The Perfect Blanket

A letter to my friend Krista at her baby shower:

I couldn’t have known when I started my first stitch that this blanket would become a story. Of course, in hindsight, I guess I should have known. With all things where love is concerned we begin with an expectation and end with an experience. I found the same holds true when you’re knitting your very first baby blanket. It began with a vision and as I stitched, I prayed. I prayed for you, for Sprout, for your journey as a Mom, and for all the things in between. It came with me in the car, to restaurants, to ball games, and on vacation. It sat with me on the couch as I poured hours upon hours into making absolutely perfect. And then I made a mistake. So, I unraveled and re-stitched. Perfect once again. I added yarn and hid the seams, I cut, knotted, tucked, tweaked and knitted until… I realized a made a huge mistake and had to pull hours of work out and began again. Finally, I was finished and as I made my final stitch I was so excited to pull the needles and gaze upon my perfect creation.

It wasn’t perfect.  It was too long and disproportionate – it needed to be HALF the length it was. All along I had no way of knowing the dimensions while the corded needles were binding it up. I was devastated. How could I possibly give you something that wasn’t perfect? I could start over, I could call in the knitting professionals, I could throw it away and buy a perfect blanket.  But instead, I cried. And then I questioned my ability and contemplated whether I was cut out to be a knitter. And then I got some encouragement and perspective. Perhaps if I folded the too long creation it would be the exact right length. With some suggestions on stitching and taking a little break I came back to finish my labor of love but guess what? It’s not perfect and that is exactly what is perfect about it.

As a Mom, you will have a vision, you’ll want to do everything perfectly. You will pray, you’ll painstakingly labor over doing all the right things. You will get a lot of things right and you’ll make mistakes and then you will fix them. You will teach, train, guide, provide, and protect. And, a time will come when you’ll get frustrated and question your ability but when it does, I’ll be there. I will offer encouragement and perspective and even make some “stitching” suggestions.

Freud would have said, “sometimes a blanket is just a blanket”, but to those that want to see something more, the story unfolds.

You see, if you look closely you’ll see the imperfections. You’ll note where the yarn broke, where one section ends and the other begins. You’ll see where the yarn is stretched thinner than the rest because of the pulling and re-stitching. You’ll see some finger marks where it needed some extra finessing and a loose end here and there. But if you close your eyes and take in all the love that is and will be wrapped up in it, you'll open them you’ll see her beautiful eyes looking at you with all the adoration she has and know that perfection isn’t the goal, love is. 

XXOO

Once Upon an Enchanted Soda Machine

There is a tale as old as time where two unlikely people meet and through a series of circumstances end up loving one another. This is Disney’s finest story line and one we have grown to swoon at because really, who doesn’t appreciate true love’s story? Perhaps the greatest clash of opposing worlds is found in the story of Beauty and the Beast. We all know the tale; full of enchantment, apprehension, determination, and ultimately love. We draw parallels to this story when we see couples in appearance or personalities that remind us of Belle and the “Beast” but in my parallel story Belle is a toddler and the Beast is not under a spell but the kind of love that bloomed is greater than any romantic love could compare to – I’d like to invite you to my guest on this brief story but long journey…

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Myah, she was just over a year old and had already faced Gaston-esque challenges when she found herself in what her young mind would view as an enchanted castle. She had been there before, as a matter of fact she was very familiar with her surroundings but now it was different, now the castle was her home. The Beast had prepared her wing by adorning it with pink walls, white furniture, and colorful toys and books…. so many books. He wanted her to love being there; to feel comfortable and safe and to learn and grow and thrive. But she was timid; afraid of his large stature, deep voice, and commanding presence so she avoided him. He tried talking to her, playing with her, even just sitting next to her but she wouldn’t be persuaded.

Finally, the Beast had an idea. Knowing Myah loved the soda machine located in the castle dungeon he began his invitation to connect by announcing his desire for "pop" and she would watch carefully from the top of the stairs while he retrieved the soda by putting the money in, pushing the button, and cheering when the can appeared. Eventually she was brave enough let him carry her as they descended the stairs together with the promise of her inserting coins, pushing the button, and watching the can roll out. It had worked; this chance encounter became a daily ritual they looked forward to – both realizing there was something there that wasn’t there before.

Over the years the Beast and his Belle forged an unbreakable bond born of sheer determination and the help of a seemingly enchanted soda machine. He fiercely protected her while giving her freedom to become who she was always meant to be and if she ever wants to look back and remember, she just has to gaze into the mirror of a lifetime of memories he carries just for her.  The happily ever after in this tale comes not only because he had saved her but she had saved him too proving that the love between a daughter and her Daddy is far better than any Fairy Tale. 

Minnesota Chronicles

Entry 1: 

I have forgotten all of my lipgloss. This is tragic and highly upsetting because the nearest VS is too far for a quick run. In a desperate attempt to maintain optimal lip moisture I have purchased $6 cherry Chapstick from the airport which seems to be having the opposite effect on my now painfully chapped lips. Logically I can only attribute this phenomenon to years of solely slathering thick shiny high-quality gloss to my kisser and they are now retaliating in protest to the cheap imposter. I am now concerned Katy Perry's hit song was a lie. 

In addition to my life with pampered lips I have discovered I have become used to entering small spaces and having the lights automatically illuminate. Since no such electrical prowess has been installed here I have found myself standing in the dark searching for the switch on several occasions. This may continue to be a challenge for my clearly conditioned behavior. Damn that Pavlov. 

I have, however successfully conquered day 2 of my nutritional cleanse despite M's relentless attempts to feed me tomatoes, cheese, and raisins though I believe this may have triggered a dream sequence wherein I subconsciously sabotaged myself by partaking in an Isa-shake blended with rum. I have concluded I am both hungry and possibly need to go to AA. 

Entry 2:

I have taken to using the lower level bathroom at R&L's house as it allows for an unabashed explosion of the plethora of cosmetics and beauty tools required to perform my daily routine. What I did not account for is the new hand-held shower head which I have tried in vain to situate at a height for optimal cleaning coverage while not spraying out the door. Feeling sure I had achieved the perfect height, I confidently jumped in only to find myself being pelted with water shooting with the force of a pent up geyser straight into my tired eyes. I am thankful for the aforementioned mass of cosmetics that will be required to mask what I am convinced will become a black eye. 

In addition to the aformentioned bathroom escapades; I am quite certain R may never re-enter his home after leaving for the day for fear he will get another eyeful of someone sitting upon the throne with the door wide open. I'm not sure who was more mortified. Probably him. 

Good news! I discovered a tube of lipgloss I had left on a previous visit. 

Entry 3: 

I am quite certain I don't know how I ever arrived at new destinations prior to cellphone GPS. Even with my little safetynet I managed to get lost in an apartment complex whist looking for a bistro. Were it not for my more than obvious "I'm lost" face and the grace of a sweet old resident I'm certain I'd still be walking around Prior Lake. Operation Surprise D was a huge success. She should turn 40 every year. 

Entry 4:

I received the strangest massage today. I'm fairly certain the therapist has a foot fetish and truth be told this really only works if both people share the affinity. Suffice it to say my pedicurist is now going to wonder why I show signs of PTSD when she puts cotton between my toes. 

Entry 5:

It is possible D now suffers from PTSD as well as there was an incident involving a bikini top and side boob; neither of which were her own. Also, we may be banned from the Galleria - and definitely Crave for for flaunting naked faces in public. We know this to be true from the judging looks bestowed upon us by the Lululemon wearing, Louis Vuitton toting, granola (and only granola) eating Housewives of Edina. 

Entry 6:

I fit in M's boxers. Comfortably. I consider this a double victory: 1) Size matters 2) In no other framily setting could I have paraded around in someone else's underwater and had it be perfectly acceptable.

Final Entry; 7:

Important observation: Once upon a time I was convinced saying goodbye would get easier with time. Time does not always work that way. Time does however offer perspective; I now know I'll gratefully say a thousand tearful goodbyes becuse they always begin with the most amazing hellos. 

Mother's Day

Perhaps this is how it was always meant to be, after-all it began with a young girl yearning to be loved and ended with that same girl, though experience and years had aged her, still thirsting for a love that made sense to her. 

 That’s the thing about love; it doesn't always show up in the ways you’d expect. At 15, my Mom showed love by choosing to keep the child she found her all too young self, pregnant with.  At 16 I showed up in a delivery room vying for my own version of that love.  Over the course of the next 40 years our ideas of love didn't always align but love was there – a love that transcends pain and reason. 

Love, I've learned is often a person’s ideal of how we think others should treat us, how they should make us feel, what we can get out of it. We expect to be loved by our own perfect description of it and feel justified in withholding our own love when hurt, misunderstanding, and wrongs have occurred. But despite that, I've also learned that love shows up.

My Mom would tell you she spent a lifetime disappointing people – just ask her siblings – most deprived her of their love until (and perhaps even after) her dying day. Failed relationships and marriages that ended in divorce seemed to prove to her that she was not worthy of that love either. Even the love of her children was threatened as hard choices were made over the years. Truth be told, she caused some hurt, she had some regrets, and made some bad choices but I've yet to meet someone who hasn't. 

My Mom was not a selfless person but not because she was selfish, but because she sought love so desperately she took to attaining it in ways that didn't make sense to many of the people in her life.

To those that loved her and allowed her to love them back you’ll hear a different story; and this is mine.

Being the daughter of a teenage mother had its share of challenges; while I was learning to walk and talk she was determined to graduate High School. While I was entering my school years she was a twenty-something single Mom trying to balance responsibility and not let life pass her by. When I was planning a wedding she was divorced and working on making a new relationship work. While I was hoping for a baby she was watching her husband die of cancer. While I was trying to become a Mom, she was busy being a Mom and step Mom. While I was working on being a wife and Mom, she longed for me to need her and yet often, as circumstances dictated, her need for me was greater.  We zig-zagged in our relationship and many times the roles reversed as I did my best to “mother her”; all the while dealing with my own disappointing ideas of the love and relationship between a Mom and her daughter.

Bob always says, “in order to move past disappointment we must give up the hope that things could have been any different.” These are wise and healing words. As I started to embrace that truth I began to see my Mom through different eyes. 
Eyes that didn't condemn, hold grudges, or demand justice. Eyes that saw a woman just like me learning about life and love through experiences the people in our lives. Eyes that saw her, really saw her as someone who desires love, acceptance, and loyalty like we all do.

My Mom may not have gotten everything right, but she loved in the only way she knew how and for me that was enough. She was at my school programs, helped me stand up for my rights, offered support and encouragement when I needed it most, gave me away at my wedding, celebrated my victories, mourned with my losses. She painstakingly helped me sort through and pack boxes as we planned our move even though she wanted nothing more than for us to stay.  

Through both the good and bad times she taught me about love – love that isn't bound by someone else’s perimeters but the kind that sees through them and loves anyway.  I don’t know if she knew, really knew how much I loved her until the very end – I think she always feared she had failed me in some way, but love showed up.  As I sat by her side, stroking her hair, rubbing lotion into her hands and feet reminiscing about the good times she smiled because she knew she was loved, and as I laid my head on her chest while she breathed her last breaths I knew I was loved.

So on this Mother’s Day, my first without hearing her voice, I long to pick up the phone, to remind her again that she was a great Mom, that I am proud to be her daughter, and that I will honor her life and memory until my own last breath because that’s what love does. 

Unfriending Soapbox

In the days of social media and digital connections I am thankful for the ability to use technology to get and stay connected with friends and family. I have often found myself arguing the constructive uses for these virtual platforms against the opposition of many who feel Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and the like have replaced human interaction with agreeably valid points. This is why it pains me to see people using "unfriending" as a means for expressing ill feelings. 

Don't get me wrong, I have terminated my share of virtual connections but barring the general acquaintance, I guarantee the affected unfriend was not surprised by the severing of the tie because we'd had a real life discussion to lead us to that point. The opposite is true as well; having been the unfriend-ee, I am rarely shocked to find the cyber window into one another's life has been shut. It's when the cut can be felt as a physical wound that it is being grossly misused. 

While every one has the ability to use their social media in whatever fashion they choose, it doesn't mean they should. If you were friends/family in real life don't you think they deserve at the very least, an explanation? But no, no, our culture suggests that passive aggressive posts and unfriending is the way to make a point with out actually owning your thoughts and actions. 

Even as I type the software doesn't recognize the word 'unfriend' and that, my friends, should tell us something as a society - as humans. So stop congratulating those that "made the cut" in your posts after you've gone through and "cleaned out" your connections. There are better ways to deal with your current emotional state than with a cyber F-you. Consequently, if you no longer want to be Facebook friends - be darn sure you don't want to be friends in real life either because for most, there's very little difference.

Honestly, I'm shaking my head as I reread what I've written because really, there should be no reason for it. We are real people with real feelings, living in an already really challenging world - yet we have the luxury of connecting on virtual forums. So with that social privilege should come social responsibility. Do better, people. Don't let unfriending be the marker for this generation. 

What a Year

In looking back on this past year 2014 was not at all what I expected it to be as I cheersed the New Year with champagne and kisses surrounded by my dearest friends and family. It started subtly enough; an innocent conversation between Myah and I as we warmed our perpetual Minnesota chill in the steam room at LifeTime Fitness. She was sharing with me about her day and what she had learned in Drivers Ed when, like any good parent would, I took that opportunity to ask her what she planned on doing to make money to pay for the car, insurance, and gas that having her driver’s license would require. Without skipping a beat she informed me that she would not need a car as she was planning on going to Georgia Tech for college where the MARTA would suffice as her main mode of transportation. Recalling that she had toured GT the previous summer while there for a wedding with her Grandma I began to ask questions about why, what she liked, credentials, criteria, and of course tuition. As our conversation neared its end I recall shrugging and saying “I could live in Georgia”. And as the saying goes; be careful what you wish for. 

That simple entertaining of thought, subsequent discovery of the aforementioned tuition, prayer, and a whole sky of stars aligning we began our journey south. Reflecting upon this past year, I can unequivocally say this was definitely the biggest transition I have faced in my 40 years. Bigger than getting married, becoming a Mom, and losing loved ones. Scarier than the Haunted Basement of the Soap Box Factory. More emotional than the first time I watched Rose lose Jack’s grip as he slipped into the icy waters after the Titanic sank. And, truth be told, more exciting than stepping onto a Royal Caribbean cruise ship.

From telling our friends and family the news to selling our house and saying goodbye to all of the above, many of the truths I had come to know were beautifully confirmed:  First; that I am surrounded by the best people in the world who planned parties, helped pack, stored and sold countless items, supported us, encouraged us, and most importantly, cried with us. They show up when you least expect it and need it most. Second; I know now that even on my worst day as a Mom I will move mountains to give Myah the best chance at achieving her dreams. Third; I know that my husband is the best kind of magician – no tricks, no sleight of hand, no smoke and mirrors; pure, raw, hard to accomplish, triumphant magic. He makes things happen for the simple pleasure of making me smile. and finally, I understand myself better. Not in a self-discovery “ah-ha” kind of way but in a quiet resolve and content kind of way. I used to think that being virtually omni-present and involved in every detail of people’s lives was how I proved myself as a friend (don’t get me wrong I long for spending time and knowing all the details but 1100 miles is a distance not easily bridged in person) and now I see that true friendship has no boundaries. It is not stifled by time differences, limited by distance, or diminished by frequency of visits. It is, however intentional and fueled solely by love. 

So as I look back on this past year of unforeseen heartache coupled with unexpected adventure I am humbled because it is part of my life’s story and that is my favorite book.

They say fences make good neighbors...

When you move into a new neighborhood one of the first things you wonder is whether your neighbors will be nice. Are they easy going? Are they loud? Do they take care of their lawn? Ultimately, will we love them or loathe them? Moving into the corner lot of Coolidge Street 11 years ago we wondered those very things and being new to the neighborhood those same questions were being pondered about us. It didn't take long for curious neighbors to come greet the newbies and assess the young family joining their neighborhood ranks. 

To the back, we learned that the mature couple was meticulous about thier lawn grooming and didn't care for our lack of a green thumb and mediocre lawn maintenance. They planted fast growing trees to finish off the already partial blockade of pine trees clearly defining where our (often brown) lawn ended and their golf-green lawn began. 

To the side we discovered a very different type of neighbor. They were kind, friendly, always outside working on a project or garden and became our sole resource for borrowing tools. These neighbors kept an extra eye on anything out of the ordinary, helped snowblow, brought flowers from their garden (I think Lisa knew I'd never be growing my own), and were simply there with a smile a and a wave as we went about our respective daily lives. 

When one of their many projects included building a fence seperating our property lines I felt a pang of disappointment assuming they had grown weary of our consistent flow of social activities and that perhaps we were not the neighbors they had hoped for. As the fence went up I watched as Mark situated each wood slat next to the one before so tight that even air would find it difficult to pass - surely they wanted complete separation. As the weeks passed and the fence went up I had resigned myself to the fact that we had somehow failed them as neighbors. 

What I hadn't considered was an opening in that fence; one with an ornate walk through and long lattice trellis that was designed to allowed easy access from our back yard to theirs. It was never discussed, it just was what it was - an open invitation for a neighborly visit. 

Years have passed since then and we still adore our amazing neighbors so it was with sad hearts that we walked through our walkway last month to share the news of our moving away. Before long we found Mark attaching hinges to the walkway opening and crafting a seamless door so that when shut, the new neighbors would be none the wiser that there was ever a passageway connecting our families. The door is complete but they have yet to seal it shut while we are still here. As I sit today and look at that open door knowing the new owners will only see fence, I am reminded of the old saying that fences make good neighbors

but in my experience a fence with a walk through makes good friends.