tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-324530882024-03-14T03:18:09.464-04:00Soccer Mom in DenialJust the musings of a working mom.soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.comBlogger715125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-81580669758654111682023-04-23T06:30:00.001-04:002023-04-23T06:30:00.175-04:00Happy Birthday, Happiness<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my daughter's 19th birthday. </span></i></div><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">[Gulp. <b><span style="font-size: medium;">19</span></b>.]</span></i></p><p><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i></p><p><span face="helvetica, arial, sans-serif" style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Darling Daughter,</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have that lovely joy of waking up in the middle of the night and unable to go back to sleep. Not every night but enough to be annoying. Early this Friday morning I awoke at 1am all grumbling that I had to face hours of lying in bed staring at the ceiling when I joyfully realized... </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>I could listen to <a href="https://academics.skidmore.edu/blogs/wspn/shows/#/pajama-party" target="_blank">your radio show</a> at 2am. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Which is just bizarre because I had a radio show in early hours of Friday morning when I went to college. Adding to the bizarreness of it all is you are rowing like I did. You are also attending the same college I attended. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Which is where the similarities stop. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">You are much smarter than I. Really. Your focus and dedication to academics has earned you a spot in the college Honors Forum after only one semester. You also have a way more robust social life than I ever did in college. You're telling me about parties and gatherings I never would have been a part of. I am so excited that you are making college yours.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I called the radio station at 2am I knew exactly where you were sitting, how dark the room was and how it feels like no one is listening (which is kind of true since the live stream isn't working and what college kid owns a stand-alone radio these days). You had me listen through the phone and I got to hear you introduce <i>Scarlett</i> by Claud and <i>Stressed - A Colors Show</i> by Doechii. We talked while the songs played then you had me introduce myself on air and even announce that listeners heard Mariah the Scientist's <i>2 You</i>. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">While it is an honor to have you in the spaces I once called my own, it is a joy to watch you make them yours and be even better than I dreamed I could be.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Happy 19th birthday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I love you,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mom </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYVEzoU284uI67lkLjEThYKmhl-1JCGBaQyypCDyHFOcv5n8QblPjc2BkW2jLdgv2KucoSogd_tm0Gyx4UlF3ryoeChae-Dz_-J4XbSU0aeGciiaIPq2WpGrCO0YDpcA7V4E5tiLyXz1mQWQjGaF7ZMXE3iIIJ3qmun-u6Bx-FWi6Z6OGOw/s2841/IMG_0754.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2841" data-original-width="2131" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYVEzoU284uI67lkLjEThYKmhl-1JCGBaQyypCDyHFOcv5n8QblPjc2BkW2jLdgv2KucoSogd_tm0Gyx4UlF3ryoeChae-Dz_-J4XbSU0aeGciiaIPq2WpGrCO0YDpcA7V4E5tiLyXz1mQWQjGaF7ZMXE3iIIJ3qmun-u6Bx-FWi6Z6OGOw/s320/IMG_0754.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-4500315892787065112022-04-23T00:30:00.017-04:002022-04-23T05:03:44.017-04:00Happy Birthday, Happiness<p><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my daughter's 18th birthday. </span></i></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">[Oh my god. That says <b><span style="font-size: medium;">18</span></b>.]</span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span face="helvetica, arial, sans-serif" style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Darling Daughter,</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span face="helvetica, arial, sans-serif" style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Earlier this week we sat in a sample lecture at the accepted students' day of a college you are considering. The psychology professor talked about personality traits and stated there is research indicating that personality can be known within hours of someone being born.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Which is why your Birthday Letter is always titled "Happy Birthday Happiness". </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You prove this Professor's point. You beamed out happiness within hours of arriving in the world on Friday, April 23, 2004. You have personified happiness since Day 1.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As you embark on adulthood hold onto your happiness. You exude it when you get up and rarely have that grumpy teenager sheen. You ensure your happiness when we travel by planning the itinerary. Our trip to Southern California last month was pretty much all your planning. You meticulously mapped out the great college tour of 2021 and were proud of how it all worked out. You came up with fun ideas when you, Dad and I went to Iceland.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But it is not just when we travel (which I love to do with you because you are fun to travel with. And really hope this continues) but also in all parts of life. You are genuinely happy when you complete a task, even before you receive feedback. I admire that you appreciate your efforts. You have worked a variety of jobs and the act of working gives you satisfaction. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You deserve to be happy.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Of course there will be days, weeks - painfully even months - when happiness could be elusive but that is different from being worthy of happiness. You bring so much joy to the world and the people around you through your hard work, love of music, big smile and compassion. Always remember that you also give yourself happiness.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As we drove back from the college this week we played - several times - Lizzo's new song <i>About Damn Time</i>. It couldn't be a more perfect tune to celebrate you turning 18.</span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">I'm way too fine to be this stressed, yeah</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Oh, I'm not the girl I was or used to be</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bitch, I might be better</span></i></div></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">You get better every day and that is reason alone to be happy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I love you,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mom </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQAwVrjaAUMO8faUNUjmE4FY8jSntCMQ-bwo3uMtzOjtFIZ_gPDVQ60H3XB-I0OEOBE-fTJ7oBThiHk8Trg162EZuCgSKIVTixaKPBIERoETGK6OUYdH3FsXh7A2TYsoXaykhwWIV1efk2Nxj2Xo0CIqaFFZOULTPaJcof2pWqtXtYGLkhQ/s2048/2F7DDD5B-351B-4C9B-8E61-97220550D014.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQAwVrjaAUMO8faUNUjmE4FY8jSntCMQ-bwo3uMtzOjtFIZ_gPDVQ60H3XB-I0OEOBE-fTJ7oBThiHk8Trg162EZuCgSKIVTixaKPBIERoETGK6OUYdH3FsXh7A2TYsoXaykhwWIV1efk2Nxj2Xo0CIqaFFZOULTPaJcof2pWqtXtYGLkhQ/s320/2F7DDD5B-351B-4C9B-8E61-97220550D014.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p> </p>soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-14566380894805184122021-08-22T06:30:00.005-04:002021-08-22T06:30:00.179-04:00Love, more<p><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">It seems only fitting that the day my twin boys turn 21 years old we are preparing for the first hurricane to hit our region in 30 years. Their shared arrival certainly upended our lives and changed our history as a family. </span></i></p><p><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">However, this year feels different because while they are separate people my message to them is the same. </span></i></p><p><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">So I return, once again, to this completely ignored space on the interwebs to acknowledge my twin boys' 21st birthday. </span></i></p><p><span face="helvetica, arial, sans-serif" style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dear son and son<span style="color: #474b4e;">,</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Every year for your shared birthday I write each of you a letter that I don't actually give you but I post on this blog that I barely go to. Every year I make an observation or five, impart some wisdom, assure you both I love you then wish you a Happy Birthday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">This year is different. This year you both are turning 21. Watching and listening to you both this year has been watching you be the adults you are. The adults you are becoming. I finally get to truly marvel at who you each are and not worry that my awe will overshadow some lesson or punishment. Because it is hard to be the stern disciplinarian assuring you have manners and common sense when being awe-struck. Now I just get to be awe-struck.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">While being a parent of young children and teens is fun and rewarding, I've been waiting for this time. The time I get to just listen and not have to fix something because now you both have the skills and resources to do it yourself. The time when we talk not because of some obligation but because we want to share something, laugh about something, figure out something or just remember. Rest assured I'll still listen to your problems but more often than not I hope you'll figure out that you have the skills, strength and means to fix them yourself. It may take some time, even years, but you'll figure it out. Then I'll get to be awe-struck again.</span></p><span style="font-family: georgia;">This is the big birthday for all of us. You're adults and I'm your adoring mom. A role I will treasure and relish and celebrate.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Just like I do each of you.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Happy birthday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I love you so very much.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mama</span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U9BQQXxPuHY/YSFUljvhn5I/AAAAAAAAFwU/mhjAgBJZ1G8XYdD_a00NNOmNlXIrpSF2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/D395199A-50A9-4088-83B1-1E408AF4D1C9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U9BQQXxPuHY/YSFUljvhn5I/AAAAAAAAFwU/mhjAgBJZ1G8XYdD_a00NNOmNlXIrpSF2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/D395199A-50A9-4088-83B1-1E408AF4D1C9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-39300061661859780282021-04-23T05:00:00.001-04:002021-04-23T05:00:00.186-04:00Happy birthday, Happiness<p></p><br /> <i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my daughter's 17th birthday. </span></i><p></p><br />Dear Darling Daughter,<br /><br />Here we are again.<div><br /></div><div>Another pandemic birthday.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is not what you or anyone who has a spring birthday thought would happen when celebrations were squashed last year. Your plans for a Sweet 16 party were dashed because we were still under stay-at-home orders. We hoped by this time in 2021 it would be over, that we would be out and about and you could have the bash with twice the blast to make up for the missed milestone celebration.</div><div><br /></div><div>But we aren't there yet. And you are facing it with your humor, grace, intelligence and some grumbling. I'd worry if you didn't grumble at least a bit.</div><div><br /></div><div>The milestone you didn't miss this year, although was a few months delayed, was getting your driver's license. Yet even that was caught up in the first few days of the pandemic. The day of your final driver's education class was the day the state shut-down and your class was in limbo. The Registry of Motor Vehicles wasn't offering learner's permits or tests. But you were able to finish your class via Zoom and take your permit test online at home - something that was only offered for a short time. It seems so normal now but a year ago it was all weird and yet you handled it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then the actual driving - being behind the wheel - began. </div><div><br /></div><div>There were times you fought me, tooth and nail, when trying a new skill, a new situation or even driving when you were in a bad mood (because one has to drive in any mood). Even though you are normally fearless you were plagued with doubt about driving. It is never fun to push you but when I know you can do something that is my job.</div><div><br /></div><div>When you passed your driver's license, in a snow storm no less, earlier this year you subtly danced through the parking lot back to our car. You celebrated and beamed. You drove by yourself around that day and now drive yourself to the train station most days to get to school. You've driven on highways, Storrow Drive and Boston streets. There are still days you marvel that you can do this. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't. I know you can do the tough things. You have a core of strength that you have barely tapped.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not even a pandemic has scratched the surface. I know it.<br /><br />I love you,<br />Mom</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_MnIfBpKIA/YIISPQBIJUI/AAAAAAAAFsg/FzlvHch8FqUK4yd23zbkDgj4l1aSiAizwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/7AEEC9A7-00BA-42DB-9A39-4C17CAE92FDB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_MnIfBpKIA/YIISPQBIJUI/AAAAAAAAFsg/FzlvHch8FqUK4yd23zbkDgj4l1aSiAizwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/7AEEC9A7-00BA-42DB-9A39-4C17CAE92FDB.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-73249981757551940622020-08-22T00:30:00.003-04:002020-08-22T00:30:05.058-04:00Love, More<p><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span face="" style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my twin boys' 20th birthday. I'm still marveling that these 6'1" young men started off on August 22, 2000 as 30-week preemies each weighing less than four pounds.</span></i></p><p><i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span face="" style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></i></p><p><span face="" style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span face="" style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Dear son<span style="color: #474b4e;">,</span></span></span></p><p>You were ready for college when you were 12 so finally getting to move into the dorm in a different part of the country was just a natural continuation of who you are. You quickly made friends, settled into the rugby team and found the freedom of college life just what you hoped it would be. Your rugby team even made national championship to be played in April and life was good.</p><p>Then a global pandemic hit.</p><p>You had to finish your freshman year in your childhood bedroom. You couldn't return to your grocery store job because of concerns for my health. You are facing a future that feels stunted and limited.</p><p>Yet you still have hope. Still have purpose. Still have your insane energy that makes you bounce around like a 6'1" Muppet. You've been working on a U.S. Senate campaign and getting excited about how elections can make a difference.</p><p>We are navigating how to live together after you tasted the freedom of college. You have generally been a joy to be around except for the late night kitchen raids (do the dishes).</p><p>Happy birthday.</p><p>I love you so very much.</p><p>Mama</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3MSsnmgOrJE/Xz75dOcVdtI/AAAAAAAAFmM/W9EPjMqq1DsTXkBccnuZna9S08Rr3OTaACLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/thumbnail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="246" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3MSsnmgOrJE/Xz75dOcVdtI/AAAAAAAAFmM/W9EPjMqq1DsTXkBccnuZna9S08Rr3OTaACLcBGAsYHQ/w328-h246/thumbnail.jpg" width="328" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Dear son,</p><p>College wasn't your thing and you were scared to tell me. I am sorry you were ever worried to talk about what was important to you. Since then you found a job with a paving company and then, mere months later, took a job with another company that quickly trained you to hook up gas lines. You come home with stories from the field, random baked goods from grateful residents and a strong sense of purpose. You are valued at the job and have colleagues who are mentoring you.</p><p>You are managing to thrive during a pandemic. It is exciting to watch you make your own decisions and deal with the consequences. You agonized about telling your boss you were giving your two weeks notice. While the easy way out was to text, you thought through what to say in a phone call. In the end he was gracious and you are still in touch.</p><p>Thank you for being true to yourself.</p><p>Happy birthday.</p><p>I love you for being you.</p><p>Mama</p><p><br /></p>soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-62525029250704907852020-04-23T05:54:00.000-04:002020-04-23T05:54:50.126-04:00Happy Sweet 16, Happiness<i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my daughter's 16th birthday. </span></i><br />
<br />
Dear Darling Daughter,<br />
<br />
This is not how you wanted your 16th birthday to be.<br />
<br />
You had it all planned since January. Well actually you started planning on the day you turn 15 because that is how you roll but we'll leave that part out. You were going to have a dinner with friends this past Saturday, have cake and dinner of your choice this evening with me and Dad then head to your surrogate auntie's house to sleep over. The day after your birthday you were going to Saratoga Springs, NY to spend the weekend at your first regatta as a varsity rower while your dad and I were going to fly super early in the morning to California to watch both your brothers in the National College Rugby Championships. It was all planned.<br />
<br />
Then a pandemic struck. All those plans were cancelled and our lives were upended.<br />
<br />
My worst birthday as a kid was around age 7 or 8 years old when I got a stomach bug and my parents had to postpone the party, stick the Ohlin's cake in the freezer and have the party a few weeks later. But I still got to have my party pretty close to my actual birthday and Ohlin's cakes still tasted really good after being frozen.<br />
<br />
Your 16th birthday, in fact this particular teenage year, can't easily be rescheduled or postponed. You aren't getting to row with the varsity girls - a goal you've worked towards for over a year - and every regatta has been cancelled not to be rescheduled. You were going to attend a dance with your boyfriend who you haven't seen in nearly six weeks. That dance cannot happen and we don't know when you'll be able to see him.<br />
<br />
That is what is so hard to watch for you, your friends and all other teens and young adults. This is the age when you have big moments that can't be done over because they celebrate a distinct achievement, a particular point of time and age or a rite of passage. There is nothing in our society that is particularly momentous about being 27 or 32 or 51 though ask someone about their teen years and there are stories, events, moments that could only happen during that age.<br />
<br />
Yet, and yet, you have been the strongest, most reliable one in the house of five humans and one dog. You have been diligent about your school work, take very seriously being engaged and present during Zoom class time and have stayed connected with friends via all those things you use (maybe that last one you were actually in-training for just this situation). You have rowed every day on the erg your team loaned out. You have, mostly, kept it together (hey, no one is perfect) and tried to stay positive through this.<br />
<br />
Your happiness, the happiness you've had since you were born, keeps shining through.<br />
<br />
That's what I hope you remember from this. What your stories will be when you recount this time 40, 50, 60 years from now.<br />
<br />
That you got through this with focus, determination, grit and happiness.<br />
<br />
Happy Sweet 16.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
Mom<br />
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<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-80929393257593149532019-08-22T07:29:00.001-04:002019-08-22T07:29:48.359-04:00Love, More<div style="text-align: left;">
<i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my twin boys' 19th birthday. I'm still marveling that these 6'1" young men started off on August 22, 2000 as 30-week premies each weighing less than four pounds. In a week they head off to college.</span></i></div>
<br />
Dear son,<br />
<br />
The other day the boat had to be taken out of the water so it wouldn’t be buffeted about during high winds and incoming storms. It needed to be driven across the bay to a launch deep enough to accommodate the trailer. Your dad drove the truck and you were driving the boat. I hopped in with you.<br />
<br />
That 20 minute ride was thrilling and humbling. Thrilling because it was fast and bumpy. The sun was shining and we were laughing. Humbling because driving a boat is a skill I don’t have. If we got in a predicament I’d have looked to you to figure out the next step. You were confident and knowledgeable.<br />
<br />
This is the first of many things you’ll do on your own, skills you’ll gain without me, experiences that I will never hear about as you leave for college next week. I know you will move forward with purpose, learn and grow from your mistakes and make a difference.<br />
<br />
I love you more than you will ever know.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday little man.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
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<br />
Dear son,<br />
<br />
Yet another article has come out about how oral health care has contributed to the overuse and abuse of opioids. Earlier this summer you had jaw surgery requiring an overnight stay at the hospital. You bleed for days. Yet you dealt with the crushing, mind-numbing pain with little more than ibuprofen and ice packs. You were begging to go back to work six days after the surgery despite not being able to chew or use a straw.<br />
<br />
You are stronger than you give yourself credit. As you head off to college next week remember that strength. Remember how you overcame crushing pain and very bleak moments. Remember that you wanted to work while still in pain because it helped take your mind off it.<br />
<br />
Life is going to be full of opportunities, challenges, pain and triumph. Your path isn’t going to be a straight course through a set of check boxes but you will figure it out. And it’ll be amazing to watch.<br />
<br />
I love you more than you will understand.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday little man.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
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<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-67946626913844939542019-04-23T01:00:00.000-04:002019-04-23T01:00:08.750-04:00Happy Birthday, HappinessDear Darling Daughter,<br />
<br />
Well this got awkward. <br />
<br />
You found my blog and have been reading your birthday letters. So instead of being something I wrote that went out into the ether, this is now something you're going to read. In real time.<br />
<br />
First off, happy birthday. You start thinking about your next birthday the night of your current birthday (so tonight you will start planning for your 16th). You truly enjoy birthdays and I hope you never lose that joy of having a day to celebrate you and all that you are.<br />
<br />
But you should celebrate you every day (not with gifts, don't get greedy). You personify resiliency. You have shown great strength and perseverance since a young age and I continue to marvel at. <br />
<br />
You started at a new school last fall. You wanted to attend a co-ed school after three years at an all-girls school in part so you would have peers to look in the eye. At 6'2" you were tired of being the tallest human being on campus and now have tall guys in the mix in your classes. <br />
<br />
You also wanted to try rowing and this new school has a low-key team. You walked into the boathouse the school uses and found other super tall people from other schools and programs. You found a sport that celebrates your height that doesn't involve running (basketball) or jumping (volleyball) both which aggravates your knees. Last month you tried out for a competitive club program and now row six days a week. It's a level of intensity I didn't think you were ready for and once again you are showing strength and perseverance as you deal with really nasty blisters, throwing up after intense 2Ks on the erg, and sore muscles.<br />
<br />
I shouldn't doubt you because you personify resiliency.<br />
<br />
I hope you never doubt yourself.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
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<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-7443315807561976182018-08-22T02:30:00.000-04:002018-08-22T02:30:03.636-04:00Love, More<i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my twin boys' 18th birthday. I'm still marveling that these 6'1" young men started off on August 22, 2000 as 30-week premies each weighing less than four pounds.</span></i><br />
<i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dear son,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Earlier this summer you wore your new suit and brown dress shoes to a family event and afterwards you went to the grocery store where you work to finish up a training. You got out of the car and were walking through the parking lot when a woman flagged you down. She came up to you and said "Congressman, I need to talk to you." It took you a minute to understand what was going on. You stopped her and explained you were in high school and were heading into your job at the grocery store.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;">She thought you were Congressman Joe Kennedy.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;">Needless to say when you called to tell me the story you were over the moon. You are the definition of a political junkie. You are fascinated with elections, polls and policy debates. You read books by former White House chiefs of staff and want to discuss them. </span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">When you were younger I would tell you to use your powers for good. You have always had a presence that people noticed and </span><span style="font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;">apparently</span><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> you carry yourself like a Congressman. As you move into adulthood please use your powers for good in whatever you do.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I know you will.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I love you.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Happy Birthday to my Big Man,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Mom</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">*******</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Dear Son,</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Your rugby coaches say you are one of the few guys on the team who thinks several plays ahead. You describe it as if you are over the pitch and can see the plays from up above. Your ability to think about systems or next steps amazes me because I don't often think that way. </span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">You are still thinking through next steps as you go into your final year of high school. You're young, strong and have years of experience from working in the grocery store and for landscapers. You talk about owning your own business, being the one responsible for everything, and I have no doubt you will do it well.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Often you talk at the dinner table about people's lives. Your co-workers feel comfortable telling you what is happening to them (one former manager texted you after you stopped working with him to tell you his wife is pregnant) and even giving you nicknames (such as a Salvadorian pop singer because of you wear headphones and sing while you work). Ever since you were little you noticed people and their concerns. I hope you will care for and support the people who work for you.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I know you will.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I love you.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Happy Birthday to my Big Man,</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Mom</span><br />
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<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-91769896434651828542018-04-23T14:58:00.000-04:002018-04-23T14:58:21.647-04:00Happy Birthday, HappinessApril 23, 2018<br />
<br />
Dear Darling Daughter,<br />
<br />
You are 14 years old today. Some days it seems you are in your 20's, talking rationally about plans, interpersonal relationships and current events - so much so it makes me do a double take. Then there are other days when you are an emotional, blubbering teenager and I think "where did THAT come from?!?" because I forget you are an emotional, blubbering teenager.<br />
<br />
Yet you always bounce back from the blubbering. Rarely do you let things fester and you move beyond the hurt or stumbling. I try to be more like you because even though you are 35 years younger than I, you have a wise and sturdy soul. It is not something a person can acquire but something a person is born with.<br />
<br />
The Kahil Gibran poem <i>On Children</i> describes you and your effect on me:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backwards nor tarries with yesterday." </blockquote>
You are solidly a teenager now. You are finishing 8th grade and entering high school. You are gearing up for a new challenge and are excited for all that it will bring.<br />
<br />
I am excited too. Because you are going to do great. And I am going to keep learning from you.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
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<span id="goog_1757419066"></span><span id="goog_1757419067"></span><br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-16546549948539787532017-08-22T01:00:00.000-04:002017-08-22T01:00:12.415-04:00Love, more<i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my twin boys' 17h birthday. This is a long post but they each deserve their own letter. </span></i><br />
<i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">August 22, 2017</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dear son,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;">One day you came home from your job at a local supermarket a bit bummed out. It took a while to get out of you that someone paid you back.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;">It seems you always keep coins and a couple of dollars in your pocket in case someone doesn't have enough to pay for their groceries. One day a costumer was short $6. You managed to pull $6 out of your pocket (mind you I'm always being asked to pay for the Dunkin' Donuts run <i>but we'll let that slide</i>) and help her. She promised to return and pay you back and you told her not to worry.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;">You both meant what you said.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;">She returned a week or so later and slipped $6 while you were standing at the manager's desk and you couldn't stop her. You meant it when you said that she shouldn't worry.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I love that you came home a bit sad that she felt she needed to </span><span style="font-family: "times", "times new roman", serif;">pay</span><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> you back because you didn't think it was a debt or an obligation but simply helping out.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Because that is what kind people do.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I'm lucky that such a kind person is my son.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Happy birthday not-so-little man. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I love you,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Mom</span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">****</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Dear son,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">You have had more injuries in the last few months then I care to count. So I won't.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">However, watching you during your latest x-ray and follow-up orthopedist's appointment gave me pause. You were called into the x-ray and I sat in the waiting area as you disappeared down the hall since I assumed you would conduct yourself in an appropriate manner.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">What I didn't expect was five people following after you once the x-ray was finished, laughing at your comments, wishing you luck because you had told them stories and marveling as you left them.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">You strutted into the next office and both men and women smiled as you charmed them, told stories and convinced them you had done your PT exercises (<i>cough, cough you hadn't done a single one</i>).</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Son, you have a charisma that is intoxicating, that makes people want to follow you. Please use that for good. Please use that to make the world better, to make people safe, to make everyone you meet know that there is goodness.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Because I know that is what is in you.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Happy birthday not-so-little man.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I love you,</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">Mom</span><br />
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<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-15140734591790777432017-04-23T01:30:00.000-04:002017-04-23T06:59:26.549-04:00Happy Birthday, Happiness<br />
Dear Darling Daughter,<br />
<br />
You were wearing a new dress the other day paired with gold high-top sneakers. You loved how you looked and strutted with confidence. We walked by several girls we knew and one of them yelled out "you look nice in that dress!" You said a genuine "thank you" in reply and kept walking towards our car.<br />
<br />
The exchange gnawed at me for 10-15 minutes until I finally couldn't take it. <br />
<br />
"Do you think she was sincere?" I asked while driving.<br />
<br />
Those girls have been mean to you, off and on, for several years. While this one girl seemed genuine with her compliment, the others appeared to be smirking and hiding their faces during the exchange.<br />
<br />
You shrugged. "I don't care if it was or not. I don't let them bother me."<br />
<br />
Honestly I, and many other adults I know, need your assurance, bravery and cavalier outlook. You have a confidence that just floors me.<br />
<br />
Your pediatrician has often said that you are going to be fine as an adult, that we just have to get you through the teen years.<br />
<br />
I'm starting to think you're going to be just fine as a teenager too.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday to you, my teenage daughter. I think 13 is going to be a lucky year for you.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
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<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-39353279152435035922016-08-22T00:30:00.000-04:002016-08-22T00:30:31.306-04:00Love, more<i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once again I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my twin boys' 16th birthday. This is a long post but they each deserve their own letter. </span></i><br />
<i style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">August 22, 2016</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dear son,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span>
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pOCzqChrfgk/V7W-gPXPMjI/AAAAAAAADLc/qxvXsaLWG3ACMHsGFINpf0IV3p22QLcvgCLcB/s1600/IMG5694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pOCzqChrfgk/V7W-gPXPMjI/AAAAAAAADLc/qxvXsaLWG3ACMHsGFINpf0IV3p22QLcvgCLcB/s200/IMG5694.JPG" width="133" /></a><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You are 16 years old. Somehow I couldn't even envision who you would be in 2016 when you were born 10 weeks early and barely 3 lbs. and 12 oz. You were this fragile thing wearing a mask to protect your eyes as you baked under bright lights to help your body rid itself of jaundice. Yet your liver eventually figured out how to do its job and after 8 weeks you got to come home to our first floor apartment in a two family house.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is wild to see you now - all 6'1" of you and still growing. You can't start braces because the orthodontist says it'll be stealing our money since your jaw will be the last to finish. So while it is a relief we have a principled orthodontist, it is unnerving that you might be going to college with braces.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You've embraced rugby with gusto, are diligent at your job in the grocery store and chomping at the bit to take your learner's permit test so you can start driving around town (with one of your beloved parents, of course). You are also figuring yourself out, which is at times marvelous and other times maddening. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But luckily for me, it is mostly marvelous.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy birthday darling son.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I love you,</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mom</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">August 22, 2016</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Dear son,</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You've stopped acting. I'm trying really, really, <i>r-e-a-l-l-y</i> hard not to completely lose my sh*t over this. It isn't because either of us harbored fantasies that you were going to make it big as a song-and-dance man on Broadway but because it was something you enjoyed and were good at. This spring you were so good as the villainous and heartless Bill Sykes in a local production of <i>Oliver!</i> that little kids ran out of the theater out of fear and at a few shows the audience applauded your demise. But you won't darken the door of your school's theater and are not interested in participating in local productions.</span></span><br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YBISC7_cXXI/V7W-2ldjOII/AAAAAAAADLg/GawsEFK72ssjxu3yTfrSItKB8gVABpJBwCLcB/s1600/IMG5654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YBISC7_cXXI/V7W-2ldjOII/AAAAAAAADLg/GawsEFK72ssjxu3yTfrSItKB8gVABpJBwCLcB/s200/IMG5654.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Darn it. You are growing up and wanting to do your own thing.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You </span></span><span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">have found in rugby a sport that "clicks" for you. You are getting more responsibilities at your grocery store job that require codes and keys and the authority to make overrides. Pretty heady stuff for a teen. You had a heart-to-heart talk with your godmother this past weekend about how to manage people that are creating roadblocks and not let those individuals make you stumble. </span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So I'm going to shut up and let you be you. </span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Happy birthday.</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I love you,</span><br />
<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mom</span>soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-6953378886657400232016-04-23T00:30:00.000-04:002016-04-23T00:30:08.327-04:00Happy Birthday, HappinessApril 23, 2016<br />
<br />
Dear Daughter,<br />
<br />
Today you are 12 years old. Still not a teen but at 5'11" you are often seen as a high school and a few times as a college student. You seem bemused by the misunderstandings. I don't find them nearly as funny.<br />
<br />
You started at a new school this year and for the most part it has been a wonderful, lovely fit. The teachers challenge you and marvel at your work ethic while the students are mostly kind. Except this is that wondrous time of life when all children between the ages of 11-14 seem, at times, to get all <i>Hunger Games </i>on each other.<br />
<br />
You have been in the sights of the "Queen Bees", as you call them, twice this year. Early in the fall someone said something to you that upset you so much, that tipped the scale for you, that you stood up in front of hundreds of other students in the dining hall and yelled at her. Told her to back off and stop her behavior. I could not be prouder of you to stand up and yell - loudly and in front of middle and high school students - that you were being hurt. Clearly telling off your twin older brothers on a near daily basis came in handy that fall day.<br />
<br />
As winter ended you were part of a larger formal class discussion about body image and food and you were telling your classmates that you eat more than them because you are bigger than they are and you are hungry. Then you cried recounting that some classmates had on several occasions whispered and pointed at how much food was on your plate during lunch. This led to a heartfelt conversation about judging one another, about being comfortable in your body and taking care of oneself. Other classmates thanked you for your candor, for saying what they felt and for showing that whispering and shame really hurts.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--gpB7XCmeC4/Vxq89n4c7QI/AAAAAAAADJY/wHxq5a-GD3EU44YHOxhR4Tv5-QS1ytjyQCK4B/s1600/IMG2040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--gpB7XCmeC4/Vxq89n4c7QI/AAAAAAAADJY/wHxq5a-GD3EU44YHOxhR4Tv5-QS1ytjyQCK4B/s200/IMG2040.JPG" width="200" /></a>Which, by the way, are pretty great things to be talking about as 11 and 12-year-olds and I am grateful that you attend a school that addresses these issues head on, without sugar coating them and in real time. I know a few too many people in their 40's who could benefit from that conversation, both as the perpetrators of unkind words and those who are lacking support.<br />
<br />
But those were truly the only two days that you left school with difficult tales. If you have any "drama" to report you talk about it as if you could care less. With one student you made it clear "we're never meant to be friends and that is fine". You focus on the schoolwork as well as the students who do make you happy and feel good about yourself, who in turn share with you their trials and happiness.<br />
<br />
That <a href="http://denyingsoccermom.blogspot.com/2015/04/happy-birthday-happiness.html" target="_blank">fearlessness</a> you had as a <a href="http://denyingsoccermom.blogspot.com/2012/04/happy-birthday-happiness.html" target="_blank">little kid</a>, both in <a href="http://denyingsoccermom.blogspot.com/2011/04/happy-birthday-happiness.html" target="_blank">age</a> and <a href="http://denyingsoccermom.blogspot.com/2009/04/happy-birthday-darling.html" target="_blank">height</a>, is still there. New situations don't frighten you and you graciously meet new people - children and adults - with no trepidation.<br />
<br />
So that perception of you being older than you are is an honest mistake. You continue to carry yourself with a confidence, self-preservation and wisdom that is beyond your, now, 12 years.<br />
<br />
I love you.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday,<br />
Mom soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-92028219022408995412015-08-22T06:08:00.001-04:002015-08-22T06:09:12.810-04:00Love, more<i style="color: #474b4e; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Once again I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my twin boys' 15th birthday. This is a long post but they each deserve their own letter. </span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">August 22, 2015</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Dear son,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You walked towards me in the grocery store parking lot, your shirt untucked and black pants covered with flour. Your black store hat had finger prints where you tugged it with flour on your hands. The car window was down and I waved to you. You waved back and our exchange caught the eye of the older man standing by a parked car next to me. He smiled at us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He then walked over to our car to tell us that his son also worked at this grocery store starting at age 14. He went on to tell us with great pride about the son's various jobs at the store and how he saved money to buy special things then realized they weren't all that special. The gentleman told us he was a salesman and he understood it is long days in the store but it teaches responsibility and the value of hard work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He clearly loved that his son had worked at this store and asked you about your experiences. He then said that his son decided as a little kid he was going to Harvard. "And guess what?" he said as he shook his head, "he got into Harvard!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Then he pointed his finger at you and said "You can go too. Do well in school. Working is good but school is most important."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Yes sir" you replied followed by "Have a good evening" as you waved.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He waved back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And you were pretty quiet on the ride home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;">You've got the whole world ahead of you. Make the most of it my six foot tall son. Who will always be a little man in my heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;">Happy Birthday my son. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;">Love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;">Mom</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">****</span><br />
<br />
<br />
August, 22, 2015<br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Dear son,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />As you know our close family friend, who is like an older auntie to you and your siblings, has been diagnosed with cancer and undergoing treatment. She does not drive so I've been helping arrange rides to and from the hospital for treatment and occasionally driving her myself. She asked that you and your siblings join her for a chemotherapy session. So one afternoon last month we sat with her, talked, laughed and told stories to pass the time as an IV dripped medicine into her arm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A few weeks later it was time to drive her again but your sister and I had to leave the hospital early for a dance performance. Wonderfully you and your brother chose to stay with our friend until the chemo session was finished and get a ride home with another close friend. As I was leaving you got up to rearrange the chairs and announced "Dance party! Where's the disco ball?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Which made our friend laugh and brought smiles to other patients and staff in the area. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Keep using your powers for good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times;">Happy Birthday my son.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;">Love,</span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mom</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-73842577193425649512015-04-23T00:30:00.000-04:002015-04-23T06:49:54.148-04:00Happy Birthday Happiness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Darling Daughter,<br />
<br />
You are eleven years old today. You are also 5'8" tall (I'm clinging to that 3/4" I have over you) and you carry yourself with a confidence many 21, 41 or 71 year olds would admire.<br />
<br />
On the final day of 4th grade last year you excitedly came up to me to say who would be in your 5th grade class. You mentioned a student's name I had never heard and I asked if she was new to the school.<br />
<br />
"No, she's been there since 1st grade" you said matter-of-factly. "She doesn't like me" you noted as if you were mentioning a grocery item.<br />
<br />
I stopped walking and grilled you. What had she done? How could anyone exclude you or be mean?<br />
<br />
You shrugged off my questions and this student's behavior. "I don't let it bother me" you informed me and walked ahead. Clearly if this person's conduct didn't bother you, I should follow your lead. Not only in this case but in life. Your confidence and ability to forgive should be bottled and shared with those who could sorely use it. Like your mother.<br />
<br />
You've been this way <a href="http://denyingsoccermom.blogspot.com/2009/04/happy-birthday-darling.html" target="_blank">since preschool</a>. Your teachers told me you decided as a 3-, 4-, and 5-year-old what you wanted to do and if classmates joined you that was fine and if you were alone that was fine too. You've continued this through elementary school.<br />
<br />
This year in your own way you are being a buddy to a classmate going through a rough time. It reminds me of what I wrote in your Birthday Letter when you turned five years old.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"The teacher reminded me of how you talked about a particular boy a fair amount last year. She then disclosed it was because no one else would play with him. He had a tendency to hit or lash out in other ways. You told him early on he couldn't hit and he listened to you. For a good part of the year you were the only classmate who would play with him. Now he plays fine and is welcomed by the other kids. You helped him figure it all out and welcomed other kids to play with him."</span></blockquote>
In that 2009 Birthday Letter I asked you to use your powers for good.<br />
<br />
I'm glad you listened. <br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mama<br />
<br />
<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-24751188707224999802014-08-22T00:30:00.000-04:002014-08-22T10:08:48.482-04:00Love, more<i>Once again I return to this completely ignored space to acknowledge my twin boys' 14th birthday. This is a long post but they each deserve their own letter. </i><br />
<br />
August 22, 2014 <br />
<br />
Dear son,<br />
<br />
A few years ago you were in a community production of <i>Suessical the Musical</i> as one of the Wickersham Brothers who are the meddlesome monkeys in the Jungle of Nool. Clearly this was not typecasting a then mischievous 5th grade boy.<br />
<br />
This past spring you were in the Middle School production of <i>Suessical Jr.</i> but this time you were cast as Horton the Elephant, the only story line that isn't butchered by turning the full length play into a one act (the Junior version doesn't even have the General/Bread-and-Butter Battle storyline which makes Jojo and the Mayors' story lines really short and odd). You were also finishing up 7th grade - that glorious year of growing like a weed, getting serious pimples and being so full of yourself I just wanted to knock you on the side of your head. If I could reach that high.<br />
<br />
So when you sang "Alone in the Universe" in your grey newsboy-looking outfit, holding a pink fuzzy thing that looked more like a poppy than a clover in a glaring spotlight it was all I could do to not start loudly sobbing. You sang about loneliness, imagination and flying over troubles with conviction and sympathy.<br />
<br />
When you sang it at the very last show it was with desperation and delirium. You had a 102.7 degree fever which came on during call time. You were fine when you left the house at 5:45pm. The fever came on like an arson fire.<br />
<br />
But not once did you back down from the show. You channeled what little energy and focus you had and got through it. You even sat through an awards program when you could've have begged to be let go.<br />
<br />
So when you sang, feeling sick, about being alone in the universe just know that you will never be alone. No matter where you are or what you are doing I am there for you.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday darling boy,<br />
Mama<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
August 22, 2014<br />
<br />
Dear son,<br />
<br />
You are my tough guy. <br />
<br />
Yet earlier this month, after we had eaten dinner at picnic tables I turned my head to find you rolling on the grass with your not-quite 4-year-old cousin. I'm not sure if there was a race involved but I do know that you had her laughing loudly as you both rolled down a small incline. You smiled at her and she just beamed right back at you.<br />
<br />
Earlier in the summer you let your twin 7-year-old cousins both sit on top of you while you laid on your belly. You chased after their minivan as they drove away with their heads out of the windows laughing loudly. You never once turned down a request to put one of them on your shoulders.<br />
<br />
And we share our two weeks of beach heaven with another family who has a 15-month-old son. You follow him around, make funny faces at him in restaurants, and give him hugs and kisses.<br />
<br />
Because while you are tough, you are also affectionate, loving and kind. So go ahead and be the tough 14-year-old today. I know you are quick with a kiss for a little one. <br />
<br />
Happy birthday darling boy,<br />
Mama<br />
<br />
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<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-47165723176107275602014-04-23T00:30:00.000-04:002014-04-23T08:40:47.593-04:00Happy Birthday, HappinessDear darling,<br />
<br />
You are ten years old today.<br />
<br />
Last month we had our first, real, <b>public</b> <i>this-is-your-life-get-out-of-my-way-mother</i> moment. For the world to see. Well, our beloved town and the theater group we're a part of.<br />
<br />
You were recently the Red Queen in a local production of Alice in Wonderland. In this version you start the second act, explain what was about to happen to Alice and generally got the audience back into the groove after a twenty minute intermission spent eating Skittles and brownies, buying raffle tickets and listening to blue grass music.<br />
<br />
Let's just say that was a tall order for a then 9-year-old. Only something a mother would ask. A mother who was also the director. A first time director. So there was no pressure on either of us.<br />
<br />
Two weeks before our "paying" shows, the theater company performed a free show for a local autism support network. Over 60 individuals came and got to experience live theater. You were just perfect. You consistently and clearly delivered your lines with a very royal attitude.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Riqn3u-xKZM/U000CjqCozI/AAAAAAAAB0g/SPNQ7--F070/s1600/IMG_3810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Riqn3u-xKZM/U000CjqCozI/AAAAAAAAB0g/SPNQ7--F070/s1600/IMG_3810.jpg" height="320" width="133" /></a><br />
And in my mind - the director's mind - you peaked.<br />
<br />
Because after that show you started doing all these weird things. You would pull a Mae West with one line (like you knew who Ms. West was), then go into a Lucille Ball bit, then flail about and suddenly be still. You would drop the last word of a sentence in an attempt to be <b><i><u>super</u></i></b> dramatic which only made it harder for people to hear your jokes.<br />
<br />
You were clearly bored. You had memorized your lines in January. It was the end of March and you <br />
not only knew the Red Queen inside and out - you would probably knew what moves she would maneuver on the chess board. You were bored.<br />
<br />
And I was frantic. As the director - and your mother - you looked like a character mess. There was no rhyme or reason to what you were doing on stage. The entire tech/dress rehearsal week was agony for me. I'd talk to you about this at home so as not to embarrass you in front of the group. You'd nod, repeat a line as I suggested, and then promptly continue your whack job delivery.<br />
<br />
The show opened for four performances and you shined. Every single person who spoke to me marveled at your stage presence, your "look at me" quality, your funny character. <br />
<br />
I've been stupid enough to bemoan to a few friends that you went off the rails as an actor.<br />
<br />
The thing is you didn't go off the rails. You never do. You are just so amazingly confident that you don't care what 120 people in an audience think. Or what your mother thinks. You will just experiment and try new things. <br />
<br />
You are by far the most fearless person - man or woman, adult or child - I know. <br />
<br />
And being your mother is the greatest gift I could ask for. A bit of a stomach-turning-<i>will-I-survive?</i>-ride but I would not trade this for anything.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Welcome to double digits, Darling Daughter.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mama<br />
<br />
<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-78549206536694321652014-01-17T16:30:00.002-05:002014-01-17T16:30:53.263-05:00Explaining Anna's rape to the 9-year-old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Watching Downton Abbey is a weekly treat in our family. The 13-year-old boys get to watch it with me on Sundays. The 9-year-old girl is in bed before the show begins so we watch it on DVR the next day. Being on the west side of the pond means I have worked very hard since the fall to avoid all discussion about season 4 or read any spoilers.<br />
<br />
However, this past Sunday's episode was not like any other. I probably should have paid attention to the warning on the screen before the dog's backside appeared but I was lulled by the sweeping piano and strings and the excitement for a weekend of parties!<br />
<br />
Anna's story unfolded - unfortunately - very well. Her assailant grooms her with his flattery, fun game (what was that card game all about?) and small talk. So when he violently rapes her it comes out of no where because, well, he had been so nice. Although Anna's husband, Mr. Bates, of course knew the guy was a good-for-nothing.<br />
<br />
As the credits rolled, the boys and I sat stunned. We talked about how horrible it was to watch and how unfair it was that Anna was now hiding a secret. I also reiterated to my not-quite-men that women are not for men's (or boys') pleasure.<br />
<br />
But how to talk about it with my 9-year-old daughter? That Monday, after school, I didn't offer to play the recorded show and she didn't ask to watch. On Tuesday driving to ballet class she asked about it and I told her that I was sad that Tom and that new maid were spending time together (I call her O'Brien 2.0). Other days have passed and now we're almost at a new episode. I believe Anna was pregnant before the violent sexual assault (dropping Lady Mary's perfume, getting all emotional about Moseley's debts, that fateful headache) but I think the writers will (cruelly) cause her to think the rape led to her pregnancy. This means the crime will be a key part of several episodes and my daughter would not understand what was upsetting Anna and (hopefully) others when she finally shares this horrible secret.<br />
<br />
This afternoon we had the talk. I stressed that this was a make-believe show and everyone was actors. Then I told her what happened and how they showed it on the screen. But I made some key points.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Explain what actually happened</b><br />
"Inappropriate touch" or "he hurt her" does not fully convey the horrible crime and abuse this fictional character (and sadly so many real people) suffer through. My boys were about her age when the Sandusky scandal broke and they asked me what the former football coach did to the boys. I told them so that it wouldn't be a mystery. And I told my daughter today what happened to Anna.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Reassure that she could tell me and her dad anything</b><br />
I told her, several times, that no matter what happens to her she can tell me. No matter how bad she feels, how wrong she may believe she was, whatever the outcome she can tell me and her dad because we will love her and help her.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Trust her feelings</b><br />
I explained that part of the assailant's plan to attack Anna was to make her feel comfortable with him. I told her that unfortunately most rapes are done by <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/pdf/nisvs_report2010-a.pdf#page=27" target="_blank">people who know their victim</a>. So that means that if someone she cares about starts treating her differently, making her feel bad, or pushing her to do things she is not comfortable with she needs to trust that funny feeling in her stomach and get away. This is harder said then done but hopefully talking about it now means she'll be brave later.<br />
<br />
I asked her if she had any questions or anything she wanted to say.<br />
<br />
"Mom, I think I'll skip this week's Downton Abbey. I like it when it's happy and has parties."<br />
<br />
Me too, darling girl. Me too.<br />
<br />
<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-37808154302633635422013-08-22T00:30:00.000-04:002013-08-22T07:38:16.433-04:00Love, more<br />
<i>My sons - who were born ten weeks early and spent eight weeks in the NICU - are turning 13 years old today. Feel free to sob with me.</i><br />
<br />
Dear not-so-little-man,<br />
<br />
During a week of no camps or activities I <strike>dragged</strike> took you and your siblings to the <a href="http://www.jfklibrary.org/" target="_blank">John F. Kennedy Presidential Museum and Library</a>. The building alone is stunning. It is designed by I. M. Pei and juts out onto Boston Harbor. Inside this beautiful space is history of an era that we are not familiar with but impacts our daily lives. You were enthralled with the faux White House hallway, the real letters and news footage from the time. That and television channels were only changed with knobs that you had to <u>get up from the couch</u> to change.<br />
<br />
As we finished the special exhibit about the Cuban Missile Crisis you begged me to buy you <i><a href="http://www.jfklibrary.org/Events-and-Awards/Profile-in-Courage-Award/About-the-Book.aspx" target="_blank">Profiles in Courage</a></i>, the book the then Senator Kennedy wrote while he recovered from back surgery caused by injuries from World War II. Surprisingly you have been reading it, telling me all about Robert Kennedy's forward to the book and interesting facts about the Kennedys.<br />
<br />
A few days after our visit to the museum a good family friend who has his own wonderful career in politics offered us two barely used twin-sized mattresses and box springs. After I happily accepted he threw in two headboards which had been used by a certain newly elected Congressman and his twin brother when they were boys.<br />
<br />
So now you've been reading <i>Profiles in Courage</i> propped up against the same headboard of Robert Kennedy's grandson. And President Kennedy's great-nephew. Which only feeds into your belief that you are going to make a difference in the world, in a really big way.<br />
<br />
And I have no doubt you will.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
****</div>
<br />
Dear not-so-little-man,<br />
<br />
We, as a family, had to give up one of our dogs to animal rescue in June. You, your brother and your younger sister seemed to handle this development well. You all appeared to understand that Zeke was becoming increasingly violent and our family could not provide him a safe home. We had a scheduled time to drop him off while you were at school.<br />
<br />
The morning we were to drop off Zeke your brother woke up and was inconsolable. He sobbed and sobbed, unable to even get to school never mind manage the day. You were fine and trooped off to school with barely a lowered shoulder. I promised your brother I would take him out of school to say goodbye to Zeke and be part of leaving him at the shelter.<br />
<br />
When I got to school your brother told me you wanted to go as well which mildly ticked me off since I figured you were only asking so you could miss a class or two. Eventually we got to the shelter, finished the paperwork and said goodbye to Zeke. Everyone's eyes stayed dry.<br />
<br />
Until we got out the door when your brother lost it. You told him to sit in the front seat of the car and you sat behind him. Once we climbed in you reached forward, grabbed his shoulders and told him that Zeke was safe now. You reminded him that you both could now have friends at our home (since Zeke was particularly hostile towards/would bite 12-year-old boys). You rubbed his shoulders and told him it eventually wouldn't hurt so much. Your brother calmed down - so much so he walked back into school with a smile.<br />
<br />
You were not at the shelter to skip a class. You weren't there to say goodbye to the family dog we had for four years. <br />
<br />
You were there to help your twin brother grieve. <br />
<br />
I was dry eyed as we left the shelter. I was practically clicking my heals - <i>a la</i> Gene Kelly in "Singin' in the Rain" - as we walked out the door since Zeke had been a struggle for a while.<br />
<br />
But as you comforted your brother I slipped my sunglasses on. Because that was when I started to cry.<br />
<br />
I love you. More than you will ever really understand.<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-63707300226442240702013-04-23T00:30:00.000-04:002013-04-23T08:05:15.004-04:00Happy Birthday, Happiness<br />
Dear Daughter,<br />
<br />
You love to perform. Last month you had your own song for our local production of <i>Schoolhouse Rock Live</i> which you memorized in one week. At Christmas time you were in <i>The Urban Nutcracker </i>and never has anyone been so proud of dancing on a blue and yellow-polkadotted bouncing ball.<br />
<br />
But the work it takes to get there, to get to the performing, is something you don't love.<br />
<br />
You manage the expectation of learning your part with both unrealistic fantasy ("Maybe I'll be the lead!!") and stoic team player attitude. You accept your role and find something to get excited about ("I am the first person on stage for the second act!!"). <br />
<br />
Then the dreaded learning of the parts begins. You squirm in your seat as the cast learns songs ("WHEN do we get ON STAGE?!?") and grumble as the dance sequence is gone over again. And again. And again.<br />
<br />
But when tech week begins, when costumes are worn, when bright lights are tested, you stand taller, throw your shoulders back and look out into the seats with eager anticipation. When the shows begin you are both an eager kid goofing with friends backstage and focused performer quietly centering yourself (sometimes doing both within a minute).<br />
<br />
This confidence carries through to school, standing up for yourself with your two older brothers, and your playing.<br />
<br />
Because when I walk into the kitchen in the middle of you doing an imaginary cooking show you don't recoil from embarrassment that I am seeing this. You smile, nonchalantly face the "camera" and say "and here is my mom. Say 'hi', Mom!"<br />
<br />
And I say "Hi" to the imaginary camera just as you direct me. <br />
<br />
Happy Birthday.<br />
I love you,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--wwn6NJBvQk/UXVCR3-cb6I/AAAAAAAABxI/aPI2C8V0jp4/s1600/IMG_9121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--wwn6NJBvQk/UXVCR3-cb6I/AAAAAAAABxI/aPI2C8V0jp4/s320/IMG_9121.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by the always wonderful friend <br />
<a href="http://www.mingledyarn.com/" target="_blank">Steven Davey</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-67566935196779882062012-08-22T00:30:00.000-04:002012-08-22T06:37:18.659-04:00Love, more<i><br /></i>
<i>Once again, I'm writing letters to my sons. For their birthday.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
Dear not-so-little man,<br />
<br />
This summer you and your brother started to do the lawns of several neighbors. You announced it was a company, started "hiring" friends to do jobs and even used money from your godmother to invest in a new weed whacker.<br />
<br />
I really did not take this all seriously. Until an 11-year-old called the house in July asking if there was a meeting that Friday night to discuss the weekend jobs. I was informed by you there was such a meeting and sure enough several boys were in my front yard promptly at 5:00 pm discussing cutting lawns, pulling weeds and laying mulch.<br />
<br />
According to the neighbors who hired "the company" you are the taskmaster of the group. You assign the jobs, keep people focused and save most of your fussing for your brother. I've heard many an argument between you two about who "owns" the company and who is the "boss". <br />
<br />
However, what I also saw this summer was a commitment to getting a job done well, being courteous to customers in the hopes they will rehire you, and worrying about the conditions of neighbor's lawns while they were out-of-town but hadn't hired you to tend them. "Should I just cut their lawn?" you would ask. <br />
<br />
So when you are lazy on the couch, laughing hysterically over sit-coms like <i>Reba</i>, I think about your company. And know you are going to be just fine.<br />
<br />
Happy 12th birthday. You are my not-so-little man.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear not-so-little man,<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago your brother was going off the deep end about something ridiculous and became very rude to me in the process. The three of us had two more errands, both fun, and I informed him that not only was he not going with us I was taking him back to the house to stay home alone.<br />
<br />
The last fun errand was to get junk food for watching the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics (because it is our family tradition to watch athletic matches while eating horrible food - think Super Bowl). Since your brother was not with us we were not getting him any special food.<br />
<br />
You, however, would not stand for it. You got a bag of chips you knew your brother liked, turned to me and declared "He's my brother and I am sharing with him." That was fine with me. This was not your punishment so if you chose to share with him that was fine. <br />
<br />
You were also very antsy to get home to him. "He can't be alone" you informed me. <br />
<br />
"More like you miss him?" I asked. <br />
<br />
"Yes" you said quietly, looking down.<br />
<br />
So home we went. Because your brother's punishment shouldn't make you suffer too.<br />
<br />
Happy 12 birthday not-so-little man. Who won't admit that he is a big softie inside.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Momsoccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-51205177764659250192012-04-23T00:30:00.000-04:002012-04-23T08:42:34.428-04:00Happy Birthday, Happiness<br />
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Dear Daughter,</div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
In New York City last week you were happily chomping on a chocolate chip pancake as a singing server at Ellen's on Broadway started to belt out "Notice Me Horton" from <i>Seussical</i>, the musical you were in earlier this month. While you were a Bird Girl, you knew just about every other part. The singer noticed you crooning, came up behind you and stuck the microphone into your face as you finished chewing.</div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
She was clearly expecting you to recoil, to cringe at the thought of singing so publicly in front of strangers eating their breakfast in a Broadway diner.</div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
She had not met you.</div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
You proceeded to sing the rest of the introduction to the song as the wide-eyed server cheered you on. Other servers noticed and started to clap.</div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
But when you told the story the next day you made it sound like you were reluctant and did not sing very well. Even though our neighbors were impressed with the story you lowered you shoulders, looked down and acted as if it was not a big deal.</div>
<div class="yiv1257480518MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'bookman old style', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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It made me think of a quote by Bobbe Sommer: </div>
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<i>“Having a low opinion of yourself is not ‘modesty’. It’s self-destruction. Holding your uniqueness in high regard is not ‘egotism’. It’s a necessary precondition to happiness and success.”</i></blockquote>
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I told you to be proud of your confidence and talents. You should not be embarrassed that you like to perform. You enjoy it and your family enjoys watching you.</div>
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Earlier this month a reporter from our local paper was at the first big dress rehearsal for <i>Seussical</i>. She was interviewing cast members when you charged up to her and said,<br />
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“Have you heard of Harper? Well here I am!”</blockquote>
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The reporter could not get enough of you. I spoke to her a few weeks later and she still thought you were funny, confident and talented.</div>
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Which you are. As you start your 8th year, please stay that way.</div>
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Happy birthday.</div>
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I love you,</div>
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Mom</div>
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<br /></div>soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-24576419534847675232011-08-22T00:20:00.009-04:002011-08-22T00:20:00.189-04:00Love, more<em>Once again, I return from blogging oblivion - and vacation mode - to acknowledge the boys' birthday. They turn 11 today. And as is my custom they get their own letters. </em>
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<br />Dear little man,
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<br />I recently read in Sophie's World (a fictional novel about the history of philosophy) the following quote:
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<br /><blockquote>"The most subversive people are those who ask questions."</blockquote>You, my son, are the most subversive of subversive people.
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<br />When you and your brother were less than two years old, I encouraged you both to use words to describe how you felt, in an attempt to thwart the oncoming "terrible twos". I thought if you could articulate what was going on inside your brain you would be able to calmly explain your toddler angst with grace and dignity.
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<br />That clearly didn't happen. But it did lead to a relative asking, incredulously, if you as a 20-month-old had explained you were feeling blue. You were able to saying that you were sad by using the word "blue".
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<br />Fast forward to today. This has been a year of incredible horrors - the shooting of an elected official and murder of others in Arizona, natural and man-made calamities in Japan, gruesome mass slaying in Norway, drownings and murders closer to home, the return of an old man to our big city that was on the FBI's most wanted list. And through it all you keep asking questions. Hard questions. About the root of evil. About goodness. The details of events. Who did it. Why they did it. Why didn't their parents stop them. As if an 81-year-old man has parents who are still alive to punish him.
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<br />Sometimes your questions wear me down and I just say "that is all I know". And you stew. I don't know what your stewing about. Is it that I let you down. That I couldn't answer all your questions. That I am fallible.
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<br />Or, maybe, are you realizing there are still questions to answer. Still mysteries - some great, some horrible - that need to be solved. Are you realizing that you could be the one to answer one of them? Maybe several?
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<br />Because I knew when you were nearly two years old. When you were telling me that you were blue.
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<br />Happy birthday little man. I love you,
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<br />Mama
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<br />Dear little man,
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<br />During 2010 you were two musicals within 8 months of each other with the amateur theater group our family is a part of. You played a young gambler in <em>Guys and Dolls</em> and had a solo in "Learn Your Lessons Well" in <em>Godspell</em>. The director, Diane, made it clear that she had plans for you in future productions. One of them was to resurrect a simple staging of <em>Amahl and the Night Visitor</em>. Diane was the only one who would mount that show and she had been waiting for a boy to become old enough to handle the singing. You were even given the music to get to know it.
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<br />Then Diane got sick. We didn't understand how sick. She had cancer and was dead in a matter of weeks. You were devastated. Within a week of her dying you had to write a school essay about someone who made a big difference in your life.
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<br />This is what partly what you wrote:
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<br /><p>The person that made a big difference in my life is Diane W. First, she was a beautiful singer, and she acted. Next, we attended the same church. Last, she got sick 5 weeks ago. We had big plans for future shows....
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<br />The effect she had on me was important. First, I am more confident on stage, and this carries in the outside world. Also, she made me more mature. To conclude, I know more songs because of her. She made a big difference in my life. </p></blockquote>
<br />You cried as you wrote this. But you worked through it. To write this tribute to Diane. And to show that you will always make music. And act. And sing.
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<br />Earlier this month we all saw <em>All Shook Up</em>, Shakespeare's <em>Twelfth Night</em> set to Elvis' songs. And you have already decided that the first post-Diane production of our little community theater group will be <em>All Shook Up</em>. And you're going to be the lead. The Elvis character.
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<br />And Diane would've loved it.
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<br />Happy Birthday. I love you,
<br />Mama
<br />soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32453088.post-46358789372077434372011-04-23T00:07:00.013-04:002011-04-23T00:07:00.720-04:00Happy Birthday HappinessDear daughter,<br /><div></div><br />Your confidence continues to amaze me. It is as if you have a core of steel. You will boldly try a new task, dance move or experience with barely a blink. Although as you turn 7 years old it seems that strong confidence is starting to become a bit shaky. You complain that certain steps in ballet are too hard. Your bicycle peddles are not properly placed for you to get started. You can't figure out a math problem. But then you are presented a challenge and never look back.<br /><div></div><br />Last fall you were the second youngest cast member in an intergenerational production of <em>Godspell</em>. For the final dress rehearsals the actress playing John the Baptist/Judas had laryngitis. Heading into opening night it was becoming apparent she wasn't going to be able to sing the opening to "Prepare Ye" as she walked from the back of the hall towards the stage. An hour before the show the director asked me if you could sing "Prepare Ye" by yourself, walking in front of the actress. I said yes but only if you agreed.<br /><div></div><br />Of course you agreed.<br /><div></div><br /><div>After the opening song you appeared at the back of the hall, arms outstretched singing<br /></div><br /><div align="center"><em>"Prepare ye the way of the lord, prepare ye the way of the lord."</em></div><br /><div></div><br />While the audience was indeed prepared for the lord, they were also warned to watch for you. Because in spite of your budding concerns and occasional lapses in confidence, you still have that fearless core of steel.<br /><div></div><br />Happy Birthday. I love you,<br /><div></div><br />Mama<br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598575999434544226" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aqFH7qmgrEI/TbIjNX5S1GI/AAAAAAAABv8/vtFQMC73wy4/s320/IMG_8154.JPG" /><br /></div>soccer mom in denialhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15779961065417497337noreply@blogger.com2