John and I recently returned from a once in a lifetime vacation with the kids in San Francisco. One full week of being together with two teenagers in a two room suite and a rental car. I realize as I write that sentence that it sounds like a recipe for a lot of bickering and elbow jabbing, a fair amount of self absorbed  tired whining and some intolerable tunes, but  no- it wasn’t like that.  Amazingly, the typical raising two teens behavior wasn’t packed in the suitcase and blessedly was left behind. Instead we enjoyed seven sunshine filled days of laughter, exploration, great interesting conversations and close companionship with each other.

We did the touristy things. The cable cars and museums. The Chocolate factory and the bridges. We walked along the pier. We ate delectable food until our bellies hurt.

And we watched the seagulls and the seals off of Pier 59. The kids say that was the best part.

Because they were funny with their antics and we stood there for an hour and laughed until tears watered their eyes and our cheeks were sore from stretched smiles.

The simplest pleasures turned out to be the best ones after all. Isn’t that the way it is sometimes?

Isn’t that the way it is most of the times?

November has arrived. Snuck in the backdoor while I wasn’t looking. And sometime this weekend I heard my first Christmas song and the Thanksgiving dinner plans were solidified.

It’s the time of the year when the world starts leaning on us to be just a little more complicated again. Pushing and prodding us to buy that one extra thing, to plan that one extra party, to say yes to that one extra promise.

The urge to batten down the hatches and hang on to the simple things is pressing on me. It doesn’t take complicated to mean special. It doesn’t take extra hoops to mean happy.

I feel like gathering up the family and cozying up to a fire in the fireplace with a hot cup of cocoa and maybe a board game. That and a night of good laughs sounds a lot more fun then filling up this house with  more expensive needless things that no one will remember six months from now.

I bet they don’t forget the seagulls and seals though. Not ever. Those kind of memories stay with a child for ever. And they were free. Of all the things we did that day, watching seagulls and seals didn’t cost a dime. These are the moments that keep me inspired.

When this next onslaught of holidays has passed us by, what do you want to carry with you?  More Credit card debt and empty calories? Circles under your eyes from too many committments? Or is this the year to try something different?

What do you want to cherish as your lasting memory? We can be intentional about this if we start now.

If we start by making memories that matter.  Memories of time spent together. Memories of laughter. Of love. Of giving and of gratitude.

Starting now, starting here. Any plans?

Yesterday marked the middle of summer. How quickly the time is rushing by. If I had an hourglass of sand it would be draining down and I would be fighting the urge to turn it back over and begin again, making the sands last as long as possible before the dreaded days of Back to School are marching in with autumn winds.

We are playing and enjoying the summer beauty as much as we can. The children enjoy lazy afternoons at the pool and time with their cousins and friends. The dining room dinner table has been set aside for outdoor meals in the backyard by the grill and fire pit. The garden awards us with colorful produce for our evening meals.  John and I have had a wonderful time canoeing, biking, going for long walks, and even taking a long day at the Renaissance Faire going back into time and history to visit the Lords and Ladies of Queen Elizabeth’s day.

This last weekend, a most enjoyable evening was had cooking out with best friends and chatting over a crackling fire until wee into the night. It doesn’t get any better than this. May and June’s frightening storms have given way to blue skies and warm days and evenings. We are treasuring every day. Yet still it flies.

Yesterday, to mark the middle of summer, I scooped the children into the car and drove the 30 minutes to the State park where we can walk along the beach of Lake Michigan. The weather was a hot 90 degrees, not a cloud in the sky but the water was chilly and the waves felt like ice smacking at our feet as we walked along the rocky shore. That didn’t stop us from wading out into the frigid water and letting the white frothy waves lap at our legs. The children picked up interesting rocks and skipped them across the water’s edge. They competed to see who could skip rocks the best. They compete over everything. Even rocks. After a bit, one of them sat for a few minutes and dug around in the sand playing and I wished for all the days in my childhood that I had sand buckets and sand castles. We hadn’t brought one. Next time, I thought lazily. But then realized- It had been almost five years since the last time I had driven a whole 30 minutes to see the beach.

In five more years my son could be a sophomore in college, my daughter will be close to graduating High School. The time for sand castles and buckets will have passed us by. I had a sudden urge to dig my feet deep in the sand and not let go. Hang on to the icy lapping water of the shore line, fix my eyes on the horizon and stay there in that moment with them. I looked at both of them, completely unaware of my rushing emotions; they played with the water, the pebbles, and the sand, each other. I dug my feet farther into the wet sand and let the water rush over my cold toes. Freeze frame. Life is moving too fast. I didn’t want to let go of the moment.

I sighed.

I looked at the time. It was time to go. Deadlines and places to be and the next place on the day’s schedule were calling. But we had managed to carve out an hour or so of time in the sand that I know I will hang on to for a lifetime.

I thank you God for this most amazing day; for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes.
~E.E. Cummings

It’s the end of June and I don’t know where it went.

Well, yes I do actually. It went the way of 8th grade graduations and family parties, sitting outside with family and friends, barbecuing, singing karaoke, watching the kids run around and play and have the time of their life. We gardened, planted tomatoes and peppers and sat back to watch our first tomatoes turn red on the vine. Whew, it was a busy month. It also rained.  A lot. Enough that it created a built in excuse for burrowing into my office for hours and hours of writing frenzy and working on plans for a new site design. And now one entire month of the summer is gone.

For a lot of you, that may be no different than any other month, days come, days go, and one month evolves into the next with nary a blink of the eye. However we are from the Midwest. We are allotted precious few summer days, doled out like sparkling gems to be cherished. To waste one is almost a sin. Having to work during one is heartbreaking. Anguished employees struggle to keep their noses from being pressed to the glass. “It’s gorgeous out there” one will say wistfully.”

“I know, don’t remind me,” the other will reply, clutching their heart as if wounded. You think I exaggerate. No. This conversation happens all summer long.

Yet…

Come the weekend when you would expect them all to be flooding outdoors, canoeing, biking, picnicking or other recreational hobbies- they aren’t there.

They are at home. Working on their TO DO list. Getting stuff done. Meeting family obligations, cleaning out the garage. If they find TIME, then they will go play. TIME rarely comes.

Come Labor Day Weekend, all around the barbecue, will be a familiar conversation. “Where did the summer go? One day it was June 1st and the next thing we knew the kids were back in school and I can’t think of single thing we did.”

Summer has slipped through their fingers like sand on the beach. Gone. They will mourn its loss in the harsh winter snow and promise that next year will be different.

It probably won’t.

But it could be. It isn’t too late to save this summer. It takes planning and commitment and a certain proactive mindset but it can be done.

It isn’t difficult and it doesn’t have to be expensive. Think back to our childhoods. Badminton, croquet, backyard barbecue with family and friends, lightening bugs, Kick the can games and hide and seek, picnics in the park with hot dogs and baked beans, time spent on beaches building sand castles in the sun. None of it went away. We stopped taking time to do it. But we could.

The secret is getting out the calendar. Planning family time and fun time before chores and obligations suck up the summer sun. Call a family meeting. Brainstorm several fun ideas that everyone would like to do. Write them all down. During the brainstorming, let no idea be out of bounds-but explain brainstorming, you won’t be able to do them all; you will have to pick and choose. The ones that hit the top of the list go right on the calendar. Before anything else. Make it sacred. Make it a promise. Make it a summertime date.

On a sidenote, if you are doing this with kids, I have also found that with younger ones, this is a great way to introduce the concept of budgeting to them. My kids were quick to figure out that we can pick one really expensive thing on the list OR we can pick ten or twelve other ones. THAT light bulb went on very quick!

With fun things on the agenda to look forward to, balancing the TO DO list during the week has more motivation. You might find you have a little extra get up and go to throw in that extra load of laundry and the kids might not mind taking it up to their rooms so much when you remind them, you all want an early start on the fun day on Saturday instead of spending the whole day doing chores. No kids? You might want the try that reminder on yourself. It’s very motivating!

Planning for fun is a foreign concept these days in our busy overworked world. Just like our healthy eating and our exercise programs and our eight hours of sleep, fun is on the “as soon as I can get to it’ list for too many of us far too often. But having it to look forward to just might put some extra zip in your step, improve your attitude, and make your work go by faster.

It will definitely give you something better to chat about come Labor Day at the neighborhood barbecue then wondering how summer, let alone life, is slipping through your fingers.

 What are you going to do for fun this summer?

What if it rains? What if there is a tornado? What if there is a flood?

Then we’ll deal with it.

Somehow. We do. We just do. That’s spring in Chicago. It follows the blizzards and bitter, frigid temperatures of our winters, and will usher in the blistering, smoldering, humid heat of our summers. Midwesterners are tough, strong people. We have to be to deal with our weather. Some of us complain about it. I do. Loudly. Often. But it doesn’t stop us. It happens so often that it is part of the daily round. Something expected and planned for. We wear our weather like a badge of honor. It makes us rugged and brave. It shows our courage. The weak would move. The weak DO move. It isn’t easy to tolerate the barrage of ever changing attacks.

The weather here changes you if you let it. It molds you and shapes you the way water wears at the surface of stone. Over time, you build callouses to all the drama that the weather provides. You move on. You make better provisions. You learn to plan ahead. To strategize. You become unfazed to the trauma that would affect your To Do list. You simply move on to Plan B -because you have a plan B.

A recruiter once told me that in his opinion, people from the Midwest were the hardest working people in the States. They learned how to work around things. They learned how to pitch in and get things done. If you doubt it, watch and see how quickly the Midwest can mobilize and band together after a winter storm or tornado. Families and neighbors pull together and get the job done. It isn’t a question of IF. They just figure out HOW and they just DO it.

My youngest son graduated from 8th grade this weekend. We had a large family party in the backyard, complete with two Weber grills fired up with a selection of meats, salads and pasta on the buffet and choices of dessert. On the patio, my eldest son’s Karaoke company had set up the evening to be a entertaining night of Karaoke, singing and fun for all of the kids and kids at heart. Despite the fact that Severe Thunderstorm’s had rolled through in the morning, dousing everything with buckets of water and sweeping through with the fourth wind-storm of the weekend, we continued on undaunted. When it looked as if ten minutes after he set up his equipment the storms were going to return, we pulled out the giant tent from the garage, set it up in moments, and continued on with nary a break in the action. The party and the singing continued on around us.

As I looked around, singing, dancing, laughter, chatting, were the actions taking place around me. No one gave a fig about the weather, the grayness of the skies or the humidity in the air. We focused on what was good. We focused on what was fun. We were focused on family.

That’s the way it is here. The worse the weather gets, the more we pull in tighter. The more we cozy up to each other. The weather reminds us of what is important. Pitching in. Helping out. Team work. Family. The rain, the snow, the heat, they wash away the trivial and leave us with the important things to worry about.

We know how to figure it out. And we do it together.

At nine O’clock, we pulled down the tent and put the karaoke away. Just in time, as if waiting for permission, the winds picked up and the sky unleashed it’s next bucket of rain for the evening. We gathered inside, with the back door open listening to it fall. My husband and son stood in the doorway, watching as the energy lights flickered across the sky in the dark, the rumbling of thunder, rolling low and deep. Their hushed voices chatted as the rest of us listened to soft music, finishing our wine. The air was warm, washed clean from the spring rain, the mist reaching into the house, filling the air with the scent. All was peaceful, loving, content.

Yes, It changes you to live here. You become adaptable. Flexible. Strong. Appreciative of the good moments. The moments when the rain is soft and clean, bringing a man and son together in the night, a memory I will watch in my mind for a long time.

Appreciative of family, of being able to bend with the wind, still laughing, still playing….waiting hopefully… for the sun.

Mother’s Day Weekend is here. It is a special day for me, special because I have been in active duty now for 31 years. Plus 11 years as a grandmother. I wouldn’t trade a single day. Not even the stormy ones.

Yes, it’s true…I had an early start. Sometimes life throws you a curve ball and you hit a home run.

Although, I didn’t wake one day and say, “Gee…I think I’ll try being a sixteen year old mom, won’t that be a smart idea!”  I did learn more from that rocky road than all of the other hard knock classes I took put together.

I learned about unconditional love. I learned about commitment. I learned about priorities. (You learn about that sort of thing in the middle of the night with an asthmatic child who can’t breathe and you haven’t slept in three days.) I learned about money. I learned about not having any.

Yep…kids teach you everything. All of mine have taught me new things. My oldest, being the pioneer daughter, blazing the trail for the others, had it the hardest. She had to dig her way through the hardest clay, my skills as a parent, untried and alone for the most part. We experimented together. Frick and frack, figuring it out as we went along. We learned a lot together. The rest of them should send her Mother’s day cards.

When she was 16, she wrote a poem and gave it to me for Mother’s Day.

I appeared like lightning piercing the sky;
Greatly unexpected, a hindrance was I.
Washing away goals, changing dreams like the tide,
I crushed her youth the moment I arrived.

But her love flourished with each passing day,
As she accepted her life, the gift that I gave.
Our life was not charted, predicted, or planned;
We faced our troubles hand in hand.

They flooded our lives, right from the start,
But made us two people; stronger of heart.
She welcomed my presence for she did know,
That when a storm goes by, it leaves a rainbow.

 I CRIED……

But it was true. All of my children are exquisite rainbows with the most glorious colors in the universe.

I know that all of the mothers out there feel the same way about their rainbows too. So for mothers everywhere this weekend, I am sharing my gratitude for all of our children and for everything they have taught us, shown us and shared with us.

 For the gift of being a mother.

Happy Mother’s Day Moms.

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