Homemade and from the Heart

I have three nieces and a nephew ranging in age from eight to sixteen.  While every gift I give is important to me, the gifts for these four are what matters most.  As their aunt, I don't want to let them down.

Many years ago, I used to go crazy with these expensive, impressive gifts.  We're talking the kinds of gifts that Santa should bring, not your aunt.  Did the love it?  Absolutely! 

But things changed and so did my gifts.  But their excitement never has. 

I watched as the 16 year old opened the books she didn't ask for but I got for her anyway.  She loved it.

I spent the afternoon with the 14 year old who after lunch and a basketball media guide that I got for free said he didn't need anything else.  His Christmas was complete.

I watched as the ten year old leapt to her feet so she could hold up the blanket I had personalize for her using felt.  The bonus was getting to snuggle with her under that blanket.

I listened to the eight year old tell me thank you for the little necklace that said "I love you to the moon and back."  I told her, "You know that's true.  I do love you to the moon and back."  She said, "I know.  I love you, too."

I enjoyed those days of the expensive gifts, but I enjoy these days even more.  In a world where so many people feel entitled, I am thankful for kids who are truly grateful for everything.  They would rather have a personalized blanket for $15 than some big, expensive thing.  They actually ask their grandmother for socks and underwear as gifts.  And they still say thank you and give hugs at the end of the evening.

These kids--they are my greatest blessing.  They have had my whole heart since the day they were born.  They are far from perfect.  They are sarcastic, argumentative, and sometimes challenging.  But they are also sweet, smart, wonderful people who are not materialistic and have the ability to see beyond the physical gift. 

I would like to take credit, but let's face it--their parents are doing something right. I'm just honored to be a part of their lives.

Christmas Changes

Christmas is upon us.  It is, perhaps, the most bi-polar holiday I can think of.

Low:  Self induced stress of trying to make the holiday special (dare I say perfect?) for those we love.

High:  Smiles from those same people when they open the gift.  Even the little ones have figured out that it's not about the gift, it's about the person behind the gift.

Low: Stress of the impending family gathering.  What can you do to make it all go smoothly?

High:  Knowing that no matter what, you get to be with the people you love most of all.

And for some of us, there is that unknown.  The unknown of what it will be like when you wake up on Christmas morning and your Christmas is already over.

I'm lucky.  I have done this for many years.  After this tremendous year of growth, I'm am beyond ready.  It may sound completely absurd, but I'm in such a new place.  I've had my share of concerns about getting gifts finished, but I'm in the middle of such a place of total calm that I'm actually looking forward to my Christmas day filled with emails and text messages.  But I'm also ready to really celebrate this year.  I can't even explain it.

At the same time, my energy is going to a place across town.  My mom and the man I think of as my dad lost a very special person.  My dad's mom passed away a few short months ago.  I don't get those moments of picking her up and taking her back to her apartment this year.  I missed shopping for her four pack of champagne that I always got her.

But this is so minor.  For the first time since I have known him, my dad will not be going to the retirement community for Christmas dinner with his mother.  My mom will not go and have her traditional prime rib dinner on Christmas day.  This has been their tradition since my mother met my dad when I was in junior high.  What do you do when all you have known is gone?

Christmas Eve, I will miss her.  I will miss the comments on Christmas lights as we drive to and from her son's home.  I will miss the sarcastic comments on life that really had a compliment or sweetness if you just really listened.  I will see her image in the rocking chair to the right of the fireplace and to the left of the stairs where she sat observing her great-grandchildren and reacting in surprise when she opened her four pack of champagne.  I can honestly say I loved that woman. 

But I know my dad and my mom will miss her even more.  They will wake up and do their present exchange.  They will do their own thing.  But I also know that around noon, their will be that moment where they feel like they should be getting ready to go somewhere else, but this year, there isn't anywhere else to go.

So much blabbering.  So much rambling.  Isn't that what a blog is for?  Please allow me to wrap this up.

There was a wonderful, sometimes difficult, but always caring woman named Marnie.  She had three kids.  One of her kids married a woman with two kids.  She accepted them.  She accepted the woman who married into this crazy family.  She grew to love them all, even the four great grandkids that she referred to as wild on multiple occasions. 

Most importantly, she raised an incredible man.  A man who is smart, kind, generous and compassionate.  He wasn't afraid to love a woman with two rather outspoken, perhaps obnoxious, kids.  And he wasn't afraid to love those kids, the daughter-in-law, and the four grandchildren he gained.  No surprise, we all love him right back!

So this year, my wish is this:  while my dad is facing his first Christmas without his mom, I hope he feels the love we have for him.  I hope he knows that we are missing her just as much as he is, just in a different way.  And we are incredibly grateful.  Without Marnie, I wouldn't have the man I consider to be my dad.

Christmas is about family.  Our family changed in a big way this year, but we are still a family. A strange, loud, sarcastic, caring, odd family.  But a family none the less. 

That Moment

There comes a time when reality hits and you finally accept that the people that you love most of all will not live forever.  It's a horrible feeling, but it's not like you can change things.  But you can ask for "that moment" that will stay with you forever.

My first "moment" was with my grandfather.  He was a quite man who always had a twinkle in his eye when ever I saw him.  For a long time, he was the man I could depend on in my life.  I remember the final time he went into the hospital.  As I drove to see him, I prayed for one more day with my real grandpa, not the shell he was becoming.  And one day, I got it.  He was happy, talking more than I had ever heard him talk, and full of life and peace.  I remember as I was driving home thanking God for honoring my request.  After that day, I continued to visit the man, but the person was slipping away.  But that day, the moment I asked for, has never left me.

My grandmother, on the other hand, has given me many moments.  That moment where she is near death and you feel special to be part of that moment.  But this woman has a mind of her own.  I have said goodbye more times than I can count, but another "moment" always seems to be in her future.  But it doesn't make it any less precious--because I never know when it might be the last.  Our most recent moment was my favorite.  She has long suffered from dementia.  She doesn't really know who I am, but she looked at me like she knew she was supposed to know me.  She didn't know me, but she asked if I knew "her Kasey."  She told me stories of "her Kasey" and let me know how special "her Kasey" was.  Of course, I was "her Kasey."  Somehow hearing her talk about me as if I wasn't there was even more special.  And when she talked about the angels that were in the room and the friends that were above her bed waiting for her, well I thought for sure this was my final moment with her.  She was discharged from the hospital the following day.  I guess we have another moment still to make.

Today was another moment, but with a different grandmother.  Some would consider her "just a step-grandmother" but she was a grandma to me.  She is a tough as nails, no one tells me what to do kind of woman who has a soft side that you can see, but only on rare occasions.  It's been a rather rapid downhill slope.  But I also believe that's what she wanted.  I went tonight to say goodbye.  But I got another moment.  A moment where she couldn't really communicate, but I felt like she understood me.  She understood me when I told her I loved her and thanked her for being a grandma to me.  I held her hand.  She seemed to calm down.  I even thought I heard a laugh here and there.  I stayed at her bed until she went to peacefully to sleep.  Then I kissed her and told her to do all of this the same way she lived her life--do it the way you want.

I'll go back and see both grandmothers, but it's greedy to ask for more than what I have already gotten.  Because in each of these moments, I am granted moments of complete and utter peace.  And while I am trying to be there for them, it's really these people that I love comforting me in their own way.  And these moments will live in me forever.

May I always have the strength to be there for those I care about when they need me most.  If I can do that, I am the person receiving the gift.  I get those moments that change my heart and make me want to be a better person.

Little Steps, Big Changes

This summer, I changed.  I learned to listen to my own voice.  I learned to recognize my own strength.  I learned to let go of my past.

But I had set up my little world for success.  In some strange way, I was like an alcoholic or a person addicted to drugs.  I removed the most challenging elements, those that continuously kept me from being myself, for three months.  I worked a little each day taking baby steps toward the goal of accepting myself for who I am.

And just like someone out of rehab, I came back to the real world.  Challenges presented themselves, but I handled them.  More than that, I took pride in those moments of success.

My biggest challenge came today.  The past came at me and tried to drag me back.  But I wouldn't go.  I stood on my own two feet, said what need to be said, and put myself first.  It was pretty incredible.

I even waited for the inevitable. That after the fact guilt, self-doubt, or anger.  None of it came.  I called my mom, released the thoughts, and moved on with my night.

Obviously, I haven't completely stopped thinking about it.  But I'm thinking about it in a whole new way.  All those little steps this summer changed me.  I'm so much better for those three months of growth and work.  I'm so much stronger than I ever thought I could be.

The Joy of Cooking

Growing up, I didn't exactly have a chef in the kitchen.  We were fed, but cooking consisted of a few meals in a steady rotation.  (Pizza Hut and Burger King were also part of that rotation.)

And then I entered junior high where I was introduced to actual cooking.  For me, it was a whole new world.  All those random ingredients dancing together just perfectly could make magic! 

My poor brother.  He was subjected to my quest to create the perfect spaghetti sauce.  I still had no knowledge of fresh ingredients, but was convinced that I could make the recipe just a bit better if I kept trying.  He will not eat spaghetti to this day.

And my mother.  She had to contend with her night owl daughter.  She would go to bed early and wake up in the morning to find a filthy kitchen and many loaves of fresh made bread. 

I've grown up a bit.  I'm more selective of my ingredients, but the love is still there.  My favorite night of the week is Saturday.  It's my night to grab a glass of wine, turn the tv on in the background, and try a new recipe.  I fail more than I succeed, but that's not the point.  Its almost a form of therapy.  Just me trying to find that next combination of "healthy" ingredients that will impress the harshest critic--me!

So tonight, I made my first roasted chicken (Success!) and mashed cauliflower (Fail!).  But I was able to be creative in my own way.  I was able to "unplug" by leaving my phone in the other room for two hours.  I was able to just be and think.  How the food came out is secondary.  Tonight was a win.

Tomorrow, I will go back into the kitchen where I will prepare a couple of tried and true recipes to get me through the week.  And I have another week to try to find new recipes for next week's therapy session.

A Calling?

I was recently diagnosed with a syndrome.  Nothing serious. Just one of those things that they can't fix but could possibly lead to additional problems down the road.

Among one of the many, many things they told me--having children would be extremely difficult. 

I'm 41.  The truth is that having kids of my own has been slipping away each year.  But when "they" tell you kids are pretty much out of the picture--well that's a whole new reality.  It feels like a loss.  No one really sees it that way, but it still hurts.

This past weekend, I babysat for a friend of mine I've known since kindergarten.  She had a baby in May.  She is my age and had a perfect, beautiful baby girl in May. 

But that will probably never be me.

I would have been a good mom.  I would have loved them and cherished them and completely messed my kids up like all parents do, but I would have been there to help them along the way.

But that doesn't seem to be in the cards for me.

And yet, maybe it already has.  Maybe I wasn't meant to be a mom to two or three kids.  Maybe I was meant to be a mother figure to hundreds of kids.  I love the kids in my classroom, even after they leave.  I love them even when they drive me crazy.  I give them every thing I have even when I feel like I have nothing else to give.  Would there be anything else to give kids at home?  Who would be short changed--my kids at school or my kids at home.

I know that my kids at school is not the same as having kids of my own.  The nieces and the nephew are not the same as having kids of my own. 

But maybe that's enough.  We all need so much love an support in this world.  Maybe I'm there to give that, and my heart, to all of "my kids."

And maybe, just maybe, that is enough.

Releasing My Heart

 

 

Tomorrow begins a new school year.  I've spent most of the day reflecting on the past year.  Thinking what made me laugh, what made me cry, what did I do right, what did I do wrong.  I suppose you could say it's my version of New Year's Eve. 

 

 

I met a lot of challenges during this past school year, and I met them well.  But only a handful of people saw the toll it took on me.  Yes, the challenges were difficult, but it was so much more than that.  It was me.  I didn't know how to explain it.  But then I found this book in a children's book store.

 

The book was me.  It's a little girl who puts her heart in a bottle.  By putting it in the bottle, she is able to protect it from hurt, but she also loses so much of herself.  Once she realizes this, she tries to release her heart from the bottle but she doesn't know how.

 

I put my heart in a bottle many, many years ago.  At 12, was so determined to hide it so deep that no one could ever break it again.  I became the chameleon of sorts.  People liked me because I could morph myself into the version of me they wanted me to be.  And it worked.   For a very long time, I convinced myself that making other people happy would make me happy.

 

And then something changed.  It wasn't one incident.  It wasn't some person.  It was me.  I looked at myself struggling to be all things to all people.  But as the expectations of who I should be grew, it became too hard to keep up.  I was exhausted.

 

So this summer, I made myself my own priority.  I did many different things, but the most important thing I did was schedule an appointment with a therapist.  She listened and offered few words.  In our first session, she confronted me with the "What makes you happy?" question.  I didn't know the answer.

 

I went to her only three times, but she helped me find myself again.  She was the person who, just like in the book, helped me break open the bottle and let my heart out again.  She allowed me to say out loud what my roadblocks were and helped me see a way to go through them.  And what I found was, the ways out were not her suggestions, but my own. 

 

The best part is, I know the moment when my bottle broke.  I was on my first ever solo road trip.  No one was with me.  Almost no one knew I was going.  I had no one else's rules or plans to follow.  I got where I was going and I panicked.  What was I supposed to do.  As luck would have it, I arrived in time for Mass at a very small Catholic church behind my hotel. During his homily, the priest spoke of everyone's uniqueness.   Until we can truly embrace the unique individuals that God made us to be, we are unable to truly share ourselves with the world.  And that was the moment.

 

My heart has been released.  It will be broken a million times, but it will also ache with so much joy a million times more.  I am a unique, strange, overly excited, and sometimes just wacky person.  And now I am a person ready, really ready, to give with my whole heart.  It's going to be tough.  Some people in my life are not going to take this change in me well.  Some already haven't.  But that's okay.  I'm finally ready to live my life on my own terms.

 

So my New Year's resolution is this:  just hang on to what you've learned.  Like an addict out of rehab, you are about to return to the life you knew.  Don't slip back into those old ways simply because they are easy and what others expect.  Just be willing to have the courage to be yourself.