Memorial Day

Yesterday we walked into town to let Luke dip his feet in the fountain. He loves that. He also made some friends and frolicked in the grass in front of the war memorial. I never actually realized my town HAD a war memorial, so while he scampered about, I stepped up to read the plaques surrounded by flowers. Kind of fitting to find it on Memorial Day weekend.

My Dad did not serve in the military -- he was too young for Korea and I think too old for Vietnam. I don't know if he was in the draft or not. I'll have to ask him. But both my grandpas also lived into the 1980s and 90s. Whether they were in the military or not, I don't know. If so, it wasn't something talked about. One grandfather died when I was just two, the other when I was 19. We never really talked about much at all.

So when it comes to Memorial Day, it's not so much a personal thing to me. Growing up, Memorial Day meant one thing: that the pool at the country club was opening, and it was time for the summer swim season to begin. We might have had a BBQ or something like that, but nothing much was made about remembrance or military sacrifice or the freedoms we take for granted.

But I've been choked up a few times this weekend thinking about those very things. Once was reading this post called "We Remember and are thankful," at Lovely Bud. She writes about her husband who is in the army and how blessed she is that each time he's been deployed, he's returned home to her. How we should not only remember those who fought but their families at home, waiting, praying for their loved ones to come back. I cannot image what being a mother and wife in that situation would be like, how strong you would try to remain for your children while on the inside worrying yourself to pieces.

Then another kind of rememberance spoke to me: one of a mother who has lost her child. Not to a war involving guns and tankers and bombs, but a war of the body, a tiny heart that was fighting for its life. From the blog Out of a New Habit, the talented heart mom Stephanie talks about the birth of her baby girl one year ago. Little Kaia Belle lived only 34 days. She died of a congenital heart defect.

Here's what her mother writes: "Kaia, I miss you more than words could ever explain. I can't believe how much our lives have changed because of you. And I know that your lifetime of work was done in only 34 days, and then you were allowed to go Home. I pray that you are flying with the butterflies and playing with the other lions up there..."

OK, in that case, "choked up" doesn't cover it. Remembering you today, Kaia. What a beautiful little girl you were.


The final time was this morning at church when we saw a short video about a soldier who died in 2004 fighting overseas. He was 22. He was married only a few months before his deployment. In the video, his widow and his mother each read a letter they received from him shortly after this death. I cannot fathom the grief of those women, and also the pride.

Sometimes I profess to hate my country. It's said in jest over things like bad maternity leave laws, or the concept of the Tea Party, or so many other little things that irk me. But the truth is, I know what marvelous freedoms I enjoy. To wear and say what I want, to marry whom I want, to decide whether or not I'll work, to know that there is a justice system and law enforcement that works much of the time to protect me. That I can write this very blog with no reason to worry that I'll be censored or prosecuted for speaking my mind. That I can worship God in openness. By no means are things perfect here, but this land is indeed great, and it's thanks in no small part to the soldiers and elected officials who serve us, to those brave men and women who never get to come home, and to all the mothers out there surviving a kind of grief I can only hope I'll never know.

Happy Memorial Day.

April comes to a close

I made this list of 20 Little Things early in January on a Sunday afternoon. I can't really remember what happened that morning. But somehow by 2 or 3 p.m. that day, I'd managed to find a sliver of time in which my brain was not cluttered, my son was not calling for me, my chores were out-of-sight-out-of-mind, work was a day away. I scribbled down the list quickly, throwing on it all sorts of jumbled dreams and ideas I harbor. Some practical, some purposeful, some intended to teach me something new or bring me an experience I had to that point lacked.  I didn't have to think long or hard. It was all right there. Once it was on paper, I felt instantly excited about what this year was going to be.

I still want all those things for myself. It still excites me to picture a life in which they're all realities.

But I'm going to forgive myself right now.

I'm failing the list.

It's OK. It was a moment in time when I made some absurd decry about my life for 12 uncharted months. What the hell did I know then?

I'm not saying I'm giving up or anything. Hell, I plan to plant that herb garden tomorrow. But I am admitting that perhaps I was too lofty. A list of 20 actual events might have been easier. Single-time things that I could scratch off and be done with. But some of the things on that list are daily things. Some weekly. Some came with arbitrarily assigned quotas. Why do I need to write one letter a month, really? What's at the heart of it is I simply like the idea of writing letters and would like to do it more. That's all. Same with prayer and with calling my brothers... They're on the list for a reason, but I am now questioning whether it was smart to set such rigid guidelines for how they're to happen.

Look. I don't know what it is. The spring air? Some serious inbalance in my life? The reality of being a mom with a toddler and a full-time job? But something has had me teetering lately. Fine one moment, practically certifiable the next. I honestly can not tell you what exactly is wrong. Maybe nothing. Maybe I just need to appreciate everything I have more, because I am blessed beyond belief.

I don't want you think I'm coo-coo-la-la-land crazy over here. I'm not. Like I said, much of the time, all is well. But I assume honesty is appreciated. So here's me being honest.

I'm scared to have another kid. It's going to hurt. It's going to be hard to be a mom of two. It might mean I walk away from my career. I can't promise that the child will be healthy; the last one wasn't. Maybe that one was my fault; maybe I'll make the same mistakes unknowingly again. The clock is ticking.

What else? My job. There is a lot I'd love to say about it, but I won't here. The thing I will say is that the thing that drove me, personally, this silly-little-dream that I could be great at what I do... it's hard to access right now. It's not gone, but perhaps buried. I feel sad and purposeless without it.

What else? Being a mom is the most rewarding, wonderful thing in my life. But tonight my son screamed for 10 minutes because I wouldn't give him my bowl at dinner. I thought he wanted my food, and could not solve the equation, until finally, it dawned on me. The fucking bowl. He wanted the f-ing bowl. He delights me more than anything ever, and I love him to the bottom of my heart and back up a thousand times. But also, he tires me. He doesn't stop. Ever. Hearing him say 'Mama' makes my heart do little dances. But also, he says it about 500 times a day. Sometimes -- many times -- for no reason.

What else? My imperfect little brain with all its issues is still floating around in my head, causing trouble. In a cage match with my heart, it wins every time, and my little heart is sitting in the corner more than it should be, trying to puff itself back up.

All these hairy emotional personal icky little issues. They hit the list in a lot of ways. Make me want to eat cookies and pizza instead of fruits and whole grains, and sleep in instead of workout, and watch TV instead of anything else. They turn me inward, where I can stew and feel badly about everything, instead of outward, to productive things like praying or serving others.

I'm no superwoman. I guess that's all I'm saying.

So. I'm laying down an amendment.

If I don't meet these 20 Little Things by the letter, I will continue to try to meet them by their spirit. That's what I really care about anyway.

I certainly didn't make this little list so I could feel bad that I'm failing at it. So this is just an FYI, that I'm changing the game or the rules or whatever. It's my game anyway.