With still two weeks until the start of school, the kids and I headed to my parent’s house in North Carolina this week for some extended beach and pool time. Even though I didn’t grow up in this house, (my parents retired here ten years ago) it’s hard not to feel reminiscent. Which got me thinking about a blog post I wrote in July 2021, less than two years after Adelaide’s passing: Lost in the Hads.
After years of meetings, calls, paperwork, home studies, filings, and court appearances, Strawbaby is officially, legally, and ceremoniously a part of our family in every way that she has been since the day we met. Because our court date had been postponed numerous times for a variety of reasons, it wasn’t until a couple of days before our ultimate date that the magnitude of what was about to happen fully hit me.
I’ve dedicated more than one blog to extolling the virtues of siblings of kids with disabilities: empathy in spades, adaptability, and kindness for all, to name a few. This weekend, when dropping Jackson off for camp, I discovered another to add to the list. Now, at the time Jackson was developing this particular superpower, I was fairly certain I was damaging him for life. Turns out that could not be further from the truth.
Grace is my middle name, literally. While I’ve owned and loved the name, I’ve never truly felt like I embodied the word. “Simple elegance or refinement of movement”? Not here! This week I dive into my relationship with my middle name, which I share with Adelaide, dig through my memories of my Mimi for whom I was named after, and redefine what grace means to me.
What constitutes a full life and who is in charge of determining what qualifies? These were just a few of the questions I was left pondering after attending Stephen Jenkinson and Gregory Hoskins, "Nights of Grief and Mystery". I had no idea what to expect walking in and was forever changed walking out.
The last few months I’ve been on a self-discovery kick. Also known as, my mental health took a nosedive and I’ve been seeking some sort of balance ever since. I still suck at meditating, but I am trying to be more mindful and purposefully set aside time to learn and just be with myself which is what led me to an episode of Glennon Doyle’s podcast, “We Can Do Hard Things” about enneagrams with Suzanne Stabile and it has entirely altered the way I talk to and think about myself.
If we’re lucky, we all have at least one teacher that makes a lasting positive impact. A teacher that we don’t just connect with but that sees us for who we are, accepts us and encourages us. For me, that educator was Mr. Terry Peterson. He was our high school speech and drama coach (forensics anyone?) and he also directed the musical. He listened to and was privy to our teen drama but never intervened. He coached and supported us, cheered us on and offered life advice - but only when it was requested. And this week he is sharing some of that insight and advice with all of you.
I don’t know how many times people have reminded me of this over the last few years. Both in relation to Jackson having a sick and dying sister and as it pertains to Strawbaby and her tumultuous first few years of life. Until recently, I just sort of accepted this statement as fact. On the surface it appears to be true – but lately, that statement hasn’t sat as well with me and this past weekend I finally figured out why.
With just a little more than four months until Normal Broken hits book shelves and mailboxes, marketing, aka the hustle, is revving up and my self-doubt and anxiety are tagging along for the ride. Self-promotion is sooo awkward, but why? Why does it feel so weird to tell people that I wrote a book, that I hope they buy it and to please tell others about it. My emotional over-analyzation has broken it down to two main factors:
It is officially summer which means little league summer travel season is in full swing. Not to be confused with spring rec ball or fall ball – summer baseball is a special kind of all consuming.
Baseball has been a common denominator throughout my life. Which is an interesting thing for someone who has never been described as athletic to say. But it’s true! And I’m forever grateful to my dad for kickstarting this love of baseball which I appreciate now more than ever.
“How to be a better support for the growth of those around me has long been the special object of my consideration, and yet, I am hesitant to offer anything more than observations from my own meandering experiences.” While reticent to offer advice, Bud Hager has taught me more than most - and by utilizing some of the most beautiful prose you have read in ages! Please enjoy this new piece from Bud.
It is a wild experience to watch your child grow older. To see them become more independent, which is the goal, of course, but still we grasp at the moments they still need us (or want us). To help with this transition, I got myself a permanent reminder of the little boy who swore he loved me more.
