Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With Kindness.

The arrival of a brown paper package is always delightful. My goodness, package deliverers have been the best thing through this entire pandemic -- I would hug every single one of them except, you know, the reason we have so many packages is that we aren't supposed to be out and about and you know, hugging people.

But yesterday a small brown paper package arrived that carried so much more than just its contents. 

A few weeks ago, Benjamin's personal care attendant jammed the joystick as she moved his wheelchair and sent it careening around the room. It rammed Benjamin's bookcase and brought crashing it down. The crash reduced the former bookcase to a pile of wood splayed out like a deck of cards. It scattered books all over his room and reduced his Mickey Mouse collection in to shards.

Thankfully, Benjamin was safely in his lift and unharmed by the crash.

As I cleaned, I contemplated what it would take to replace the broken Mickeys that he has collected since he was young. I was happy to find a couple unscathed. But it was the small snow globe he received at D23, the big Disney conference that he attended twice in his teen years that I knew was irreplaceable. The snow globe was from Toy Story 2 and featured Woody, Jessie and Bullseye. And it was shattered. As I cleaned, I remembered how baby Benjamin loved Woody's Roundup --  a collection of songs about those characters. I remembered that we went through multiple copies of the soundtrack (both in cassette and CD form) because we played it on a loop in the car and wore it out repeatedly!  I worked to pull the remaining shards of glass out of the globe in an effort to at least salvage Woody, Jessie, and the old TV portion of the globe. I wanted to at least salvage that.

But yesterday a small package arrived. The package sent from a friend we only "know" from social media. Eric saw the above photo the day the wheelchair went berserk and read about the loss of the snow globe. He immediately went on a search to find a replacement of the wonderful adorable Woody collectible. 

The package that arrived from Eric yesterday carried so much more than just a snow globe. It carried kindness. It carried joy. It carried memories. 

And it carried the assurance that there are just really really good people all around us.

We weren't supposed to be friends.

We weren't meant to be friends. My new boss had made it very clear from the moment she offered me the job. She was Program Director for WAAY-TV, the ABC affiliate in Huntsville, Alabama and had just hired me to be the Program Manager. I had many roles -- coordinating TV listings for all the area news outlets, managing changes in local programming wrought by decisions on ABC's part as well as during tornado seasons when our news team took over the airways to keep everyone informed and safe. I handled internal communications for the station -- a little employee newsletter among other things. And together my new boss and I would plan, organize, and execute the annual Christmas parade for the city, sponsored by WAAY-TV.

But we would not be friends.

Debi had been friends with the former program manager who apparently used the friendship to manipulate and mismanage and basically not do the job to Debi's standards. Debi had been hurt and refused to make the mistake again.

So we wouldn't be friends. I was willing to accept those terms but for the life of me could not figure out how to keep my word.

ABC decided to air a show called "NYPD Blue." The writers were pushing the envelope of cable television -- using language and even the naked rear end of one of the main characters (gasp). Stations around the country were refusing to air it. Debi and I previewed the show and found it compelling. The writing was rich and the language felt true-to-character. We were still debating our choices when the phones started ringing. A media-watch organization called for viewers to call the programming department of their local stations. We received hundreds of calls and every single one of them was funneled through my office.

I was called all sorts of names. More than one viewer assured me I was headed straight to HE** and we had not even made a decision. 

After one particularly bad morning fielding the calls, Debi came to my office and told me we needed a "treat instead of a treatment" and that she was taking me to lunch.

We took her car down the mountain, wandered through a couple of her favorite antique shops and then had a delightful lunch. The calming deep breath of wandering through those shops put a slight wedge in the door of her heart I think. She didn't get overly personal over lunch, but we did laugh and get to know each other within reason.

Almost simultaneously with "NYPD Blue" was a change in regulations for the cable providers in our state. Letters had to be sent, call letters and channel numbers secured. Spreadsheets needed to be prepared and all while maintaining the day to day programming. 

Perhaps it was the weathering of these relative crises in our field, perhaps I just finally beat her down. I don't know for sure. But I do know that Debi became one of my dearest friends. I had the privilege of planning her 40th birthday surprise party. And I would be who she asked to direct her wedding. We shed lots of tears when I left Huntsville for Chicago.

Over the years we stayed in touch. I watched with joy as she adopted and raised her beautiful amazing daughter, Kayla (who called me Pincushion for some unknown reason.) She visited me when the triplets were little and again when Cate was a toddler.

It was Debi who told me to set up this blog. It was Debi who walked me through the process and held my hand when I called her after every single early post to ensure I was using the format correctly.

I had dreams of wandering her beach and working to capture the photos with my camera that she so beautifully captures with her's.

My dear wonderful friend died this morning. The circumstances gave us a week to hope and pray for a miracle, to prepare for the possibility of good-bye. 

A week to remember and wish for a different outcome and long for time together, more time together.

We weren't supposed to be friends, Debi. Today would certainly be easier if I had abided by your rules. But oh my friend, then I would have missed so much! 

Rest in peace, my precious Debi. I will see you in every butterfly. I will see you in the October light. And I will always always be grateful that we broke the rules.

Love your neighbor. For the love of God.

" 'Teacher what shall I do to inherit eternal life?' [Jesus] said to him, 'What is written in the Law? How do you read it?' And he answered 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.' And he said to him, 'You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.'  But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, ' And who is my neighbor?' " Luke 10:25-29 (ESV)

Last night I woke up in the wee hours and checked my phone (I have terrible sleep habits, I know.). There was a message from a former neighbor in Arizona with a question about our house there and the alarm code. He needed to help the current owners. It was good to hear from James and as I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, I thought about his sweet family and how our little girls learned to ride their bikes on that cul-de-sac.

My girls and I have spent some of our time during this stay-at-home season running the neighborhood behind our house. Although we are still newcomers here, I feel like we have gained some insight into our neighbors. We know, for instance, who has seniors graduating this month from the signs in the yards. We know who has dogs and how many. We know who is working on landscaping projects, pool builds, and who has the cutest pillows on their front porch. And if these new neighbors have looked out their windows at all, they know exactly how many times I can pass their home before my legs slow to barely a crawl. 

I don't yet really know my neighbors here. So the admonition to love them as I love myself seems a bit challenging but also, perhaps because I don't know them, it doesn't seem impossible either.

I knew my neighbors in Mississippi a bit more. We didn't talk often, but when we did it was pleasant and prior to learning we would be moving, I looked forward to getting to know all of them more. 

Except perhaps on Saturday mornings.

Our direct next-door neighbor's garage was on the master bedroom side of our house. And apparently Saturday mornings were his ideal time to test the engine of his sports car. I honestly am not sure exactly what was happening over there except that earlier than I wanted to be awake on Saturday, the revving noises from his garage would rattle the walls in our bedroom. The whole love your neighbor thing might have felt like a bit much in those waking hours.

I am making light, but in all seriousness, I have had these verses on my mind all week. As the world re-opens and we all attempt to resume some normalcy, I have been astounded at the outrage over wearing masks in public. Astounded at the sheer volume of people who flat-out refuse because they say their rights are being violated in the asking. I can't even.

Truly, is there a better way right now to love our neighbors? Wearing the mask protects us from unknowingly spreading a virus that you might be strong enough to fight but you are preventing the spread of your germs to those who might not be as strong. You are preventing the spread to vulnerable populations....like my sons. And your refusal, while certainly within your "rights," will force my family -- and so many others like us --  to have to continue staying home.

The form of the word "love" used in this verse is agape (ἀγάπη). Agape is an unconditional love, a selfless one. We are to love God with our heart, soul, and mind in a selfless manner. In other words, with no conditions, with no reservations. And wait. We are also supposed to love our neighbor -- to agape our neighbor -- with the same selfless love. Oh wow. 

And if I had not watched the news once this week, I would spend a couple of paragraphs encouraging you to selflessly wear your masks (really, I need you to). And I would say Amen, and be done with that. But.

But apparently, we live in a country where asking someone to put their dog on a leash, results in a 9-1-1 call using skin color as a bully tactic. Not exactly love of neighbor there.

And then the video of George Floyd. The heart-wrenching video of George Floyd has made even that incident in Central Park look blasé.

My heart breaks.

"Love your neighbor as yourself." Love your neighbor. Love.

And I realize how ridiculous it is to ask people to wear a mask -- to personally inconvenience themselves -- in order to think of others first, when, apparently, we can't recognize the rights of anyone beyond ourselves, especially not anyone who looks different than the reflection we see in the mirror. We can't recognize how our neighbor might possibly not be a mirror-image of our own face. How is it possible that in 2020 this is still happening? 

The lawyer talking to Jesus wanted clarification of who exactly his neighbor was. In reply, Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan. (Read Luke 10.) See, the Samaritans weren't a people the lawyer would have recognized as a mirror-image reflection of himself. Jesus knew we needed point-blank admonitions to love those who aren't exactly like us. 

Jesus told us to love our neighbors. He equated the love of our neighbors with love of God.

And it is exactly for the love of God -- and all things godly and good -- that I feel the need to shout that it is time for my fellow white people to stand up and scream that enough is enough. We need to join hands with our friends of color, and with our neighbors of color, and, for the love, with strangers of color, and assure them we stand with them against the horror of what happened to George Floyd. We stand with them in demanding justice, as well as in committing to end the violence. We stand with them. We kneel with them.

We need to love our neighbors.

The power of friendships. The gift of time.

Birthdays were a big deal in our house growing up. My Mom would go all out to make us feel special. So on my 10th birthday, when she told me we needed more ice and asked me to ride my bike to my Mama Clara's house to pick some up. I just hopped on my bike and went. Maybe I pondered the strangeness of the request on my ride but I am fairly certain I just did as I was told understanding that special days required unique requests.

I returned home to a backyard full of my closest friends shouting "Surprise!!" I don't even have to work hard to remember the absolute joy I felt that day (and it was a long long time ago.).

My 10th birthday. You are welcome.

Birthdays are a big deal.

Celebrating the triplets' and Little Red's birthdays has been my absolute favorite thing to do since...oh 1998! :) The triplets' first birthday was a celebration of successfully making it through sleepless nights, endless diapers, infinite feedings. We invited everyone in Chicago who had had a hand in getting them to their first birthday -- NICU nurses, doctors, physical and occupational therapists. We celebrated! And with that first party, I knew what my Mom so obviously knew, there is nothing better than honoring the life of those we love. Nothing better.

When I turned 49, Claire invited some of my circle of friends over for cake and ice cream. "Mom," she said, "I have learned in college that birthdays should have your people with you!"

For my 50th my family threw me a party and I got to hug and be hugged by friends I have known for years and years (and some I had only known since returning to MS).

Last year my birthday was about college graduates, moving to Delaware, packing boxes. My sweet family celebrated me well even in the midst of all that chaos but it was a season of good-byes with friends, not celebrations.

And this year, well, this year is like none other, right? And yet, my entire crew is home and we had a favorite meal gathered together and that was so beautiful and enough, really. It was wonderful.

But my friend Tracy had sent me a text earlier in the week that my Tupelo girls wanted to at least say a quick happy birthday that night. We have been trying in this season of staying home, to be intentional in a monthly Zoom call amongst the four of us. It has been a lifeline and so it made me smile that Tracy would organize a quick extra call this month for my birthday.

I went to my little room where I go when I Zoom with Teri, Tracy, and Neece, and opened my computer. As I hit the log in button the screen flickered strangely and then all these faces were there. And I mean all these faces -- way more than four! 25 faces from my life in Minnesota, Arizona, and Mississippi were on the screen in front of me! Faces that are scattered from coast to coast. Some faces that I haven't been able to see in years! And yet here they were, all there together.

And I knew immediately my girl who is so like me, and who loves to see her friends, had organized this gift that felt bigger than I can put into words.

If you are on a Zoom with 25 faces and your eyes are filled with tears, you won't be able to make out the little faces to even know who everyone is at first. Consider that a warning.

I legitimately couldn't take it all in. It was perhaps the most beautiful gift I could possibly receive that these took time away from their own families, away from their own schedules, to sit and smile, and laugh and reminisce. My girlfriends one by one shared how they knew me, how we met, how our paths crossed.

And suddenly, all the moving, all the figuring out how to plant roots in various places, all the hard good-byes and all the equally hard hellos, didn't feel so hard. And in a season where I am new -- again -- and am at home unable to plant social roots, this was exactly what I needed to remember.

Thank you, Claire -- oh it is fun to have an adult daughter! And oh my goodness, thank you Deb, Karen, Lisa, Robin. Thank you Stefanie, Orly, Avery, Ginny and Susie. Thank you Mary Alice, Heather, Brooke, Markietha, and Shelly. Thank you Carolyn, Teri, Rosemary, Neece (she is in the 10 year old's party pic too!), and Cindy. Thank you Debra, Tracy, LuEllen, Shannon, and Paula (I have tried to go in order of my screen pic!). Your friendships mean more to me than I can express. I love you all.

I know blessed is often reduced to a hashtag meme. But it is still a word I adore. It is still a word that evokes my gratitude. And it is definitely still a word that describes exactly how I feel after this absolutely beautiful virtual party!

Calling on my prayer warriors.

Once upon a time a fairy godmother waved her magic wand and created an experience that still takes my breath away to remember.

A little bitty ballerina told her ballet teacher about her "big kids" and volunteered them to help with a production of "Peter Pan" in Phoenix, Arizona.

In case you weren't sure who the little bitty ballerina was....

After a wonderful production, Ms. Caroline asked if we would help bring other special needs dancers her way. Soon a plan was formed for a production of "Cinderella." The triplets helped with all the planning, we all worked to promote, and for months the most breathtaking young people rehearsed, performed, and ultimately created a community unlike any I have been a part of. The experience was life-changing, the community life-giving. (I am talking about Cinderella  in this blog post from back then if you want to read more!)

That little bitty ballerina as a mouse in Cinderella!

Early in rehearsals, my van broke down. Stranded in crazy heat with no way to get Cinderella (Claire) to rehearsal, I scrambled and called for Wade and my brother Len. Len drove Claire to rehearsal while Wade and I took care of the van. 

When I finally arrived at rehearsal with the remainder of my crew, two beautiful ballerinas approached to offer hugs. These sweet twin sisters told me Cinderella's coach had broken down. They were so concerned, and repeated their concern to me multiple times. Perhaps it was my exhaustion. Perhaps the heat. But it took me a minute to connect the dots. Lizzy and Stephi were talking about my van. I had to smile. Cinderella's coach had indeed broken down -- and that sounded far better than just talking about my old van dying.

Mason backstage with Stephi and Lizzy at Cinderella!

My family performed, served, and loved in that production of "Cinderella" in 2011 (and I need to clarify here that I say my family, because it was an all-in-event! Cate convinced my brother to play the Evil Stepmother!!). You know what, change that. My family performed, WAS served, and WAS loved in that production....because that much more accurately describes what was happening during that season!

Her Uncle Lenny (Uncky as she called him) could not say no to performing as the Evil Stepmother!

Cinderella running away with "midnight"....

A stuffed tummy helped Gus Gus in his role!

We would continue performing in theatrical productions in Arizona for four more years and our new friends, Lizzy and Stephi never missed a production. They cheered Benjamin, Mason, Claire, and Cate through every single show! What a gift! And every time they wanted to talk about Claire-a-rella, their favorite friend. (And when I say favorite: these precious girls refused to watch Disney's "Cinderella" because Claire did not have blonde hair. Suzy had to find a version where Cindy was a brunette!)

Stephi and Lizzy with the Fiddler in "Fiddler on the Roof!"

Stephi and Lizzy with Cate after "All of a Kind Family."

Today, I am remembering and sharing and honestly, crying because our dear dear Stephi has been diagnosed with breast cancer. My friend Suzy and her family are working to determine the best way to help sweet Stephi understand, the best way to help Stephi fight. And so I have asked permission from Suzy to reach out here, to implore you to pray with me for Stephi's health and for the sustaining grace that they will all need in the days to come! 

In 2011, Stephi and Lizzy were in their early twenties. Suzy had been trying to find a way for them to experience the beauty of dance for more than two decades. Her relentless pursuit paid off -- and watching them take to the stage with their ballet slippers is a vision I will never forget.

Will you join me in praying with that same relentless spirit for Stephi's healing? Will you pray for her precious twin sister Lizzy to be covered in grace as she too will struggle with understanding? Will you please pray for Suzy and Arthur as they navigate it all?

"Then young women will dance and be glad...I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow." Jeremiah 31:13 (NIV)

Leave the top down, Derick.

Eighth grade was weird. Our junior high had burned down the first week of seventh grade. We had been in temporary classrooms for that entire year but moved to new temporary classrooms the following year so they could officially re-build. The new classrooms were in the traditionally stand-alone 9th grade school. Going to Carver High School was something the kids in my hometown looked forward to. And so the presence of pesky 8th graders crammed into their space, was not something the ninth graders were thrilled about. At all. We learned quickly to stay out of their way as much as possible, we owed them that much. And so it was that my little gang would gather during lunch on the steps, eating, laughing, talking about our day and at least for my part, avoiding the bathrooms because one of those 9th graders intimidated the heck out of me.

Seriously, we loved every minute of that year. (Ok, maybe not the whole avoid-going-to-the-bathroom stuff but everything else. Everything.) And the beauty...when 9th grade began and we had the whole campus to ourselves (Still so sorry Class of 1985!), our hang out spot was established.

He wrote across the whole page....but can you see the concrete steps??

And so it would be on those steps that Derick and I hatched our plan for 10th grade. We would be driving by then and as we counted the minutes until we had the prized driver's license in our hands, we plotted how to avoid riding the school bus to Tupelo High School (for 10th-12th). I wouldn't have a car and my mom would only be able to do without it a couple days a week at most. Derick told me that was perfect, he could get his mom's car on the days I couldn't and we could car pool.

I thought it was a brilliant plan. I am however, fairly certain it was just a benevolent plan. Derick could have driven every day, I am almost positive. But he knew I would want to drive some, and yet, he did what he would spend years doing, he rescued me from having to ride the bus -- or worse, having to be dropped off at high school by a parent! (Horror of horrors.)

And so it would be that throughout high school Derick knew before anyone when I was having a bad day, a good day or just a day. He knew when I was sad or mad or in love. And on the day that he showed up in his dad's convertible with the top down, he would learn just how upset a 16 year old girl can be when she is having a bad hair day already.

Derick wore sunglasses for every picture op. Every one.

Perhaps it is most telling about our friendship that when I told him to just stop so I could walk home and let my mom take me to school, that he calmly pulled over and put the top up so my terrible very bad perm wouldn't be standing on end when we arrived in the high school parking lot.

Derick Pitts is woven into every single memory I have of my teenage years. Every single one. (I am carefully avoiding discussing the history class where Derick and I decided we could take turns napping, trusting the other with taking notes. I don't know about him, but I made the worst grade of my life that semester!)

He made the mix-tapes that are the soundtrack of those years. He would shout out to me in code every night during his radio gig and so I often went to sleep with his station in the background of my dreams.

And thankfully our friendship didn't end with high school graduation. Although Derick would not set foot where it snowed, I was fortunate to live in Arizona for a few years -- he visited there more than once. 

And of course, he was always willing to drop everything to meet me somewhere in Florida as we passed through. And it was Derick who drove from his beloved Florida with a generator for my mother when a tornado ripped through our hometown a few years ago. He never failed to drop by and give Mama Mason a hug when he was in town. 

We got to speak over FaceTime briefly last week. He told me I looked 19 still. He has been telling me that for decades. I know it is just one more example of Derick being the best friend a guy can be and encouraging my heart.

This morning Derick won the battle over stupid cancer. He is no doubt already on-air blasting 80s music for all of heaven to hear and sporting sunglasses while he does it. 

And while the world seems less colorful today, I refuse to turn down the music. I refuse to ignore the sunshine. I might even put the top down and let the wind whip my hair from top to bottom. 

I miss you already, Derick. 

Ramps, Fireflies, and Letting Perfection Go!

Last weekend, we were invited to the outdoor kitchen of Wade's predecessor at work. It was pretty much a perfect evening. Freeman made pizzas in his outdoor oven while we feasted on his homemade guacamole as well as an appetizer pizza made of scrapple and apple butter (scrapple is a new food for us....). By the time we began to enjoy the mouth-watering pizzas, the lightning bugs were out in abundance. Under the glow of string lights,  the conversation flowed and not only did it cover a myriad of topics, it also included everyone at the table -- no matter how old or how young. It was truly a delightful evening.

This weekend, my dear lifetime friend and her family passed through our new town. We met for lunch, took a driving tour, stopped for coffee but still wanted more time together. But in our temporary dwelling we barely have room to seat our family much less guests. And you can continue a full in-depth conversation from any room in the condo -- and I mean ANY room! I had a moment's hesitation before saying, come on, let's just go hang out at our "house." But it was only a moment. We loved having our friends in the condo -- somehow the crowd made it feel more like home.

And so I re-learned a lesson that I really always knew. I desperately want to gather people under the glow of string lights, serving homemade yumminess, and hopefully enjoying the beauty of the fireflies. But the reunion with our beloved Alegrias would have been no sweeter in that environment. The conversation would have been no richer. The love between adults and children alike, no more enveloping.

See, I needed the reminder that the hospitality is in the gathering -- not in the perfection.

Should I repeat myself? 

The hospitality is in the gathering -- NOT in the perfection.

I have wasted countless energy plotting how to be invited into the homes of our dear ones. I legitimately fell in love with Arizona when we were recruited there for an interview because most homes were ranch-style. I just knew friends could invite us over because the wheelchair would be able to enter. I had already wasted valuable energy fretting that the wheelchair was a hold up. I have wasted years thinking that if only we were back in the land of magnolias, we would be invited inside our friends' homes -- it is the hospitality state after all.

I have wasted countless emotion when neither Arizona's ranch homes, nor the hospitality state equaled an abundance of dinner invitations.

And yet, I far prefer counting the amazing invitations we HAVE received:

Our sweet friends in Minnesota who lived up THREE flights of stairs. Geiza, the dad, would carry Benjamin up, get him in a chair and then come back for his wheelchair. This sweet family of six never failed to open the doors of their three-bedroom condo to me and my three. The triplets would play and play and play with their children. The wheelchair didn't matter. No one flinched at the space it took up. No one flinched at the EFFORT it required. The gathering occurred regardless of a language-barrier. And the welcome was always resoundingly warm.

Our precious NICU nurse and her beautiful family. Laura and Jay not only invited us for dinner on a one-night visit in their city, Chicago, but they built a ramp to get us in their home so they could gather us at their table. I will never forget.

The boys' best friends in Arizona.  Both Sean and Josh found a myriad of items to serve as ramps to get Benjamin in their homes. Both mothers rearranged furniture so that there was room to drive. And neither minded when the gatherings lasted into the wee hours of the morning EVERY SINGLE TIME!

But here is the real lesson I am learning and trying to process: Just because I adore being gathered into my loved ones' homes, and just because I adore gathering my loved ones into my home, DOES NOT  mean that everyone loves to gather. The act of gathering is stressful for some, it is hard. I much much (much much) prefer to just open my home and gather my dear ones than to stress anyone out! And so I am hoping my new home will be one where friends will gather -- new friends, visiting old friends, friends of my children....all! And I am proclaiming that I will celebrate any time we are invited into someone else's home but will not in any way waste energy wondering why if we are not. I am laying that down RIGHT HERE. (Hold me accountable, will you?)

So call your friends, gather them for dinner, watermelon, or just some yummy dessert -- even if the space isn't completely decorated, even if the kitchen sink is overflowing with dishes, even if. And if opening your home stresses you out, invite them to meet you in the back yard, at a restaurant, or just offer to grab dinner and bring it to THEIR house.

The important thing is to gather. To gather with your people.

There is a void in my world and I can't quit crying.

The triplets were nine months old when we started Occupational Therapy. Today, 20 years later, I remember every detail. The therapist introduced herself to me as Susan. She told me she had known of us since the day the triplets were born because she was down the hall in the hospital waiting on their birth to deliver her own firstborn son with our shared doctor.

I felt immediately drawn to her. And I could see her affection for my three from that very first minute. I assumed that day that it was the fact that her son shared their birthday. I know now she made every family feel that way.

Twenty years ago, I had no idea what therapy should look like. I had no idea what the goal might be. What the exercises were for. Or what I could hope to see during and after.

I had no idea.

I watched Susan for a couple of sessions. She kept holding beads above the boys' heads one at a time. I didn't understand. Beads? For my boys? They couldn't care less. (Claire on the other hand loved those beads. We would get home and find several chains of them hidden in her diaper -- every single week.)

During the third session I got my nerve up and asked why in the world she kept trying to get them to grab those necklaces?

She never stopped urging the boys to reach for them as she gently looked at me and explained, "We need them to reach across mid-line, Carol. They won't meet developmental milestones until they learn this skill."

Reach across mid-line? Is that something any other mother ever even realizes is a milestone? I had never heard it talked about and yet, here we were completely focused on it.  I took a couple of deep breaths. I remember trying to find the words, trying to find the nerve to ask what I desperately needed to ask.

"But when will you work on big stuff? When will they learn to sit, to crawl, to pull up?" I stammered unable to control the tears coursing down my cheeks.

I will never forget Susan's response -- never. She never took her eyes from mine, she didn't try to hide the tears coursing down her own cheeks, as she gently explained that reaching across mid-line was imperative to the other milestones. She said the boys had to learn that first.

We both wiped our tears and looked at these two adorable boys with a new determination.

We never worked on those big things I was so desperate about in our first few sessions. We moved on to stacking blocks -- I'll never forget the way we celebrated when Mason stacked three together.

Susan worked with Benjamin and Mason weekly until we left Chicago for Wade to do his residency in Minnesota when the triplets were 26 months old.

Susan came to their 2nd birthday party. She came with a huge package decorated with a bow. A HUGE package.

The triplets had returned from a visit to Minnesota telling her all about the ball pit they played in. At almost-two, they very much equated the ball pit with Minnesota.

Susan's HUGE gift to my three -- a giant ball pit to be assembled as soon as we got to our new home.

"I couldn't bear the thought of them getting to Minnesota and not finding a ball pit!" she explained, as we hugged and thanked her over and over.

Seven years later, I called her when Cate reached across mid-line to grab a toy I was holding. "I didn't even have to work at it, Susan!"

We cried together.

And a few months later when that baby girl stacked five blocks into a tower. I called her again. I couldn't contain my delight.

She came to visit me not long after that. Benjamin and Mason's first OT, my dear dear friend, had cancer and her girlfriends brought her to the desert for a girls' getaway. I sat with her and just enjoyed being in her presence again. I whined about not losing the baby weight and she gently reprimanded me to remember that was not important.

We talked about her amazing boys -- she had a second son after we left Chicago. And all the things she hoped to do with them and for them in their lives.

She encouraged my children and at nine, the triplets felt the love they actually remembered from those therapy sessions as little bitties.

I have checked in with her through the years. Always delighted to get the Christmas card. I had assumed after all these years that we could say she beat the cancer. I was so glad.

But this weekend I learned my precious Susan earned her heavenly reward. She died in May this year and I had no idea.

Oh I am so sad. I have told people for years that without Susan walking me through those first two years I would not be the mother I am today. I would not have known how to meet the challenges head-on and urge my boys to work through and overcome. I would not have known.

Without her ability and willingness to cry with me, to love my children, and to hold me through those first two years, Wade and I would have felt all alone.

And without Susan, I might have missed the importance of play, of being children, of having the best ball pit in the whole state of Minnesota!

Oh my friend, I know heaven is a greater place with you there.

But I wanted you to be here when Benjamin graduates college -- turns out he can stack paragraph on top of paragraphs and make the most beautiful stories you can imagine!

Oh I wanted you to be here when Mason graduates college -- Susan, he can take the smallest shards of pottery and record knowledge of entire societies!

And most of all Susan I really wanted you to be here when Claire becomes an Occupational Therapist. She desperately wants to give the hope YOU gave to families. You are her inspiration.

Thank you Susan. Thank you. thank you for helping us all learn to navigate the world of Cerebral Palsy. And thank you for encouraging all three of those once-itty-bitty-babies to reach for dreams way bigger than those purple beads we used to work so hard to get them to grab!

Rest in peace, my dear dear friend. We will never cease thanking God for your life.

No need for pity. Thanks though.

Cate's class was scheduled for a "community service day" a couple years ago and she was so excited. So when she got into the car upset the day before the service day, I was baffled.

"Mom!" She said, "We are working with our same grade tomorrow at the community school we are visiting."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yea, Mom, and I don't think we should call that SERVICE! That might insult them. If they were say in KINDERGARTEN then it would be ok to call it service. But they are OUR AGE!!!"

Ah, well, I started and stopped. I took a deep breath. I started again. Finally, I just looked at this child who was far brighter than her age and told her she was absolutely correct. I suggested she just try to make new friends and enjoy the day. She should take the word "service" out of her mind and view the day as "networking."

That interchange with Cate has been resonating in my head lately. Part of moving around the country means we have had many opportunities to meet new people, to experience different communities -- some large scale and some smaller. And without fail, we reach a point where our people fall into a few categories:

1. Those who truly just get us. Oh, they see the obstacles our family has faced and is facing but they just saddle up next to us anyway. They aren't looking for reward -- just for some reason they see something in one or more of us worthy of friending. Isn't that a blessing? I thank God every day for those willing to walk with us in friendship.

2. Those who want to get us but are just a little bit confused: This happened often when the kids were younger -- people who thought it would be "good" for their children to hang around my children. Oh boy. Can you imagine for a minute how it feels to be told that "I like having your boys play with mine. Mine need to realize how lucky they have it." Can you feel the pain of that?

3. And finally...those who want to make us a project: They might as well label us "Community Service Project". Believe it or not, I know that it was one lady's religion -- she would not allow me to "thank" her for her assistance because that would negate the good she did in helping us. I am serious.

But usually it is much more subtle than that -- people see us and think we need help. Oh please don't get me wrong, sometimes we do. If you want to grab the door for Benjamin, we are so appreciative. If you want to move some seats so he can gain easier access to the theatre, church, movie. Please do.

But if you are being kind because it makes you feel good about yourself to help my poor pitiful family then please do us a favor and walk away.

If you have no interest in knowing us but feel compelled to "serve" us -- please hear me when I say we are good. I know your heart is more than likely in the right place but for goodness' sake, you acting out of some belief that you have life better than we do, really doesn't help us.

When the triplets were four years old, we were in line to meet Cinderella at Walt Disney World. The Fairy Godmother saw an adorable little girl in her Cinderella gown, one little boy in his walker, and another using his little power sticks. She motioned for us to come to the front of the line.  Wade and I urgently shook our heads no. We were willing to stand in line. We were fine. But the parents in line in front of us had noticed and those moms and dads parted like the Red Sea motioning us through.

I wept all the way to Cinderella. I cried tears of sheer gratitude for the families that recognized the challenge for my boys to stand for a long time. Please don't misunderstand me, I was extremely grateful.

But even then, part of me was afraid that those families just felt pity for us and I just couldn't handle that. So I cried some more.

The Cinderella families were the first but there have been other seasons where complete strangers have reached out to meet the needs of our family -- to yes, serve us. They have brought meals during surgeries, sent care packages during recovery, loved us well in hard hard times.

And so I keep wondering about the difference. What makes that ok and the other -- the ones who act like they want to befriend us as a project -- different?

I kind of think it is almost fly-by service -- those who know of us through one group or another and choose to sign up for a meal, etc. There is just good-heartedness with no real need for return. (Wow! Aren't those givers amazing??)

Alternately, the ones who seem to want to be our friends as a project have a distinct sense of condescension towards us. You can feel not only the pity but the sense that it is because they are so superior in their family's lack of special needs that they feel beholden to care for my motley crew.

And so I feel a lot like Cate worried the community-school children would feel about her class coming to theirs.....I don't NEED to be served! I need to be friended.

A family who needs friends...maybe even football fans...but not pity.

By the way, when I picked Cate up after that day she jumped in the car eagerly:

"Mom! Would you believe I walked in and immediately saw one of the girls who went to camp with me last summer?!! We got to be partners for the whole day! It was awesome!"

Isn't partner far far better than project? Isn't friend the very best thing of all?

Why I feel the need to thank Benjamin's friends. Sigh.

Last week found me at Benjamin's college several times celebrating his peers as they performed their final senior theatre showcases. Repeatedly, I found myself wanting to hug them and thank them for being Benjamin's friend, for being kind, thoughtful and well...friend-like.

Even as I processed the need, I flashed back to the triplets' kindergarten year. I was seated in the cafeteria as the teachers announced each classrooms' "Star Student Awards." I wasn't sure how the whole process worked -- if they would have let parents know beforehand or what -- and frankly I sat through the first monthly award ceremony thinking one of my trio MIGHT get the Star Student award. They had met all the challenges of that first month of school with courage, flexibility, and the cutest smiles ever. (Ok, that last part is just me being completely biased!) Mason was coming to school straight off a huge spine surgery and was overcoming more just to get to school every morning than I could have ever imagined as a child.

Yet, I cheered as loud as the young man's Mama when one of their friends won instead. I loved that young boy who was such a sweet friend to my three. And then the teacher listed his attributes -- one of which was playing with Benjamin and Mason.

What? Why did that deserve an award?

And then the next monthly awards ceremony was held. Same thing happened.

And then again.

And again.

And again.

I almost quit going to the little award ceremony all together. But how in the world would I explain that to my children? I didn't, after all, want THEM to resent their friends or their teachers.

But I was still processing what being mom to these extraordinary children meant and frankly, the message I heard over and over (and over) again was that it was obviously a burden to be their friend. It was something remarkable to be kind to them. If you could summon the strength to overcome the burden, you would be publicly rewarded. (Do I sound bitter?)

Except, I knew that my boys enjoyed video games, super hero everything, Star Wars, and even silly Knock-Knock jokes. It wasn't hard to be friends with them. It wasn't.

It still isn't. And so I refrained from thanking the young men and women last week who are Benjamin's peers. I hugged them. I assured them I was praying for them during their exams. But I didn't THANK them for being friends with one of the most amazing young men I have ever known.

And so in love, I want to say to you that your child does not deserve a student of the month award JUST because he or she was nice to my sons -- or any child with special needs.

I'm sorry. But he doesn't.

I was asked once by a precious mom friend, how to help her children interact with kids with special needs. I fairly shouted, "Socialize with families with special needs." 

Hear me dear ones, if you model friendship -- and I mean model it across the board -- by being kind to those around you. Guess what? Your children will learn to be kind to those around you.

Oh parents, if your kids watch you manipulate people, bully them with your words, and ridicule them behind their backs -- you can bet that is exactly the behavior that will be repeated.

And if your children see you talking slowly in a patronizing manner to the young man in a wheelchair, you can bet they will patronize the next person they see with special needs and never even know it wasn't an ok manner in which to speak to them.

Just so you know my boys have true friends.

Star Wars Con....

If you find the things you have in common with Benjamin and Mason, you will quickly forget the things you don't. Isn't that true of everyone? Isn't that what we should be encouraging our children to do? Find the common ground WITH EVERYONE???

Because here is the thing, if you reward your child for "being nice" to the kiddo with special needs, you are teaching them a huge lesson -- but the lesson is that the child is deserving of pity, rather than deserving of genuine friendship. And you have taught a mama that she should be thankful that your child was willing to show such pity on her child.

Sigh.

Now I am all about giving some GOOD FRIEND awards out -- show me children who interact well with all of their peers and let's reward them; show me children who know how to find the common ground with others regardless of abilities, ethnicities, economics and I will cheer with you as we reward them!

Let's come together as mothers and commit to teaching our children to look for the common ground that will bind them as friends -- not the differences that set them apart. And let's stop rewarding condescending behavior. 

For the love of all that is good and Stars Wars-y -- I promise you will not regret it.