A Fan's Lament in progress . . .

To the Current Patriots Organization:

Let me begin by saying that I am the reason you can do what you do.  Why you get to own and manage a team and coach and play a game for a living.  I am a lifelong, tried and true Patriots loving, game watching, merchandise buying fan.

 I bet on the 86’ Patriots to win the Superbowl when I was in third grade. You let me down then, but you didn’t lose me. I loved you in the lean years.  The years that the Superbowl was a day to watch other teams contend and my life did not need to be rearranged around the playoffs.  I loved you through the Parcels years and the Carrol years.  And then came Bill Belichick and Tom Brady and I’ll admit I may have started to love you just a little but more. 

Over the years we went from the Patriots Rock Radio Network to the Sports Hub.  We lost Gino and gained Scott.  A new owner, a new coach, a new stadium and an ever changing roster but I was the same.  You had me at every coin toss, every first down, every overtime nail biter.

You disappointed me with Spygate and worried me when Brady’s knee got taken out (I was at that game!). But still I bought my daughter her Patriots’ onsies and myself a new pair of Patriots sweatpants knowing we would get through it.  The 2007 season was rough for us.  We had our highest highs and then the lowest low.  Losing to the Giants.  In the Superbowl.  To the Giants.  With a Manning at the helm.  To the Giants. That hurt.  And then you did it to me again in 2012.  To the Giants!  But we soldiered on.  Sometimes I wondered at your draft picks or more precisely your seeming unwillingness to use draft picks and propensity to trade them away.  But I trusted in the Patriot way.  Crazy veterans came in and settled down giving us the best they had. Chad Johnson?  Okay you tried, it didn’t work, but that was okay.  You were my team.

You raised ticket prices and parking prices and merchandise prices, but still I couldn’t stay away.  My collection of Patriot paraphernalia grew around my Tom Brady Bobble head to include things like T-shirts and mugs and harder to find items like my Patriots gnome, my Patriots socks, a collection of Patriots Christmas tree ornaments and my Patriots Salt and Pepper shaker.  I didn’t begrudge you the money too much.  It seemed to always go to putting a contending team together which was your side of the equation.  I fulfilled my side pretty well too.  I went to training camp, preseason games, regular season games, I followed the team and players on Twitter, I bought the aforementioned Patriots stuff for me and my friends.  I celebrated your victories as if they were my own and accepted the losses knowing they were not the end.  Your were my team.

I have questioned personnel decisions before. I was not happy to lose number four after so many clutch kicks.  I didn’t love when you let Vrabel go, but I understood.  Harder was losing Deion Branch and Asante Samuels.  Why couldn’t you pay to keep proven players who gave their all and brought the Ws?  But I took a deep breath hugged my Patriot pillow and trusted in the system that had given me so much.

Losing Wes Welker has given me pause.  Could it be that this organization to which I have given my heart (and more importantly to you my wallet) be this idiotic?  This short sighted? This, yes I’m going to say it, disloyal?  I know it’s a business to you, but it’s personal to me.  This is my team.  Your management, your staff, your players and even your coaches come and go but I am here and I have been here and I deserved better than this.  Wes Welker deserved better than this.   

I get it - you obviously think you can do better but here is what my almost thirty years of loving this team tells me – you can’t!  Welker was a PATRIOT in every sense of the word.  He embodied the Patriot Way.  He came back from ACL surgery after like 7 months and was better than ever.  Who does that?  He has led the league in receptions three times.  He has like 10 franchise records that will probably never be broken.  He keeps his head down and does the work. The work of receiving almost everything Brady throws his way.  The work of crazy and seemingly impossible yards after the catch.  He takes the hits and literally pops back up.  You tried to bench him at the beginning of the year because you thought you could do without him.  Did he pop off on Twitter, whine to the media or ever fail to do what he was asked to do?  No. And by the way how did that plan go?  That “we don’t need you Wes watch us win without you” plan?  Yeah it sucked.

Watching him play was watching everything that was good about football, about being a team player about being a Patriot.  Him and Brady were one of best tandems ever to share a field. And now you have taken that away from me because you couldn’t find it in your heart (in your wallet) to keep him.  This is the worst mistake you have made since an eight year old girl with a dream climbed aboard your bandwagon all those years ago.  Shame on you.

I won’t go so far as to say I am rooting for the Broncos next year.  But I will be rooting for Wes Welker, every game, every down.  He is a Patriot and always will be.  I was here before you and I will be here after you’ve gone so I have come to the conclusion that although you get to decide who makes the roster every season I am going to decide who stays a Patriot when you can’t seem to see beyond dollar signs and brinksmanship.

I never had a Wes Welker jersey.  Outside of my Brady bobble head I tend to keep my gear team based because I am first and foremost a Patriots fan more than a fan of any particular player.  I think I would like a Welker jersey now, but I will not contribute to the Patriots coffers.  I think I may buy my first ever non-Patriots piece of football gear when the Broncos start cranking out their own Welker merchandise.

Sincerely,

A disappointed fan

Guilty or Grateful? A balance in progress . . .

Guilty or Grateful?

Sometimes when I watch my two amazing daughters playing happily by themselves or with one another I get literally choked up with feelings of awe and gratitude. I am awed by their beauty and the joy they bring to the world simply by being part of it. I am grateful for the house they play in, for the healthy food I am able to feed them (they are grateful for the junk food which they definitely also get). I am grateful for their warm coats, our amazing pediatrician, our close knit extended family – the list is endless. These blessings rattle through my mind and overwhelm me.

But then something transforms that gratitude, that awareness of my blessings, into guilt. Guilt that I have what others do not. Guilt that I do not worry about where our next meal will come from when some mothers do. Guilt that I can spend time with my children when many have to work long hours that make this impossible. Guilt that our house is big, at least compared to many. Guilt that our cars run and our well never fails to produce clean water.

More disturbing than the rush of guilt that crushes my warm fuzzy sense of gratitude is that I had previously felt there were only two things I could do with those feelings. First, I could push them away with “I deserves”. Instead of feeling bad for having what others do not I could tell myself I deserve them because I have worked hard my whole life. I had my first job when I was fourteen (unless you count babysitting which started at age 11) and never looked back. I went to school for seven years post-highschool to achieve my dream of becoming a lawyer. A dream we are still paying for! I don’t’ have extravagant tastes and most of what I want is for my girls anyway. I can tell myself that I deserve what I have and so I need to ignore any guilt and dismiss it as a counterproductive emotion that robs me of my hard-earned joy. This reaction is just about as satisfying and productive as it sounds like it would be.

  The other option is to wallow. Wallowing goes something like this - It’s true I have so much more than many people here in the US and most especially around the world. Starting with my freedom and going right down the line to a closet full of clothes I never wear. Why me? I am no better than those who suffer the cold of winter without a coat, the oppression of a dictator or the sorrow of losing a child to preventable disease. So instead of reasoning with my guilt I let it in and feel that somehow if I let it steal at least some of the joy I find in my own blessings I am somehow better off because at least I am acknowledging the disparity and isn’t that more than most people do??

Neither of these reactions really help me or the world around me. What I have learned is that the “right” reaction is the harder third choice. I don’t need to ignore or wallow in my guilt. I can try, try again and try some more to find a balance in my life. A balance between awareness of the great things in my life and awareness of the need around me. In this case I believe the balance is struck with a mindset and intentional behavior changes. The mindset - I believe that I am blessed. That although my husband and I work hard that this is not the only reason we prosper. We have been blessed. That’s where the struggle is – why us and not others? There are people who work just as hard but through different geographic, political, familial or biological circumstances do not have what we have. I don’t know why, but I do know that we are blessed not for ourselves but that we might be a blessing to others. This is where the mindset meets the behavior – I believe I am blessed to be a blessing. That along with the advantages of my life comes responsibility.

That is what has prompted me to start blogging again. I have started to ask some questions of myself and mean to try and work out the answers of how and where I can act to make a difference here as a way of holding myself accountable in the asking and to share whatever it is I may find. The first question I think I am going to tackle (and this one could take a year to work through) is what impact do I have on the world as a consumer? This spans everything from am I buying the products of slave labor to what is the environmental impact of my purchases? There are probably hundreds of questions I could ask and I have a few ideas to start, but am open to new ones as well.

My first project is inspired by the book A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans (this book is Phenomenal!). In it the author brought up the issue of slave labor in the cocoa market. I LOVE chocolate and was mortified to discover that my habit might be enabling the evil institution of slavery in northern Africa. I determined to discover what chocolate might be safe and found that even with the help of my research assistants Google and Bing this information is not so easy to find. So I will be researching and questioning and looking and reporting what I find.

And I’m off . . .

Grief in Progress

Today would have been my Grandmother's 94th birthday. She passed away a year ago last week. She was obviously very old and towards the end was quite ill. It was one of those passings that had a bit of relief mixed in with the sadness. We knew her death brought her to the peace that eluded her here on earth and freed from her pain. So I guess I thought that after a month or so of grieving I would move on to the occasional fond memory tinged with nostalgia and wistfulness. Gram had lived a full and happy life and my faith and hers assured me that she was in a better place. I have not yet found my way to this warm and painless form of grief. Although there are certainly moments when I pass her picture in my room or use the china she gave me for my wedding that I smile and think of her with only fondness and no sadness more often than not I find my memories bring stabs of tears to my eyes and a slight pain to my chest. I feel like I am doing this wrong. That I should be beyond this pain somehow. Beyond crying as I pass her former nursing home. Beyond losing myself in wishing I could talk to her one more time. Beyond wondering if I was there for her enough, told her I loved her enough. She was a part of my life since I was born. I have never gone more than six months without seeing her in my life and now it has been over a year. I miss her. These paragraphs are something I wrote after her death to help me process it and something I return to every now and then to remember and grieve. I'm not sure how I should be doing this whole grieving thing, but I am working on it.

As I sat next to my grandmother’s dead body I was struck by the relentlessness of life and to be honest I found it quite irritating. She was gone. A lifeless form without animation or dimension. Yet somehow nothing else stopped to honor, to absorb or to witness this moment. My sisters, who had had longer than me to take it in, were chattering about their favorite memories of Gram. They had been here when it happened. I was not. Just one half hour car ride later I, apparently, had missed the moment. Had there been a moment? If so it was over now. In addition to the chatter I could hear our daughters playing downstairs. Their three year old minds uncluttered by momentous questions of life and death. The TV in a nearby roomed droned on as well. One of a thousand daily updates on the sad state of the economy. A truck clunked by under the second story window and a bird twittered on a tree somewhere.
Did no one realize what had happened? Couldn’t the world stop for just a minute, a second, a blink to recognize the loss it had suffered. This frail little woman just shy of her 93rd birthday had given so much, had meant so much. Her kindness, generosity and simple love had touched so many and now it was gone. Couldn’t we just take a breath for her. The hole she left in the world she had graced for almost a century was a shape, size and texture like nothing else. It could not be filled but would stay forever empty. She loved chocolate and appetizers. She was totally deaf in her right ear and her left was not much better. Born in England she had come to the United States as a precocious twelve year old. Until her eyes became too weak she had read through the entire Bible every year for over thirty years. She loved the ocean and small stuffed animals. Even though she couldn’t always remember details of her recent life she could still tell many stories of her early days as a second grade teacher, even the names of the kids in her first class in a two room school house which she shared with another teacher named Gertrude. She liked getting her hair done and playing Skipbo. She was in fact something of a ruthless Skipbo player. My Grandfather died three years ago. They had been married almost sixty years. She didn’t have a middle name. Her only son died thirty five years ago. She liked to tell stories about him. She had one daughter, six grandchildren and six great grandchildren. The great grandkids called her Grandma Nellie.
She loved Jesus. Not in a fire and brimstone kind of way. In a loving kind of way. In a giving your money to missionaries, talking to God everyday and tying to live out the Bible kind of way. Her faith was one of the most simply uncomplicated things I have ever seen. It just was. There were no questions or angsty reservations. No apologies, no doubt. It was the work of many decades by the time I encountered it. Gram had come to her faith as a child and she never lost that childlike quality. She just loved Jesus and more than anything in the whole world she want those she loved to know him and love him as she did. This permeated her whole essence. It was the essential aroma of her being which made itself known on even the briefest encounter. Because of this I know with a certainty akin to the Sun rising in the east that she in heaven. She is free from her fading eyesight and arthritic joints. She no longer experiences the pain of loss or the emptiness of loneliness. She has been made new by her creator. And I can just see as she closed her eyes in this world and opened them in the next who was waiting there for her. He would stand to greet her even as my Grandfather and Uncle eagerly awaited their turn. He would be first and as Gram’s eyes encountered His her face would alight with a joy unknown to anyone in this broken world. He would call her to Him and as he folded His arms around her Jesus would whisper, “well done my good and faithful servant.”
So I suppose even for Gram the relentlessness of life was inescapable if only because death could not hold her. Life intrudes here, robs me of that peaceful, unmoving moment to mourn because it will not wait, it will not stop. But for Gram life’s ceaseless movement has brought her to true peace. Because on the other side of death life has broken through in a deeper, stronger, truer way than the never-ending monotony of change with which we must contend her on earth. So in a way the unalterable nature of life and its refusal to halt is its own testimony to Gram and a reminder of the Life she now enjoys.
Goodbye Gram, I will miss you. In this moment and always.

Politician in Progress (no not really)

Politics make me nervous. I majored in political science so this is somewhat strange, but it is an uneasiness that has developed over the past decade or so. It has to do with the fact that I know very few people who hold passionate political views who can express calmly and reasonably their thoughts and ideas and can listen, really listen, to those who disagree. There is so much rhetoric, so much anger and so much absolutism when any political topic is introduced. It seems to me that politics make people see red (no communist reference intended). However, what I have realized of late is that I have let my queasiness keep me out of a discussion and a process that might benefit from my thoughts and/or ideas. Not that I am anything particularly spectacular, but if reasonable, caring people (I think I am one of those) stay away from all things political then we leave politics to those who may not be either.
In the interest of full disclosure I am a conservative. In the great state of Massachusetts I am probably considered very conservative. I think the government should tax less, legislate less and spend less. This view is based on my interpretation of the Constitution, study of American history and philosophy of government in general. I am in fact very passionate about my views which I believe are well thought out and based on a lot of reading, talking and listening. I also believe . . . wait for it . . . that reasonable minds can differ on these very basic ideas and on the more specific issues on which I also hold some strong views.
I am unwaveringly pro-life, but I understand those who think the government should not legislate this issue (I strongly disagree on that, but I get the idea). I am decidedly anti-death penalty, but I see the reasoning of those who are not (the death penalty is in fact racist, sexist, classist and has without question resulted in the execution of the innocent) I am in favor of immigration reform, but think that neither Republicans or Democrats have offered a realistic plan. This would be one that addresses both the adjustment of status for those illegals here already and legitimate security concerns brought about by our lax border policies as well as the effects of amnesty on those considering entering the US without visas. I believe we need a safety net of welfare and subsidized housing, but think that these programs are deeply flawed and should not be allowed to continue as they are just because it is in fact political suicide to enter that particular fray. I think Congress has the right to legislate a measure of gun control, but I believe firmly in the second amendment and therefore think the government does not have the right to take away the rights of Americans to own guns. I just don't think we have any kind of constitutional right to semi-automatic weapons or to purchase guns with no oversight. I think one of the few things the federal government can and should involve itself deeply in is the protection of the environment, but I also believe that the current fashionable nature of the green movement is evidence of how the market can be used to serve the end of environmental preservation. I did not vote for President Obama, but he is my president and I support him even while I disagree with much of what he has done since taking office.
Okay so after putting all of that on the table - liberals, do you hate me? Think I am ignorant or unfeeling? Conservatives, did I not go far enough? Am I too wishywashy? Libretarians, are you mad because I want to take away your oozy? (that was kind of punchy and I apologize even while leaving it in b/c I made myself laugh). This is my point though I avoid expressing my views because I fear that, as has often happened in the past, either people will engage with me in anger to beat me over the head with the error of my ways or they will nod and smile not engaging at all - all the while thinking I am stupid, misled heartless or something else that explains my errant views. So I have justified my silence because I like being liked. I haven't wanted to appear to feel too strongly. Heaven forbid I appear radical or impassioned. I have been avoiding those fights I so eagerly sought in my youth.

Although I have found that many of my liberal friends sometimes think those with opposing views are either less intelligent or less compassionate than they, and my conservative friends sometimes seem to feel that those who disagree with them are either less patriotic or hardworking I will risk being the ignorant, heartless, un-American slug and will make myself heard. We'll see what happens.

Old Lady in Progress

I realize that the following thoughts may in fact qualify me for one of the two slots recently vacated among the golden girls. But I can't help it. Bring on Sophia's wicker purse and/or Dorothy's transgenderish outfits because here it is.

Texting - this to me is one of the more problem wrought areas of communication created by man since the grunt. First, people sometimes text because they want credit for communicating, but don't actually want to talk to you (or me more likely). Second, people often say things over text they wouldn't say out loud. Some may find this liberating, but I think there is often a reason you won't say certain things. They may be unkind, unfair or even untrue. Perhaps we should not discount the test of verbalization when choosing our words. Third, texting while driving. Really? Really? This to me is the height of self-deluded narcissism. It is essentially saying that whatever you and your BFF have to "say" to each other in a given moment is so important that it cannot wait until your next stop even though you are endangering the rest of us unlucky enough to be sharing the road with you at any given moment. Would you read a book, or write one, while driving??

Cell phones in general - seriously people why can't we (and by we I mean you b/c I am often w/o my phone w/o really meaning to be) leave our phones behind for anything? We take them to work, to the gym, to church, to the game to the store etc. We are one them in the check out line, the changing room, the bathroom stall, in our cars, our houses and everywhere we walk in between. Sometimes I think we are afraid to be alone with our thoughts. I know my head can be a scary place to be. Also here comes my own insecurity, but when I am out with a friend who insists on placing their cell phone on the table in between us it tells me that you are hoping someone more interesting or more important than me will contact you and give you a reason to ignore me. It worries me that as a society we are so unwilling to be disconnected for a moment and yet equally unwilling to be connected to just one person, group or event for even a small amount of time.

Reality shows - enough is enough. I confess I found myself drawn to Rock of Love a few years back for the train wreck that it was, but I really think reality shows are a sign of the end times (no not really really in case anyone is wondering). Some shows are interesting and have an admirable purpose, but for the most part they represent the lowest common denominator in our society and are creating a generation of people who aspire to fame for fame's sake. And they just keep dialing up the ridiculous meter. From Temptation Island to the Real Housewives of somewhere or other they are often us just watching people's lives fall apart (Ala Jon and Kate).

Clothing - ok this one is the quintessential "kids these days" but it cannot be helped. I'll keep it simple. Guys wear their hair too shaggy, it falls in their faces and makes me think they are trying to hide something. Also their pants are too low. I do not want to see a good foot of your boxers or worse yet your butt crack when I am walking behind you in Wal-mart. As for the girls - with summertime approaching the shorts are coming out and I sometimes wonder if the teenagers I see accidentally put on their five year old sisters clothes. These shorts, which have been earning their name more and more each season, cover not leg at all and often do not even conceal all of the the wearer's derriere. As I already acknowledged this makes me an old lady I feel ok in saying - seriously people have you ever heard of modesty? Leaving something to the imagination? How about just plain being sanitary because, as a friend once pointed out, if these short shorts are combined with thongs I am seating on benches, chairs and car seats that have in fact touched your actual butt cheek and I just don't want that.

And then there's Facebook. Which I love. I am in touch with people from highschool, college, family and beyond who I probably would never have heard from in my life,but for Facebook. So I think it is a great thing. My only issue with it that fits here in my old lady rant is I fear we are substituting Facebook contact for actual contact. When I post something on your wall, add a comment about your status or shoot you a message these are all good ways of keeping in touch. However; they are decidedly without actual touch. When it comes to my outside of Facebook friends who also happen to be my friends on Facebook my concern, for myself at least, is that I equate a wall post with a phone call to check on a friend who is having a hard time. That I consider my comment on your child's silly antics as a valid substitute for actually seeing her. That I assume my status update indicating I am going through a rough time is really reaching out. Facebook is a great online community, but cannot be a substitute for the real thing. Oh and also some people share way too much and frankly way too often on Facebook. Some people seem to think that despite the five hundred friends siting there on their profile page their Facebook is really like a private journal. There is such thing as oversharing in the virtual world just like the real one. Just because you can't see the look of censure on our faces when we read your status does not mean it isn't there. Also although Farkle is a really fun word to say please stop sending me requests involving it. I don't understand what it is and this is only because I care less about it than about the fate of a piece of lint I am currently eyeing on the booth across from me.

Ok rant over. Did I miss anything old ladies go on about?

Mom in Progress

As I watch her sleep I am overcome with emotions. Not in that sweet sentimental way that brings a single tear to your eye or causes a small sigh to quietly escape your lips. But in a way that gets stuck in your throat and turns your stomach over and over. Like a wave beating relentlessly on the rocks the emotions break against me. Joy. I feel joy. A deep and abiding joy that the miracle which now breathes steadily in and out is a part of my life. Joy that this small being somehow belongs to me and I to her. Joy as I remember all of the special moments we have shared since the day she came into this world. Sadness. I feel sadness. Sadness that she would not always be this small. That her tiny body would one day not fit on my lap. Sadness that the time would come when I would not be her favorite playmate. Sadness that she would leave me one day. Hope. I feel hope for all that she can become. Hope for a world that is a better place simply because she is in it. Hope that I can be the wonderful person she seems to think I am. Regret. I feel regret. Today and on too many days I have bossed when I should have guided, I have told when I should have showed, I have ignored when I should have paid attention and I have sat out when I should have jumped in.
I wonder if I will ever be the mother I want to be. The mother she deserves. If I will grow less impatient, less lazy, less selfish. Will I ever be able to teach her what I so desperately want her to know. That she is an amazing gift. That kindness is always the right choice. That lollipops are not a breakfast food. That it’s ok for a girl to get dirty, be strong and like math. That holding the pen by its tip helps you write more clearly. That God is good and Jesus loves her. That you need to pay close attention when using scissors. I feel like she deserves better, better than my brokenness, my insecurity and my selfishness. Everything about her is amazing. Her smile overcomes the strongest resistance. Her laugh is an almost palpable source of energy. Her ideas and the way she expresses them are as intelligent as they are unique. Her dance moves are a sight to behold. Her negotiating skills are far too advanced for my own good.
I think of the pile of clothes waiting to be folded, the bathrooms begging to be cleaned and the episode of Gilmore Girls I have saved on the DVR. They tempt me to sneak away before my angel awakes. If I don’t get the chores done now she will, no doubt, want to help. Folding laundry with my daughter is something of a challenge. She likes me to dump it all on top of her and laments the loss of each piece of covering as I take them away to fold. Occasionally she likes to fold too. This always involves a two to three minute lesson on folding which results in her squeal of triumph as she presents me with what I can only describe as balls of clothes which she proclaims to be folded. Not very quick, but so much more fun than the conventional way. She loves to clean too and so my three bathrooms take an hour to get done as my helper requires frequent instruction and encouragement, but how can she make such a menial task seem meaningful and bright? And I have seen that Gilmore Girls three times now.
She inhales swiftly and snuggles deeper into her princess pillow. Unable to resist I reach down and smooth a damp curl off of her cheek. Her eyes open and for a moment she looks unseeing at my face. I know the moment she moves from dreams to reality because her breathtaking smile appears and she squirms into my arms mumbling something about blanky. I wrap her blanky around us and stroke her back.
“Hello sunshine.” I whisper my usual post nap greeting. I hope she will one day understand the depth and intensity of the light she has brought into my world.
“Hello sunshine.” She responds. I can’t imagine I shine for her the way she does for me, but what if I do?
“Are you ready to wake up?” I ask.
“Mmmm.” She assures me as she nuzzles into my shoulder and wraps her arms around my neck.
I breath in the sweet smell that is hers alone and wait for her little body to decide whether it is really ready to relinquish her dream world. Leaning against the wall I try to ignore my legs warning that too long in this position will have negative results. As I tickle her neck with my fingers I try to stay in the moment, to feel the ripple of her soft laughter. The mundane seems determined to challenge the profound. If I don’t put the chicken in the oven soon dinner will be really late. The rhythm of her heart against mine. I still have work to do on my resume. She has fallen back asleep and is drooling ever so slightly on my t-shirt. The phone rings. It startles us both and she again wakes up and favors me with a smile fit for a returning hero. She kisses my cheek and shifts position to kneel in front of me and places her nose against mine.
“You’re my Mommy.” She tells me. In that word she packs a thousand meanings. All of them more and better and stronger than I think I am or maybe can be. She is telling me I am her best friend and her favorite teacher. She is saying I am fun, I am tough and I am needed. She is marking me as her territory and staking her claim in my heart and my life.
“I know baby.” I answer with a kiss. My baby is my constant. The forever changing unchangeable piece of my heart. She is a small piece of everything that is good in the world. A ray of sunshine. She is my greatest challenge and my favorite dream.
“Let’s play.” She commands, finally shaking the last vestiges of sleep from her.
Sometimes I feel too tired, too preoccupied or too busy to comply with this simple request. Today more than most I sense its importance and feel the honor it bestows on me. When I allow them to her games and fantasies fascinate me. When I let her she can draw me away from whatever pressing problem is crowding my mind into a world filled with wonder and excitement. When I indulge myself in the unproductive nothingness of her child’s play I gain something I did not know I needed. It doesn’t get the dishes done, pay the bills or help me figure out how to work my way back into my career, but it does do something, give me something more profound and too often less acknowledged than any of that.
And so I play. I try to let her win at Go Fish. I teach her to lose at Candyland. I follow instructions on how to properly behave as a mermaid sister on a quest for buried treasure. I push her on the swing and chase her around the yard. At the end of such a day I feel so much better about me, about her, about us than on those too frequent days I pay more attention to my to do list than her still small voice asking her best friend for a little consideration, a little imagination and a lot of fun. It is true, and I am so thankful, on my good days, that a mother’s work is never done.

Woman in Progress

I kept waiting to be ready. To have something substantial, something eloquent, something profound to say before I started to write about it. Thirty-two years later (ok for the first ten or so I probably wasn't thinking about writing) I find that my thoughts are still muddled, grammatically incorrect and incomplete at least half the time. So even though I am still just a woman in progress I thought I'd start to write about the journey I am on through the small and the big things of life. It's sort of an exercise in self-awareness, maybe even self-acceptance. I don't know if it will be interesting to anyone, but I sally forth all the same. Maybe my imperfect attempt at relating the thoughts, experiences and lessons of my life in progress will amuse, inspire or encourage someone somewhere and that is all I can ask.