterical and added some of his own. "Tell her not to turn the light off on my when I'm going potty." And, "tell her to sprinkle holy water around my bed at night, because that makes the monsters sick." Also, he added, "never put 'crumbly cheese' (romano-parm) on my fish because I hate that. She can give that to Kalina." He could have kept going and so could I. I don't know exactly what I will say to my son's bride one day, but I hope I can remember this seven year old well enough to share these days. I also hope they are not, "homeless," as John Andrew expects, since "we will be young and have no money for a house." Maybe they could just move to the Dakotas and rig a claim shanty up like the Ingalls and so many others did before him.

Sliding through time

(pictured L: Our niece, Ashley with John Andrew, Tiana and Kalina; R: breakfast the day Tiana was born)

It hit me like a ton of VHS Tapes tonight and I suppose it will contine to hit me over and over again. The reality that our kids are, in fact, older than they used to be. Now, I know this seems painfully (stupidly even) obvious, but what hit me is that as they age, they shed little bits of their personalities like skin, only to grow new, more refined personas. Since I feel exactly the same as I have since I was twelve, it is new to me that they do not just get to be taller versions of themselves.

Yesterday, I watched a video that I clearly remember recording of our now five year old girl, taken when she was three years old. I remember that day exactly. As I suspected, I have changed very little. But, Kalina. Oh, my. Today I see the fragments of that video in her eyes, but her newfound knowledge about so many things just swallows them up. I know my babies so well, that as I see them each morning they look so familiar sitting on our couch clearing last night's dreams out of their heads. But each morning they are just a little bit wiser, funnier more evolved.

And, then I get this sinking feeling...our oldest is only seven! Tiana isn't even fully potty trained. Seven years into this parenting business, and I am more sentimental than an old Kleenex commercial! Good Lord, what will I do when they start driving, start dating...start lives of their own? I am left puzzling over whether it would be better to be aware of the crazy journey all along, or to take it in, in one big breath when they are each on their own roads.

Expectations

Backpacks and classrooms are looming large on our horizon, the kids are begining to wonder about their friends--who they just now seem to realize have been missing since May--and I am ready to put our suitcases away and get out my planner. This time of year fills me with so many expectations, which got me to thinking about what I actually expect from my children, from my spouse, and from this world. There are the simple expectations: my hopes for a good school year, healthy check-ups and expectations of forward progress on the various learning paths we travel. The lofty ones: expecting kindness at the dinner table, grace in front of company and steely resolve on the playground. The tedious ones: finding a new, more exciting place for Andy and I to catch-up on the days events. I mean, House Hunters plus wine and cheese is so cozy, but maybe I should dust off the patio furniture and pick up some tapas and sangria mix. At least for me, it seems everything comes down to expectations.

When we arrived at the airport this morning in Boston, I expected that we would have the normal obstacles to manuver and tricks to perform while ferrying our family of five home on a non-stop domestic flight. I was ready with sticker books, extra underwear (for the sort-of potty trained pre-schooler), ipods (for the mostly digital elementary schoolers) and candy (for me, really). So, when Andy mentioned to me in the too-long security line that our flight *may* be delayed (it's hard to read computer screens and keep tabs on the 2 year old, so he wasn't sure) I was shocked. No matter that EVERYONE gets delayed, all the time. No matter that I didn't even check before we left for the airport, so I didn't really know for certain that we were on time. This information met my the wall of my defenses like so much tabloid nonsense. "WHAT? But, how? What happened?" was all I could say. What would we DO with two unexpected hours on the "other side of security?" Mercifully, for us, someone else thought of these impossibilities and we spent an unbridled hour or so at the bouncy play area, then toured the food court. I learned that Andy and I can sit and talk at bouncy play areas, and that no matter where you are in Boston, there is a Dunkin Donuts with good coffee. AND, that watercolor paints and cootie catcher kits are excellent to have in your bag for a long day of air travel. Our plane took off, and landed uneventfully, and home we went not too much worse for the wear.

At the end of it all, I am reminded that in this life it is one thing to hold out your expectations, and quite another to live in the moments you are given.

Our Lifetime in Eleven Years

Eleven years ago today, Andy and I forever joined our lives. I loved that day, the details of it and the aspirations that hung, along with the humidity, in the air. I love it still, and I am very much in love with Andy, who stood next to me for the hour long Wedding ceremony that we celebrated together at the Greek Orthodox Church. Ours was the first Orthodox wedding I attended...although someone did give me a video to watch before hand and careful warnings NOT to lock my knees, and also to drink plenty of water, as nothing is sadder than a bride who goes horizontal during the readings. The readings and prayers at our wedding are the same ones at every single Orthodox wedding around the world, and through time. It was not unique, or customized to our personalities. We did not write our vows, nor did we speak a single word during that hour. We shut our mouths, opened our hearts, stood still, listened and prayed. That was, and is, very comforting to me. The fact that we had relatively little to do with the success of that single day gives me great hope for the rest of our days together. Our lives, our marriage are not ultimately in our control...they are in God's hands. When we attend other Orthodox weddings, I still feel the same humility and grace I felt eleven years ago.



Eleven years later; three kids later; 7 cars later; 3 houses and so many sunny and rainy days later, I begin this day in our house trying to sit still, close my mouth and open my heart and remain thankful to God for what He has given us. I have no advice, no wisdom, there is already too much of that in our world. I can acknowledge that ours is not a perfect marriage, but it is the foundation we are laying for our children and the closest thing I have had to a conversation with Our Creator thus far. As our kids grow, I know they will cut their own paths through this world. They will carry certain values and sentiments with them from these years, and shed others in favor of their own hearts' discretion. It is my prayer that we give them an image of a durable marriage, an attainable one. I pray that they can see that sometimes it is necessary to come together, simply to avoid growing apart. And that love and forgiveness set the tempo for our lives.

Running Away

Last night I ran and ran and ran. People who love me know, I am not a runner. They know that the one season I ran cross country in high school, I froze at the only meet I showed up for and walked off the track with shin splints. The shorts were cute, and there were shiny metals, but those were like the sirens on the rocks as I watched the other runners sail by me. See, I didn't have a 7, 5 and 2 year old on my heels back then. No motivation.

Now, I have been so transformed by bearing and loving and worrying about our children that I actually prefer running some nights. Tonight's flight was brought on by an ordinary day. A morning of sorting out a 9 day road trip (laundry, mysterious toys and sticky things on the floor mats of the car); collecting three Nana and Papa starved children from the comfy respite of my parents house; taking my two non-Kinderdance campers to Monkey Joe's and just witnessing little people grow into bigger, more evolved versions of themselves. I didn't lose my patience, I picked my battles, I remembered to slow down. Still, at the end of the day, when I found my sweet husband at the car dealer (Oh, yes. We had to retrieve him from the dealer where his car gearing up for its mid-life crisis) his quick sizing up of me said it all. My "crazy momma look" reflected back into his eyes, where I was greeted with a concerned, "Have they been OK today?" Well, sure. Yes, they have. Sometimes I can just find things to get wound up about on an absolutely ordinary day, in fact.