Growing Family

Christmas, Full of Splendor

I know many people attend church at Christmas and Easter, reaching for the heavens at these special times of year. I, for one, never want to attend church at Christmas, as the surrounding of friends and family feels entirely sacred, and the very embodiment of what Jesus came for.

This year was extraordinarily special as we returned to my Grandparent's home Up North - the home that embodies family and festivity in all my childhood memories. My parents were there, as was my sister, and it was wonderful to be in that cosiest of places, sharing decades of traditions with my children.

Can I share a bit of it with you?

This is the house my father grew up in. It's not the house where my grandparents live now, but it embodies the beauty and history of the area where we spend Christmas. Isn't it lovely?

These are my grandparents. They have been married 64 years. She has alzheimers, and no longer knows who any of us are, but my grandfather can still make her laugh and she still steals a kiss when he's not expecting it. He still calls her his lover, and witnessing their love was amazing.

My grandmother latched onto Sprout, and the connection between them was lovely. The children made her cards, which she read, over and over again "To Grandma, I love you, Sprout." "You're the greatest Grandma ever, from your grandchild, Small Sun." She fixated on them like treasures, and looked from card to Sprout and back again, for nearly half an hour.

Typically wary of strangers, my Grandmother immediately reached for Sprout, and wanted to hold her hand to walk down the hallway, and patted the couch for her to sit close when they sat down. I walked behind, snapping pictures and wiping tears.

This is my grandfather. He is 87 and magnificent. He always tears up when telling stories of people doing good deeds, or people in hardship. Maintaining tenderness and empathy across a lifespan strikes me as amazing.

 

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 This is the annual Christmas Brunch that my Grandfather treats us to at the country club where he has walls of golf trophies on display. It is the most decadent and extravagant meal my children get to experience, complete with valet parking, coat check, fancy bathrooms, and multiple forks.

Small Sun was blessed to speak to his birthfamily on the phone on Christmas day, and he made a snow angel on his first mom's request. I Facebooked her the picture. I love how our openness is developing.

Isn't his nose so reindeer adorable?

 

Isn't my sister stunnnig? I love, love, love her, and getting to be near her is like the chocolatiest piece of chocolate cake, with ganache, AND chocolate ice cream. Perfect.

Small Sun and my dad working on their treehouse plans, amongest the wreckage of Christmas dinner. My dad is Small Sun's biggest champion, and having my dad's support as I struggle through parenting means so very, very much to me.

Later on, Dad, Sprout, and Finch were roasting chestnuts...on and open fire...I know. They were delicious.

 

How does your family spend Christmas afternoon? We walked in the woods, found an icy patch in the creek, and worked to carry logs to throw over the bridge in effort to break up the ice. You know, just your average Christmas entertainment. It was so much fun.

A couple memories stand out with dizzying sweetness.

Finch, crawling home from the woods at dusk on Chritmas Day, pretending to be a Stegasaurus. He stopped and asked me to take his mittens off so he could poke three fingers to make Stegasaurus prints in the snow.

As night fell, we walked hand in hand, past the twinkle lights, towards home. My heart was full to bursting, and I felt the weight of being "home" with my family, to be the most treasured gift. The Captain and I stole a lingering kiss, and all was right in my world. I hope your Christmas was lovely too!

Emotions at the Post Office

I enjoy going to the post office at Christmas time. Stacks of holiday cards, odd shaped packages and parcels, and thoughtful love is being dispatched all around the globe. Some people print their address labels, all tidy and efficient; others draw little holly leaves and berries on their brown paper packing. Some are sending money orders to family far away. It is all special.

My large envelope looked plain enough, but when the postal worker flung it down the chute, I caught my breath and was suddenly stirred with emotion. This Christmas I am sending an application to adopt through foster care. Our agency will receive the gift of our home, open.

Pursuing adoption at Christmas time is an emotional thing. Because of the route we are pursuing, I imagine our daughter is currently in a foster family. I imagine she is loved and cared for this Christmas. After all, I loved and cherished my foster children at Christmas. 

I imagine this time next year our Christmas card will have another person in it. I imagine we will still be doing the hard yards of building attachment. 

The application is only a first step, but it feels like dropping a message in a bottle out into the sea: a message that says "we're looking for you, dear one."

Still Giving Thanks

For my grandparent's stone farmhouse. My mother lived there her entire life, it charmed my childhood, and now my own children are enjoying its magic.

For pulling turnips in the garden with my children.

For nearby orchards where we collect our apples for cider making.

For a strong son who loves to help, and my father who champions his grandson.

For caring children who look out for one another most of the time.

For getting to participate in the longstanding family tradition of cider making, with my children.

For hot cider while we wait, I am thankful.

For cousins too many to count, for feasting, for being loved while we were gone, and welcomed when we returned, for a grandmother hearty and hale, and for a large family, I continue to give thanks.

Manhattan, Filled with Joy and Horror

We left Bryant Park high with happiness. The kids had enjoyed ice skating so much, and I enjoyed seeing my husband really enjoy something. It's not every day I see him grinning, taking spin after spin with grinning children. It was really special to see him share something he loved as a child with his children.

Small Sun had developed some seriously mean blisters during the fun, so as the crew headed down E 44th St to Le Pain Quotidien for some lunch, I ducked into Duane Reade on 5th. I took the escalator upstairs, found neosporin, bandaids, and a wrap-able bandage before heading back downstairs and stopping at the chocolate aisle before checking out. I picked up a plastic candycane filled with M n Ms, knowing the kids would need a novel treat on the ferry to Staten Island later.

I turned left out of Duane Reade, and crossed E 44th at the light where a guy was selling something on a table on the corner. "Ask the money man" I heard the man on my left say, nodding to a man standing against the building to my right, with his cap pulled low, hood up, eyes averted. 

Immediately on my left was what looked like a huge electric truck. "I can't imagine trying to park that in the city!" I thought, and as I reached the front of the truck, sure enough, a uniformed traffic attendant stood nose to nose with the giant vehicle, pen in hand, scratching notes onto a pad.

I stretched my legs out long, striking the pavement with my heels first, my sturdy boots carrying me confidently along the sidewalk. I held my head up, looking down the street, looking for the address I was seeking at the corner. "I don't look like I tourist." I thought, congratulating myself at the way I had broken through the knot of bartering men back at the corner, without timidity, without hesitation.

In the restaurant I set the supplies for dressing Small Sun's wound on the table. I unwrapped layer after layer of New York Winter protection. "I like your sweater" my sister said, seeing what I had on under the coat for the first time. I sidled into my seat, my back to a man who appeared to be studying, pinned into his two person table against the wall by our wall of family, eight strong.

As I settled in and looked at the menu, sirens wailed in the distance. A fire truck went past, and then a police car. The Avenue was small. "If there's any real danger, someone will tell us." I thought. I settled on warm goat cheese and a pear salad with vinaigrette. 

People started to hurry past the window. "They're evacuating the hotel across the street." someone said.

I sipped my chai latte, the termeric biting my tongue.

More police cars came. More people rushed past. Barricades went up right outside the cafe door, people were being let out of the street but no one was allowed in. A photographer leaned over the barricade snapping pictures, and police officers waved him away. He persisted.

It became obvious that the trouble was really on our street. At first I had assumed all the officers were going somewhere beyond where we were, that we were in the passing through place, but they kept arriving, settling like so many birds on a wire at dusk.

My sister's boyfriend came back to the table after talking to others at the barricade.

"There's been an accident. A man was run over up the street. There's a white sheet on him now, so he's...they wouldn't put a sheet on if he made it."

My mind flashed back to the blue, or was it black, uniformed officer, standing in front of the truck. There was a red tourist bus parked haphazardly up the street, its passengers were all evacuated past us. Some sat in the back of an ambulance, presumably being treated for shock. My mind turned what I had seen over and over, hoping there would be no edge to grab hold of.

Finally our waitress quietly told us the news. "A traffic officer was run over by a big truck at the top of the street. He died at the scene."

It was him.

Had it been five or ten minutes, or maybe even fewer, since I had walked past him?

He had been doing his job. I had been confident. I think the sky was faintly blue, and the day had rolled open before me with promise.

There's no reason to tell it here, really. I guess I just want to raise my voice as one last witness to the life of Kalyanarat Ranasinghe, may he rest in peace. I saw you there, living and strong, moments before you were gone. Be well. 

Ice Skating in Bryant Park - Do It!

 

 

 

 

 

This year we were in Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving. Catching up with cousins and family I haven't seen for years was amazing, and that is a post in itself, but today I want to start to tell you about our time in New York City. We buzzed up on Black Friday to spend some special time with my sister who lives in the Big Apple. We only had one full day and two half days, so I chose two main touristy things to do, and filled out the edges with eating lots of good food, and window shopping.

My plan was to go skating in Rockefeller Plaza but in the end we went to Bryant Park and I'm so glad we did. It was cheaper, bigger, less crowded, and had good facilities for potty breaks, refueling with snacks, and taking a little rest when needed. 

Being Dutch, The Captain grew up skating on canals. Dutch canals don't freeze hard enough to skate on very often, but when they do, it can be heaps of fun (I've been told). The Captain's family spent several weeks in Switzerland each winter, with the entire extended family. When they weren't flying down the Alps, they were skating on the outdoor ice rink in town, so skating is something he really enjoyed as a kid.

I don't often get to see The Captain so entirely enjoying an activity. He is always content, but rarily gleeful, shall we say? Finch's level of delight was certainly matched by his father, who happily spun round and round the ice for hours.

Each of the kids really enjoyed skating. Small Sun threw himself into it just like he does anything requiring physical strength and agility. By the time I looked up from getting Finch's feet under him, Small Sun was attempting jumps, sharp turns, and twirls, and despite frequent falls on his bum, he enthusiastically continued in a frenzy of fun.

Sprout admired the figure skaters, and pulled my hand "let's go faster mom, faster!" She was off like a bird, eager to fly, beaming.

Finch, however, dear little Finch, took the cake. I don't know how it came into his mind, but he fancied himself an ice unicorn. "Did you know the ice unicorn is the fastest unicorn?" he inquired with his largest eyes.

My dad and The Captain took turns holding him by the back of his coat, lifting him firmly so that his skates made contact with the ice, but he couldn't fall. He pawed his little skates along the surface of the ice, skittering, prancing, dancing as fast as he could.

My dad played ice hockey growing up, and like I said, The Captain can skate, so with each of them, Finch flew across the ice faster than he could have ever gone on his own two feet. He was flapping his "wings" and singing unicorn songs, and I guess you just have to know him to know how absolutely awesome it was to watch!

We left shining with enjoyment. We shared a wonderfully fun experience, and had the bandaged elbows, blisters, and sore legs to prove it! The look on my sister's face says it all!

If you have children, or even if you don't, and a few hours to spend in Manhattan, go skating. Rockefeller Center, Bryant Park, or Central Park, get out there and enjoy it! I've come to realize tourist things are popular for a reason - they're fun! We're already planning how to get out on some ice again!

Being the Perfect Parent

Let me just go ahead and put it out there - I am a perfectionist. I can make my handwriting nearly perfect. I have been known to clean grout with a toothbrush. I was the annoying kid in college who scored 116% on tests by doing all the extra essay questions. Hate me now, go ahead, but I am a people pleasing person and if someone in authority says jump, I have been known to go buy a trampoline so that I can jump higher than they ever thought I would.

Can you see where this is going in relation to my parenting? Not good places, not good places.

You see, I have unrealistic expectations all around. I want my kids to be award winning, perfectly mannered little geniuses AND I want to never make any mistakes myself, and eventually be presented with some big tacky gold star award for BEST MOTHER EVER. If it was encrusted with diamonds, that would be okay. 

I mean, if none of us are standing next to a measuring stick I am pretty normal. I want my kids to be kind, happy and healthy, and I want myself to be the same. I want them to love learning and have a good work ethic.

Suddenly, however, we are in a school context where there are tests ALL THE TIME and conduct reports every five minutes and school seems like one big measuring stick that my kids are lined up against. Note after note comes home about this performance goal and that standard, and your kid has this many points accrued in the reading competition (and it's not enough) and have you thought about math tutoring, and everyone check for head lice, and do your kids drink enough water, and are you quizzing your multiplication facts every day, and how about the online booster tutoring you could avail yourself of, are you practicing enough for band to earn your merit sticker, and, and, and... I wonder if the teachers stop and count up the time it would take to do the homework PLUS all the extras they are always plugging? It's really impossible, man.

So anyway, one of my kids is struggling at school. It's just all too much, and behavior is breaking down under the load. It's been embarrassing to be the parent called into the office to discuss your child's offences. I've really struggled with stress, anxiety, and even depression over how my child is doing.

I am having so much trouble separating myself from my child's choices. I am having trouble separating my child's poor choices from my child as a whole person. It's been a rocky patch.

I am ashamed and embarrassed, which doesn't aid my parenting skills. 

So I've been reading the creation story in Genesis and it got me to thinking. God is the PERFECT Father. He is flawless, without weakness, misguided intentions, lack of resource or insight, and he does not run low on compassion. He is complete, and entirely perfect as a parent.

Then there's Eden - a perfectly safe environment with EVERY need provided for. Adam and Eve were absolutely safe and cared for. God was a perfect Father, and they were in a perfect home, if you will. Everything was golden. 

Even though they were set up for success as much as any two people could have been, Adam and Eve made an independent choice that got them into a lot of trouble. 

I'm starting to think that the brilliance in the story is that God had a way to continue forward in life and relationship woven into the fabric of time, regardless of mankind doing the right thing. 

Knowing that God was perfect, and His kids were set up to succeed, and they STILL screwed up helps me feel so much relief. I don't have to be perfect. My children don't have to be perfect. When they mess up there is a way forward, and we'll get there together. It won't always be easy, and it certainly won't be free of consequences for getting off track, but we don't have to do it alone. 

What comfort and hope there is in that truth!