Something Special in these Mountains

 My husband and I are blessed to have dear friends who happen to have season tickets to all App State sporting events. We love going to the men’s basketball games and were in our regular seats for the game against Louisiana on February 17. As I sat down to write this, I was pretty certain we won, but honestly, I had to look online to be sure because that was the night an older gentleman only several seats away suffered a medical emergency and died at the game.

I had been chatting with the friendly lady sitting beside me (who turned out to be the parent of one of my husband’s students) when we noticed the medics coming down the stairs and heading to an elderly gentleman sitting in the small section beside ours. The man was sitting upright but was not looking at the medics. It was his wife who was talking to them. She did not look panicked, but the medics were young and there seemed to be some confusion as they took what seemed like a long time to assess the situation. We all kept watch, my new friend and I praying softly for him, his wife, and all the people attending to him. Things seemed to be under control, but they quickly escalated as he became non-responsive and a police officer was called over to help move him, everyone in the surrounding seats feeling the urgency and seriousness of his condition. As the medics and police officer got him out of his seat and attempted to carry him up the stairs, it was clear that they were not prepared for so serious a medical emergency for such a large man. I found myself clinging to the hand of the lady beside me as our friend and my husband stood ready to help but not wanting to hinder the process. The medics finally got the man up the stairs and immediately began CPR, which went on for what seemed like ages.

As the minutes dragged by and the efforts to save the man’s life continued behind us, there wasn’t a soul in our section who was not overcome and shocked by the dire situation. Some were praying aloud, others were silent, but no one’s thoughts were anywhere but with that man and his wife.

The mascot for App State, Yosef, is a cheerful mountaineer who is usually clad in a yellow and black flannel shirt, suspenders holding up his black trousers, and a black felt flat-brim hat that he regularly sets upon the heads of fans. He’s always appropriate and more polite than some other school mascots when doing the usual mascot stuff – posing for photos, giving high-fives, and accepting hugs from little kids. But on this night, without his usual high-energy fanfare, Yosef came over to our section and simply began patting shoulders or leaning over to gently fist-bump everyone who was in attendance. He slowly made his way up the aisle, all his attention on us, clearly acknowledging the pain of the moment and letting each one of us know that we were not suffering alone. As he came to our row, I think that I gave him an appreciative smile, but I was still in shock, silently praying for the man’s wife and thinking about what she must be suffering. Yosef stepped into the row behind us, and suddenly, I felt both of Yosef’s gentle hands resting on my head, this vessel conveying nothing less than what can be described as holy and blessed compassion. It stunned me. I didn’t move my head but looked wide-eyed at the lady beside me who had tears in her eyes at the sight of our precious Yosef consoling me in the way he could. I was so touched by this comforting gesture that I didn’t turn around but rested my head into those hands, letting go of the breath I’d not realized I’d been holding. His hands lifted and he continued up the aisle with his loving efforts as tears of gratitude slipped down my cheeks. Well done, good and faithful servant~ Matthew 25:23.

I have thought of this moment every day since, grateful beyond words for our Yosef and the kindness, humanity, and spirit of mountain folk he embodies so beautifully. I will never see him and not feel appreciation and awe for the love and compassion he gave to all of us that night.

I knew it before, but no truer words have ever been spoken, there is something special about these mountains, and whatever this sacred thing is that inspires such compassion, reverence, and selflessness, this is my testimony that it is reflected in those who call App State their own.

 

 

Baby, Take the Wheel

     The first time it happened, my youngest was in the fifth grade. Summer evenings are less structured, so a missing person at dinner more common, but this was a school night and the first time our eldest had driven straight from class to the summer job she had extended into the fall. The table setter had not gotten the word and as the remaining five of us sat down, her absence was noted by all, especially our son, his eyes filling.
      "This is what it's gonna be like when Molly goes to college."

     Whaaaaaaat????
     Brake! BRAKE! BRAKE!! 
     Mamas know that their days with their babies/toddlers/school kids/pre-teens/teenagers are limited, but we don't understand until it is upon us. Understanding is like everything else that ejects us from comfort; it doesn't happen until it's over. I sobbed the first day she went to kindergarten ... AND first grade, and middle school, and high school, and when she passed her driving test, and the day we left her at Crosby Hall at Ole Miss, ten and a half hours away from home, fearing I had not prepared her enough to be out in the world on her own. My kids are my career. I was the one whose job it was to know everything; acetaminophen dosing charts, allergies, favorite colors, favorite foods, piano lesson times, tutoring schedules, and check-up appointments. I'd made and updated regularly a Jones Family Handbook for babysitters and grandparents who came to watch the kids or in case I died unexpectedly. I can plan for when I'm not around, but what about when they aren't around? What the hell am I supposed to do without anyone to need me?? Just like every other question I have, the answers were already there. I had just been pretending not to notice.
     From the moment they arrive, our babies are not ours, they are their own. We are the vessel, nurturer, guide, law, and advocate for these precious creatures, but we forget that we did not craft them with our own hands for our purpose. We did not choose their skills, talents, gifts, hair color, or temperament. The aim was not for us to always have a job or constant companion; it is for our children to be capable of helping move humanity forward, and if we have done our job well, they will contribute to society by forging their own path and finding their own way. This is impossible if I don't let go of her hand.
     Our flood of nurturing and protective instincts is real, but it excuses every "I can do it myself" they've uttered and we've ignored or fought. So now, in these last days before the big move, they make their last stand. They turn cold to our warmth. They become cranky, rude, and ungrateful because it's impossible to leave if they don't want to go.
     Your role as mama is about to change, but I promise, it is not for the worse. The contact becomes less frequent but more meaningful. Themes emerge. Their need for concise wisdom will require your concentration and creativity, graciously imparted, to allow them to recognize truth for themselves, rather than being told. Guided questions and analogies using their specific interests (as only a parent can) will be the connection that not only remains intact but thrives.
     Hold your tongue when he tries to shove the head of his bed into the closet to make it "kinda my own room" or she starts hanging pictures on the walls before putting her clothes in the dresser. Don't cry and hang on when you leave. Tell them that they can do it. Let them be the first to call you and ask what they did that day without filling them in on what you are making for dinner (tell them sandwiches). Allow yourself the time to grieve - I may or may not have been guilty of crying in my closet for three days - and then on the fourth day, get up early and go for a walk. Call your friends who are also struggling and go to a movie or float the river or choose a new paint color for the laundry room. Read. Make every night a binge-watch with your husband. Buy a new frying pan, athletic socks, and mascara - stuff you've held off doing for yourself because you haven't had the time. And call your own mama - there's a good chance she'll accept your apology for being cranky the day before you left for college, too.
   

For Mothers, especially me

 There is a pattern to life; we are born, we give life, we die. A woman wrestles the wind and waves, lands her boat ashore, helps her child to build her own boat, then watches and cheers silently (and sometimes not so silently) as her child tackles wind and waves, headed to find her own shore on which to land. The tragedy of watching a child’s boat succumb to the waves and disappear is against all nature. The pattern is irrevocably broken, the horizon damaged beyond repair.

My dearest friend lost her daughter in a car accident. It was a good car, a car with the latest safety features and airbags. Her daughter had never had an accident or a ticket. She was not doing drugs. She was not drinking. It was in the middle of the day on a good, dry road. None of those things that we parents check off our list mattered, because it still happened. These things happen.

We can track our daughters, limit them, bind them in bubble wrap, and duct tape them to the kitchen chair or explain, teach, demand, and pray, but still, these things happen and eventually, despite our fear, we have to help our daughters launch that boat.

 It is what we do on our shore with them that matters. It is the time we spend building that boat, teaching them to read the waves and wind. It is how and what we do together that matters.

If we spend our time arguing over the narrowness of the keel, the depth of the hull, how widely the seats are spaced, or the color of the sail; that is what we have when they are gone.

If we build the boat to our standards, making them watch, not do, because it must be perfect; not allowing them to know their own vessel, fearful and unaware of what it can and cannot do; that is what we have when they are gone.

If we nap on the beach or make new sails for our own boats, ignoring their calls for guidance; that is what we have when they are gone.

But if, like my dearest friend, we sit with them, smoothing the rough edges, weaving the sail, and laughing together at the seagulls who perch on the rim and watch as our daughters work; then that is what we have when they are gone.

Grief for Kendall Claudette Spinks

What can I do? 

My dearest friend, my person, lost her youngest daughter today. As the word spread, the calls began--what can I do? I’ve been asked it in texts, emails, phone calls. We are a compassionate lot—the wafts of grief that overcome us demand action…mostly because action deflects us from truly having to see into this gaping black hole.

Other than telling Kimber and Brent and Cameron and Elizabeth we are sorry and that we loved Kendall and we love them, there is nothing anyone can do to make this better. This devastating loss is just going to be painfully, dreadfully there. My kids are in a state of panic; wanting some type of information or task or plan to get the situation into some type of controlled fall, but there is no feeling better or lightening the mood or fixing it for them. Don't say "God has a plan" or "It's God's will" or "she's in a better place" because that only makes it worse for those left to live their lives without her.

In my faith, death for Kendall is not death, but a long hug in the lap of God, as she feels every wave of love we pray. It is our loss for which we grieve, the loss of every plan and dream and hope we had for her life that has vanished; the intended lunches at Grins with Gracie next fall; her bridal shower; the pearls Denise and I planned to give her for her wedding day; her first baby’s pictures next to her own on the wall of her own house; the Christmas cards; the facebook posts. They can't be gone, we argue in our hearts, because our heads haven’t fully received the message. 

This throat-constricting, chest-tightening fog is grief and the thousand-time magnified version Kimber is experiencing is more than she should bear. Give her the space, the time, the love she needs—whatever that looks like. This is so wrong, whatever she does to keep breathing is right.

Babysitter Tips From a Mom of Those Having Been Sat and Those Now Sitting

Having been through it for twenty years, I feel it coming. The kids have been home from school for over a week. Their discarded presents scattered in boxes with the sides caved in from being trampled. New clothes, still with the tags, lie in a pile on the floor of their rooms, unhung. The new movies have all been watched, the candy eaten. They seem to sing "I'm bored" on the hour and off-key. It is just before that wonderful time of year when parents have had their fill and need a night out. If we can just hang on 'til NEW YEAR'S EVE!!

If you have children old enough to babysit, there are a few things to keep in mind when you allow them to accept a job.
Babysitters:
You are there for the primary reason to keep the children safe. Do not check you instagram and twitter every five minutes to see what you are missing. Do not post pictures of the kids you are babysitting, the address of the house, or any of its items within its walls while on duty. Do not invite your friends over or talk to them on the phone (this includes texting) while the children are awake. 
When accepting the job, you need to know:
*the hours you are expected to stay (no one comes home right at midnight)
*how many children you will be watching (most houses have at least one extra friend spending the night)
*if you don't drive, ask if they will pick you up or if you need to find a ride (plan now to get a ride home--you don't want to depend on tipsy parents to get you home safely)
Now you need to set a fee and tell the parents up front.

It is going to be a long night. Plan age-appropriate activities for the kids: bring any old dress-up dresses for girls if they are nine years old or under and music to have a "Dance" (do NOT teach them to twerk); teach them card games; bring refrigerated cookie dough, frosting, and silver sprinkles to decorate them with the kids. Don't lie around and watch movie after movie. This is a special night for them, too.

Make sure you have both of the parents' cell phone numbers and an emergency number for an adult they trust. Write down:
*what allergies the kids have
*specific dinner instructions
*special bed times for each one
*behavioral expectations and consequences

After the kids are asleep, you should always clean up any dishes, pots, and pans you used to feed them, toys, blankets, etc... The last thing parents want to do when they get up in the morning after a long night out is face a messy house.

Now, if you are the parent of kiddos needing a babysitter, keep the following in mind: college kids are broke. This is the one night they really are "giving up" to make money. If she tells you she charge 5.00 per kid per hour, pay it and give her a tip if your house is cleaner than you left it.

If your child hits or your niece bites, warn your sitter! Tell her how to handle any bad behavior--if your kids act that way for you, you can be sure that they will bump it up a notch with a ton of other kids in the house and a young adult in charge.

Do not run off to your party without buying food and expecting the sitter to just find something to feed your kids. If you expect her to feed them a meal, make it and leave specific directions. Ordering pizza? Do it yourself and have it there before she arrives or be certain to leave enough cash to pay for it and the tip.

Call once during the night to make sure that there have not been any major problems.
 
If you tell her that you will be home by 12:30am, don't show up at 2am. Call at 11:30, ask  her if she doesn't mind if you stay out later and then pay her the additional amount with a giant Thank You!

If you have told her that you will be driving her home Never EVER drive if you have been drinking. Period. She is someone's baby who has been loved for twice as long as you have loved your own. Have her call her parents and hand them a bottle of wine for getting out of their warm bed to do your job.

End of lecture. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to us all!

Happy Mother's Day for Us

 Hello! The school year is over for me and I am back working hard to finish The Mama Bubble book. Thank you to all who have emailed your wonderful comments--we have had over 16,500 hits to this blog! In honor of Mother's Day, here is a sample of what will be published very soon!


Years ago, I saw the tail-end of a sitcom that has stayed with me.  I can't remember what it was called, but Diane Cannon played a California fruits-and-nuts mother (I lovingly say this while holding my "Native Californian" card) with two grown daughters. The oldest was married and had a new baby and had hoped that her first Mother's Day would be one of the best days of her life.  Her husband did buy her a card and cut the grass, but it was nothing like the imagined day at the spa, giant bouquet of wildflowers, surprise oil portrait of her with her new baby, or thoughtfully  dinner. Since her husband had fallen asleep watching a baseball game for the rest of the afternoon, they ended up at her mother's beach house for dinner.

     I'm going to paraphrase here:

Later that evening, she bemoans to her mother, "I thought that when I gave birth, became a mother, that it would change our entire lives...spiritually; that we would truly become a family in the deepest sense of the word; that Todd would recognize that enormous change in me and in us."

  (Pause.  Pause.) 

Her mother looks at her as though she is speaking Swahili.

     "Where do you get this crap?" (Clearly, her mother is not the source of these ideas).
 Sigh.

     "I just wanted my first Mother's Day to be memorable," her daughter begins to recognize that her expectations were a bit off.

     "You want memorable?" her mother grins, patting her daughter's knee. "Memorable, I can give you."

Cut to the beach (night shot), outline of the two of them, skipping/running into the surf, laughing hysterically, and completely naked.  What a way to teach your adult kid how to celebrate herself!  What a great gift to give her!

 

    My image of motherhood was nothing like what it became. People talk all day long about the joys of motherhood; that it's the hardest job in the world, that there is nothing more fulfilling, blah, blah, blah.  No one says what that looks like in real terms.  You don't glow. Motherhood is your friend telling you that there is something questionable in you hair and you are relieved to find that it is only peanut butter. It's clenching your jaw so tightly you are certain your front two teeth are going to snap off and cause your gums to recede.  It's having to change your entire outfit on Sunday morning two minutes before you have to leave, because your other shoe is at the bottom of the dress-up box (discovered well into the next season).  It's being so completely covered in God's "blessings" that you miss everything He might be telling you unless some wonderful person points it out to you. 

 

     No one can tell you in advance that the most memorable moments are not those that the modern day poets blather on about in a Hallmark card or are captured in the soft filtered lens of a photographer, but they are in the most trying--the moments that no one sees except you and God.  Moments like when your infant has had a fever all night and you are covered in infant urp and sweat and a part of you is desperate to put her down, shower, and get into you own bed, but...she has finally fallen asleep on your spent breast, the sheen of sweat bathing her forehead as her fever has breaks, and you sit rocking and kissing her damp head, thanking God that she will be well... and quiet. Moments like when your son finds a dead, fuzz and crud covered lollipop in the car and instead of sneaking off to have it himself, brings it to you "because I wuv you."  The gratifying and heartbreaking moment when your baby goes off to first grade without tears, and most devastating; the days when your tears won't stop because she is going through her first days of college without coming home to apples and peanut butter after school...and you know she's doing just fine without them. Because they are our babies, there are times we forget that our job is to grow them to be contributing, confident adults who affect the world in a positive way and those moments are hard on us, not them.

 

    Diane Cannon's character has snapped me into the mother I want to be on a lot occasions, but my friends are my best image of what mothers should be.  Since I don't see a load of us heading into Barton Springs Pool in the middle of the night without making the internet, this is not an invitation to go skinny dipping with me, but I do want to throw some Diane Cannon light on the ideas we have realized: that life is full of rearranging your expectations and laughing it off and knowing who will welcome you, feed you, and tell you like it is--and go skinny dipping! And so, my friends, you who fill in for me, who kick my butt, who tell me that I'm doing fine, who share wine and horror and laughter and love and understanding with me--I wish you the Happiest of Mother's Days in your very own soul, that there are moments in your life that exceed your expectations, and most of all, that when God needs to speak to you, that you can hear.

 

Skiing with Kids

I spent most of the winters of my Southern California childhood coming home from school on Friday to be greeted by the pile of ski equipment, bags of clothing and food, and a whistling father. Ski season began in late January and ended sometime in May and as the daughter of the leader of a local mountain’s ski patrol, my weekends were dedicated to “new powder!” at Kratka Ridge with my dad. Our nine-day Spring Break was spent at Mammoth Mountain. Needless to say, the man knew how to ski with kids/teenagers.

As we gather for Winter Break, I figured now would be a good time to share:

Tom Battenberg’s Skiing with Kids 101

Several weeks before going, have your kids do squats and lunges, especially if they have never skied before. The best way to get them to do these properly is to have them “sit” with their backs against the wall, having just their legs support their weight.

Drink a lot of water the day before you leave for the higher elevations—driving from the lower elevation to the higher is best to avoid altitude sickness, but hydration is the key.  Drink a lot the day you arrive and the day after to avoid nausea and headaches.

Money saver--If you are headed to Colorado, rent skis/boots/poles in Dillon or Silverthorn then take them with you to your resort (they have another location there, but it is considerably more expensive)

Steps to Skiing On Time
The Night Before 
      1. Charge phone and ipod
      2. Bathe and then sleep in your underwear and long underwear (base layer) 
First Morning Stage (go to the bathroom/brush your teeth/put up your hair)
      3. Put on your ski socks and your slippers (so your feet don’t get wet from the kitchen floor)
       4. Put on your performance shirt
       5. Ski Pass around your neck
       6. Put phone, tissues, key to condo, and ipod in pockets of ski parka 
Second Stage: Eat  Breakfast/drink water, then check the weather to see what layers you need for the day
Third Stage: Go to the bathroom again, even if you don’t think you need to go
       7. Sunscreen and chapstick (put them in your ski parka)
       8. Ski pants
       9. Sweater or “Fuzzy”—if needed
       10. Gator around your neck/face masque/headliner—blocks the wind
       11. Ski boots—make sure they are on the “walk” mode or leave the tops unbuckled
       12. Parka—do not zip up inside the condo until the last second, so not to overheat
       13. Helmet (it is the law) and goggles
       14. Mittens (gloves don’t keep your fingers as warm)

Beginning skiers--If they are new at this, they’re gonna whine. It is best to put them in ski school for the first two days… at least.

             As they gain control, get them to a groomed intermediate run (blue) as soon as     
              possible, so they learn to use the momentum the steeper slope offers. Stay away     
              from the bumpy runs, as this adds an extra challenge a new skier does not need.
 

Food to Eat While Skiing

Lots of water—skip the soda and tea, since they are diuretics. The new sports drinks that contain protein are great.

Hand them fruits and veggies while they are waiting for dinner or lunch to be served. Our rule was: nothing else to eat or drink unless you drank six ounces of water and at half an apple/orange/3 celery sticks, etc…Anti-inflammatory foods help sore muscles. Spaghetti is the best thing to feed a starving kiddo since it helps with inflamed muscles and gives them the carbs they need to burn on the mountain.

Do not take off their ski boots during lunch, it is harder to put them back on their feet after an hour of being allowed to swell. Simply unbuckle them unless you are suffering from a blister—put moleskin on that hot spot

After the last run of the day

Sit your kiddo’s bottom just inside the door and pull off his ski boots, bang the snow off of them before bringing indoors (keeps the floor and socks dry)

Give him a big mug of hot chocolate and apple slices and let the stories of the events of the day begin!!

NEVER put your boots near the heater or fireplace to dry—they will melt. Pull the liners out of the boots and ALWAYS bring them inside your condo/hotel at night since there is nothing worse than wet, freezing cold ski boots in the morning

Hang everything up to dry and be ready for the next day in one spot, so you don’t have to spend precious morning time hunting for missing mandatory equipment

As a final bit of info and advice:

*the effects of alcohol are greater at the higher elevations
*mamas need helmets, too (remember Natasha Richardson)
*and most importantly, stop at the top of every run to appreciate the beauty and light of your mountaintop experience.