Memories of Christmas Letters

As a child my family had a wonderful tradition of sending Christmas letters along with or in lieu of Christmas cards.  The letters gave us updates on the events of the year...we shared everything...first steps, new pets, family trips, broken limbs.  My memories of the letters are shiny and happy, full of anticipation and joy.  Sometimes I didn't know who the letters were from, but my parents would always explain, providing a wonderful lesson on my family tree.  Some letters were boastful and proud, others were humorous and light-hearted, but every one of the letters was laced with love and appreciation for what life had provided that year.  As a child, those letters were priceless glimpses into the lives of my far-away family members, and warm hugs from the families I saw every Sunday.

I remember a year when my parents placed the "responsibility" of writing the letter into my young, eager, nervous hands.  Wait, me?!  You want me to write this year's Christmas Letter?  Yes...they wanted me to write the letter, and I did.  I don't remember the contents, nor do I remember the year.  But I do remember how I fretted over the words that I put onto that paper.  From what point of view do I write this letter?  What events were important enough to share in this extraordinarily important letter?  Do I attempt humor or keep it simple and sincere?  The questions were endless, yet I managed to do it...I wrote the Christmas letter.  Again, I forget what I wrote about, but I do remember why I wrote it.  I wrote it because it was a family tradition...a tradition of celebrating the year's memories and sending love and good wishes for the upcoming year.

For us, 2010 has been a CRAZY year full of firsts and lasts, graduations and first days, surgeries and follow-ups, celebrations and parties, laughter and stress.  A year that I'm excited to wrap up, but sad to see go.  My babies are getting "too big for their britches" and I'm sad to see them grow up, but so proud of who they are becoming.  Faith's reading like a pro, just became a Daisy and can't wait to start up tennis again in January.  Connor is sleeping in a big-boy bed, still loves hats and is working on his ABC's.  Kevin is enjoying work and the excitement of assisting in the development of the County's new 911 building.  I'm currently wondering why I'm typing this and not grading research papers...oh, and hoping Santa brings me a puppy.

I recently read an article which declared that Christmas cards are dead.  It argues that since we live in a world full of instant electronic communication, there is no point to sending Christmas cards.  Want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas?  Send a mass text.  Want to show off the adorable picture of your kids in matching outfits?  Post it on facebook.  Want to send a personal message to a close friend?  Put it on twitter.  I understand the point...why spend money on cards and stamps, write out addresses and lick those God-forsaken envelopes when cheerful greetings can be sent with the click of a button?  For me, the answer lies in the tangible.  These Christmas wishes aren't the same when I receive an alert on my phone; instead I want to open up the envelopes to see what's inside.

Years later as I send out my own Christmas cards, I find myself remembering the letters I got so excited about, and now I understand why it's been years since I've sent or received a traditional Nagle-style Christmas letter.  I think it's because life has gotten in the way.  Busy schedules paired with the convenience of fancy personalized photo cards has made it easy for me to check the Christmas cards off my list each year...but for some reason this year something is forcing me to pause, and reflect...to celebrate the memories that have been made.  I think it's the way Faith poured over the years of collected Christmas cards that I'd packed away along with the Christmas tree.  Maybe it's my own craving for family traditions that kept driving me to write my blog version of the annual Christmas letter (Hmmm, a Christmas letter sent to all with the click of the mouse?  Am I killing Christmas cards too?).

So this year when the Christmas cards began arriving, I started handing them over to the kids to let them see who was wishing us well this year.  Faith works to open the envelopes, Connor bends the cards as he takes them out and together we hang them up as we talk about who the cards are from.  Faith comments on the photos, Connor likes taking the tape from the roll, and I am happy knowing that as brief as this moment is, we're creating a tradition. 

So, with this letter I send so much love and best wishes for the new year.

Why Not Count a Few Blessings?

We live in a world where our pace and "priorities" often make us forget some of the things that matter most.  Faith will be having eye surgery again at the end of the month, my dad is back in town after a 2-year hiatus, my brother is getting married in 6 weeks, and (as usual) I should do the dishes.  In what order to I arrange these parts of my life...mother, daughter, sister, wife?  My head is swarming with concerns, questions and to do lists, and my calendar is full, full, full.

When I go to bed at night my thoughts are focused on what's next: lessons to be taught, doctors to be seen, homework folders to be checked, meetings to attend.  It is rare that I pause to think about the moment I am in, and to be honest, I am in the middle of a few pretty great moments.  As I was settling into bed tonight, I thought I'd stop to be grateful for what I'm in the middle of.

So, here, in no particular order, are a few of the great things that are happening in my life right now:

I am going to be 30 in 5 weeks, and I don't think there is anything scary about being 30.  My children have wonderful grandparents and great-grandparents.  I really love being a teacher (except for when the crazy kid bangs his head against the locker while screaming at me).  I am a weight watcher, and I'm excited about it.  My kids are healthy and doing well in school.  My husband makes me laugh and is a terrific father.  I have good friends, and I know they are always there for me, just a phone call away.  I am working towards forgiveness.   The weather is finally mild enough to sleep with the windows open (as long as my trashy neighbors aren't outside).  My brother is getting married in 6 weeks.  It is September, and I am not coaching tennis.

Thankfully, I could go on...

Yesterday was September 11th, a date that will never pass without causing me to reflect on the blessings I have been given.  Tonight, my husband and children are resting comfortably in their beds, and I have much to be thankful for, so I am working toward slowing things down a bit.  Yes, my calendar is full and the kids keep me running, but there is no need to constantly be thinking about what's next.  So, right now, I'm off to kiss my kiddos before I crawl into bed to enjoy the fact that my bedroom window can be kept open tonight.

Growing Pains...Nora's Off to College

Twelve years ago I sobbed like a child as I hugged my baby sister outside of my college dorm.  She was six, I was seventeen.    I knew I was supposed to be overcome with joy because I was officially free of my parents and all that good stuff, but instead it felt a little like my heart was being ripped in two.  She was my sidekick, my favorite little girl.

And now, it's Nora who is leaving me, it should be easier this time, right?

I know it's cliche, but my sister is my best friend.   The term "best friend" makes me laugh because I think every woman has had about 10 "best friends" in her life time.  You know, the "best friends" we made in grade school, junior high, high school and college.  Some people were even cool enough to have a summer camp "best friend" (oh, how I was jealous of you).  Some of these people have left our lives, and others still linger, but there is nothing like the staying power of a true "best friend." 

And for me, that's my Norie.  She is amazing for 101 reasons, but mostly because she gets me.  Yes, she's an amazing person who has made me proud in the shave-your-head-for-cancer kind of way.  But she understands me like no one else can -- she can crack my code and speak my language.  She knows when I need her to laugh with me.    She knows when I am in need of a babysitter, always offering her time.  She knows when I need to vent.  She knows when we just need a trip to the creamery.

Today, my baby sister/sitter is on her way to college.  She's already had a 5-week stint at DePaul, so she knows how this college thing works.  She's strong and independant, and I know she will do great.  However, I just can't shake my saddness.  For the past four years we've been nearly inseperable...and for the past month we've seen each other nearly every day.  I am not looking forward to the withdrawl symptoms.

Since I hugged Nora outside my dorm twelve years ago, MUCH has changed in our lives.  Technically speaking, now we are both adults.  We have lost family members, literally and figuratively.  I have been her teacher and coach, she has been my student and athlete.  We have moved a time, or two.  She has learned to drive, I have been her passenger.  We have gained a step-father and step-brother.  Her boyfriend is a soldier.  She is an aunt, I am a mother. 

Our lives have been transformed; we are barely who we were back then, but one thing has remained constant.  She has always been, and will forever remain, my sidekick...my wonderful, sarcastic, compassionate, knowing, witty, brilliant sidekick.

Crickets and Cataracts

It is 12:24 a.m.  There is a cricket in my house, and I just made shadow puppets against the wall.  I have skimmed facebook and read several chapters of Eat, Pray, Love.  There is an apple pie on my stove that I'd love to devour (but I won't because I joined Weight Watchers today).  I am tired, distracted and anxious and I can't sleep because Faith has a cataract.

Yep, a cataract - a congenital cataract, which means that she was born with it, which means that it could have been corrected as soon as it was discovered...but, when was it discovered?  Monday. 

On Monday we saw an optometrist for the required kindergarten vision screening.  Faith was SO excited by the possibility of getting glasses that I thought she was fibbing about the vision in her left eye as the exam progressed.  Nope.  She fidgeted and squinted saying she couldn't see anything until a 6-inch letter popped up, "Um, is that an R?"  The tests continued and I just assumed it meant Faith got her wish...she was going to get those pretty pink glasses she tried on before the exam. 

So, imagine my surprise when I heard "cataract."  Wait, isn't that what makes grandpa's eye all blue and glassy?  Then the doctor says "congenital."  I'm sorry, what?  She was born with it?  Usually detected at birth...Fairly large....Serious vision impairment...Specialist...Correctable with surgery.

That's where I choked, did Faith hear that?  It's like the Chef Boyardee commercial where the mom doesn't want anyone to tell her son that there are vegetables in his "delicious" bowl of soggy ravioli.  Faith loves to play doctor, and surely the word surgery would pique her interest or cause alarm.  Nope.  Instead, she marvels at the exam equipment while I wish I had a notebook to start writing things down; all I could find was a crumpled Target receipt.  Fail.

I leave with a referral form in hand and a school eye exam form telling me that her vision is 20/200.  Faith wraps up the conversation with the doctor, "So, do I need glasses?  No?  Well, do you have any suckers or stickers?"  So easily satisfied.

Today we saw the "Specialist."  It was laughable really.  The opthamologist told me the exact same thing as the optometrist, but added a few more scary details and a heaping pile of mom-guilt before referring me to a Pediatric Opthamologist.  Scary details: lazy eye, probable surgery, more difficult recovery, should have been caught sooner.  Mom-guilt: you didn't notice this sooner, your pediatrician didn't notice this sooner, wish we could have treated this sooner.  [Please note: I am NOT a professionally trained opthamologist.]

I leave with a post-it note in my hand, written on it is contact info for the new "specialist" who will call me soon to give me an appointment time.  The doctor tells me, "If they don't call you soon, call them."

Two hours later, I call.  The soonest appointment is September 8th.  Um, If time is of the essence, shouldn't we get moving here?  I call another doctor...late September.  Then I call a third.  This receptionist scoffs at me when I tell her today's doc said it should happen ASAP, "Ma'am, you are treating a 5-year-old for a condition which she was born with."  Seriously?  Now this stranger adds to the pile of guilt?  Finally, I start beginning my calls with, "Do you have an August appointment for a child who needs a congenital cataract treated?" [I thought that sounded more desperate, more needy...which is EXACTLY how I feel right now.] 

Finally, I find a cancellation (thanks for the referral, Jenny Reid).  Tomorrow at 10:55, Chicago Ridge?  Yes, we will be there.  After a few moments of can't-believe-you-didn't-notice-sooner, the receptionist arranges the appointment with comfort in her voice and assures me that "Faith will be in good hands."
We'll know more tomorrow, and I'll share what we learn.

So, with a head full Internet "expertise" and a heart full of anxiety, I am still listening to that damn cricket...g'night.

Body Image and My Baby Girl

Every mother thinks her children are irresistibly beautiful.  We admire the beauty of their tiny little fingers and toes; we marvel at the striking eyes that meet our gaze as we cradle them in our arms.  As they grow, we only find more to love about the little people we have known from day one.  We fill our homes and their hearts with a mother's all-consuming and unconditional love.  However, the world rarely harbors the same enthusiastic love for our sweet ones.

Recently, as I brought Faith up to bed, I told her she was beautiful...because she is.  Her eyes are a blend of golden honey and warm melted chocolate; her dimpled smile is priceless.  She hears compliments from me constantly: pretty, smart, kind, strong.  Why would she have any reason to doubt that she is, in fact, adorable?  Her response to me, "That's not what my friends say."

Seriously?  She is four.  Who are these friends and where are their parents?  Who tells this kid she's not pretty?  But, then I stop the rapid roller coaster that is my train of thought... 

I ask her, "Well, do you think you're pretty?"

"No."

Hmmm...certainly not what I anticipated.  Where is the high self-esteem I thought we were fostering?  Do daily compliments of intelligence, appearance and compassion wane in the face of a fellow four-year-old who is wearing a cuter dress?  What now?  So, I bring her into our bedroom and we plop down in front of the mirror. 

"Look at yourself in the mirror, kiddo.  What do you like about yourself?"

"Well, I like my earrings."

Ugh, nope, earrings don't count.  We talk about how earrings are removable, changing.  We need to find things we like that are constant, unchanging.  The teacher in me knows that I have to model this activity for her.  So, I do.  I look at myself in the mirror knowing I need to pick three parts of me that I like.  Okay, this is SO much harder than it sounds.  When I look at myself, of course, I am first struck by what I dislike.  Yep, I'm still overweight...shocker, right?  Oh, yeah, and my hair? It's still in my daily pony tail, bangs bobby pinned back.  And, since this is the summer of SPF 75, my "tan" looks quite mid-January.  So, I look harder because I know there is much more to me than that.

"Well, Faith.  I like my eyes, a lot. I like how they're a mix of blue and grey.  Also, I like my feet and my toes."

She laughs, "No, you don't. Your feet are dirty."

"Yes, I do.  Even if my feet are dirty, I really like them.  Your turn."

"Well, I like my toes, too, because I can use them to scratch my ankles.  And I like my skin, and my hair."

Our conversation continues, and she ponders about whether or not her hair counts as something unchangeable, because after all, Aunt Nora did shave her hair off before.  We talk about how some of her classmates tell her they don't like her outfit, and now we have the What's-on-the-Inside conversation, and we pick a couple of internal qualities we admire in each other.  We chat and chat...my goal is to capitalize on this teachable moment, hers is to hold off bed time.

Eventually, I tuck her into bed telling her I love her more than the sun, and knowing that tonight's talk is one of many to come.

There are certainly moments in my day and and days in my life where I also feel like a child comparing myself to others, and knowing that I'll always come up short.  And, yes, there is much about me that I need and want to change, but again there is so much more to me than that.  I am assertive and intelligent, and I have done amazing things.  My job as Faith's mom is so much bigger than to love her and compliment her.  So, no matter how hard it may be to find the good things in the mirror, I know that it's my job to show her and teach her what it is to be a confident woman who loves who she is.

South Haven: The Land of Blueberries and Fanny Packs

The last time Kevin and I camped alone was in the summer of 2004.  Married just over a year, and with an adorable chocolate lab in tow, we headed to the Northwoods of Wisconsin...I brought a book, Kevin a fishing pole.

Since that trip our family has grown by two children and decreased by one 130-pound brute of a chocolate lab.  We have become busier, our patience has worn thin, and quiet time is at a premium.  So, in need of some time away, I hit the Internet and begin browsing.  Of course I begin with an idealistic Caribbean cruise, then mosey my way through links for quaint Bed and Breakfasts...but who am I kidding, there is no way I'm leaving my kids long enough to go on a cruise, and there is no way Kevin and I are social enough to pretend to enjoy eating breakfast with strangers.  Hmmm, what to do, where to go?

I hate making decisions like that, so when I ask Kevin what he'd prefer, he tells me, "book it, and tell me when and where we're going."  In those moments I contemplate downtown Chicago hotels and ritzy restaurants because I know how much he LOVES the big city [insert eye roll here].  So, after much frustration and a great deal of campsite investigation, I settle on Van Buren State Park near South Haven, MI.  Apparently we can't eat breakfast with strangers, but we are completely comfortable with community showers and bathrooms...what is wrong with us?

After packing our little square car to the top, our get-a-way begins.  This time instead of a book and a fishing pole, we have a Kindle and smart phones in tow.  We dropped the kids at Grandma and Grandpa's and they barely noticed we left...as long as you don't count Connor's kicking tantrum.  Two and a half hours later we arrive at our excessively sunny camp site looking forward to a bit of sand and solitude. 

And that's precisely what we got...no children to chase, no noses to wipe, no arguments to settle.  We took a few trips to the beach for sunsets, strolls and even a swim.  We walked the pier to the light house,  rode our bikes through the campground, ate quiet, simple uninterrupted meals, picked enough blueberries to last us through September, saw more fanny packs than we knew existed, ate huge ice cream cones and enjoyed every minute of our campfires. 

Nothing fancy, nothing over-the-top...yet, completely wonderful.

A Grownup in the Park

The majority of my days are spent playing make believe and trying to keep my little ones happily fed and entertained. I am Faith's biggest fan at her "concerts" while Connor clings to me expecting telepathic recognition of his grunts. Some days are struggles: we whine, we fight, we cry. Other days are awesome: we share, we laugh, we nap. I am fortunate to have them in daycare a few days a week, so I do get plenty of "me time." It's a happy balance between lovin' my kids and keepin' my sanity.

Last night, however, I spent a rare evening moonlighting as a full-fledged adult. Twelfth Night at the Peabody Estate in Oakbrook? Food, wine and outdoor theater? Yes, please.


My recent forms of entertainment have been narrowed to annoyingly sweaty trips to the zoo, tiresome outings to the children's museum and cranky backyard swim days. Yet, there I was, sitting in a park with friends drinking wine, anticipating Shakespeare. What a pleasant departure from the ordinary. I felt almost giddy about sitting in my own quad chair only a stone's throw away from the stage. The play was wonderful, made even better by the ambiance - the hot, sticky outdoor ambiance.

Am I going a little over the top about something as simple as this trip to see a play? Probably, but this excursion really got me thinking. I was genuinely excited about what I was doing, and it wasn't just about the play; it was about me.

Gulp, I said it...it was about me.

I took time to do something that made me happy, and it was more out of the ordinary than reading a book, watching the food network or checking facebook. There was no guilt, as my children were happily tucked in bed and Kevin had told me to "have fun." I was out to see a play with Jen, my wonderful friend and fellow English teacher, and I enjoyed every minute.

Come to think of it, last night was my opportunity to be happily fed and entertained...no make believe required.