A desk, a good neighbor and lessons I learn from my three-year-old

My neighbor saw a desk on someone’s curb and thought of me. An early-morning text reminded me that my neighbors are like family to me.

She volunteered to go out in the cold - in her pajamas and a winter coat - and join me in my pajamas and winter coat to help bring it to my home.

My daughter was so excited – she couldn’t wait to wash it up and move it up into her room.

We’d been looking for a desk that would be small enough to fit into her teeny-tiny room. This vintage classroom desk was perfect.

My oldest daughter brought it upstairs and my youngest colored in her room on her new-to-her desk all day long.

She is the child who is always appreciative. Her sister gave her an old skating bag when she received a new bag. My sweet three-year-old looked at her older sister and said, “I like that your bag wheels light up; thank you for giving me your old bag.”

My heart just melts.

She will wrap her arms around me and say, “I love you,” for no reason. She will talk to anyone and flash a smile that says, "I appreciate you for who you are."

In many ways, I wish I were more like her – more expressive. More willing to wear my heart on my sleeve. More able to try anything without fear. More appreciative of old, worn-out desks, hand-me-down bags and shared toys.

She teaches me about being true to myself and seeing the joy in every little thing – Every. Single. Day.

... because every life matters

A year-and-a-half ago, our neighborhood suffered an unspeakable tragedy.

It affected each of us in very different ways, but we were all changed forever – some of us began thinking about the safety of our children and asked the uncomfortable questions we never asked before about what items were in our neighbors’ homes. Some of us began to worry about the other neighbors. Some of us felt our own guilt. Some of us were just thankful for our own family members.

I felt guilt.

At our neighbor’s wake and funeral Mass, I was overcome with grief, but I also was overcome with guilt – guilt that I didn’t see the pain this man was facing - guilt for not realizing that by dropping his daughter off at my home, he was trying to deal with his depression the only way he could and, to keep her safe, he was putting his daughter in the hands of others.

I had been angry, feeling as though I was being taken advantage of because we homeschooled and were home. I asked the gentleman if he could please wait until after 1:30, so that we could have time to finish school for the day. He would be at my door at 1:30 with his daughter and then just leave – and never once would come to check on her. Sometimes I even put a sign on my door saying that we couldn’t play that day. Now I wonder how many times he stood on my doorstep and read that sign.

It was frustrating.

But now, I am remorseful.  I don’t blame myself for what happened, but I do wish I had seen the signs. I wish that I had taken the time to be a better neighbor. I wish I had invited this man to dinner. I wish I had dropped off some baked goods when I knew he was alone.

I didn’t.

This changed our small neighborhood and I think we are all a bit more like a family.

There is a learning curve in life.  When my babies were very small, I didn’t do a great job of reaching out to neighbors. I was overwhelmed with taking care of my kids and my husband and surviving sleepless nights, toys on the floor and massive piles of laundry.

Then God threw in this event across the street. It caught me off-guard and hit me full-force.  This was the moment I needed to start acting more like Christ to those outside of my family.

Last night, our neighbors came over for an impromptu game night and dinner. We stretched our dinner for four to make room for eight. It was easy. And it was fun. My neighbors are awesome. I need to do this more often.

Tonight, I am making a double-batch of apple bread. We went apple-picking not that long ago and had many apples to spare.

One of my neighbors is hurting.

I am learning. This time, I will be at their door.  I will have apple bread. And, I will be asking how they are doing and if there is anything else I can do for them – because every life is precious. And every life matters.

A little worry; a little hope

Ebola has me a teensy bit worried. I am not an alarmist – wait, I am, but I try really, really hard not to be. I’ve read about the devastation it has caused in Africa. I’ve known about it for years. I have. And, honestly, it hasn’t been a priority for me to worry about it.

Now it is here. And, it is sad that it took the deadly disease coming to the United States to get our scientists to really start working with sincerity on vaccines and treatment for Ebola.

So I sit, contemplating the future …

Today, one of my best friends came for breakfast with her two adorable twin toddlers.

After a pancake breakfast and a quick clean-up, playtime was in order.

I watched the wonder in those sweet toddlers' eyes as they laid down wooden train tracks, used colored chalk for the very first time and drew pictures with Crayola Color Wonder markers.

Then tonight, my oldest daughter played the game of Clue with my husband, using logic and strategy to deduce the key components of the crime, while my youngest put together animal puzzles with me. She twisted and turned each piece creatively to make sure she could complete the big picture.

Watching this wonder, this creativity, and this logical thinking gives me hope.

I hope that this same wonder that causes toddlers to lay pieces of wooden tracks to create a master plan is present in the scientists peering through microscopes. I pray that the same logic that allows my eight-year-old to win a game of Clue against my husband is present in those who look at the past research that has been done. And, I am confident that the creativity I see in my pre-schooler also is present in the men and women who seek to find a cure – working diligently to put together the pieces that could save so many.

Juxtaposing the fear that is Ebola is the experience I had last night. A group of my dear friends waited with bated breath while one of our own experienced a home birth for the first time – right next door. We were all supposed to be meeting, but our friend went into labor and she just happens to live next door to the host. As word came that the birth was imminent, we all stayed – waiting, praying and hoping. The news traveled across the yard that a precious baby boy had been born to these amazing parents, turning them from a family of seven to a family of eight. It was such a joyous moment and we all felt like we were a part of it.

Life is precious.

I continue to pray for all those who strive to protect it.

Tonight I am holding my children a little tighter and telling my husband a little more often how much I love him and appreciate him. And, I continue to hope …

The change of seasons

Fall is here.

Our garden has long ago yielded its last bounty.

The leaves are turning shades of bright orange and burning red.

Days of splashing in the pool with my littles, spending all day outside with the neighborhood children, and going for runs early in the morning are coming to a close.

While my summer was full of time with family – carefree and whimsical, fall reminds me to hold my family close.

Some of my dear family travel to warmer climates; others soak up the outdoors knowing a cold Midwest winter soon will follow.

My family enjoys fall (despite its being a precursor for the aforementioned winter). There is apple-picking, (a lot of) baking, pumpkin pie, yummy candles and that cozy feeling of sitting around the fireplace wrapped up in blankets while reading stories.

There will be game nights, popcorn on the stove, trips to the pumpkin patch, matching aprons while cooking for family and friends – yep, I love that my daughters now both can cook with me – crisp mid-morning walks, fall leaf mosaics and being thankful for the many gifts we have been given, friends we have made and family that lives sooooo close.

It sounds a little idyllic, I know.

Fall is also filled with colds, runny noses, rain, sometimes bone-chilling temps (we need to get prepped for sub-zero winter weather somehow, right?).

I tend to get nostalgic when I pull out the autumnal decorations with their warm hues. So, I choose to be thankful for the beauty that surrounds us during this season – the smell of applesauce simmering in my crock-pot, freshly-baked pumpkin pie, pumpkin spice granola in my oven and warm vanilla candles.

The beginning

Truth be told, I love vintage.

My daughter found an old typewriter - yes, I said typewriter - in our basement.

She dusted off the old turquoise case.

I pressed the hard plastic keys. The metal letters struck the black ribbon, and, as the white paper revealed the slightly bruised paper, I fell in love with the sound of the carriage return and the feeling of my fingers getting a pretty intense workout.

The ancient machine worked.

This beauty was my mother's typewriter. It was the typewriter on which I wrote my very first stories - the typewriter that helped me earn a Young Author award as a small child, that later assisted me in completing job applications and that then helped me write a winning scholarship essay.

The smell of the paper after it comes out of the platen and is released by the paper bail is almost intoxicating. The sound of the keys stretching to reach the blank paper and strike it with just enough force to leave the perfect mark drowns out almost every other noise.

As I compare the experience to sitting here with my laptop on my couch, I believe there must have been something quite soothing about the peace an author had so many decades ago, when he would sit in solitude - probably forced because the sound of a typewriter clicking away at full-speed actually is deafening!



I am thankful that I can use the delete key and that I can save and change my work as I please. The computer has increased my productivity and allowed for creative independence. I can rework a piece with very little effort on my part. I can cut and paste, strike and add paragraphs and correct word choice - all with the stealthy touch of a very soft keystroke.

But, there is something about that typewriter. And my daughter feels it, too. So, for now, we are writing, er, typing letters to each other - the old fashioned way. And, it feels so good to sit where it all began:)

Another milestone

Tonight, at 7:46, my oldest baby turned eight.

It seems unfathomable that so much time has elapsed.

She is the one who gave me the title, "mother."  She is the one who taught me the meaning of sleepless nights, made my a heart burst with so much love I just couldn't take it, and helped me understand the pure joy of bringing a new life into this world.

Reflecting back on these eight years, I've come so far. I learned more than I ever could have imagined from her, my mommy-friends and the life my husband and I forged with our new family.

I gave up my high school teaching career. At the time, I was torn. I wanted so much to continue to teach the students I had grown to love, but I also longed to stay by my daughter's side. Ultimately, the sleepless nights decided for me.

I couldn't have been happier.

We now are a family of four.

I have two precious little girls who make my life exciting, stressful and beautiful all at the same time. I wouldn't trade that for the world.

What I didn't expect was to have been on the cusp of a new career.

A journalism job literally fell into my lap when my oldest was just a year old. It was not a huge time commitment, and I was excited to get out of the house to interview other adults from time to time. It was perfect. I taught journalism at the high school, so eventually the paper called me to the copyediting side.

I have been blessed with numerous opportunities to use my writing and photography skills over the past seven years. I am looking forward to new opportunities in this second career - eight years after giving up my first to take on the best job I will ever have - raising up my daughters.

Happy eighth birthday, oldest little!

We drove into the city

We drove into the city yesterday.

As the country roads gave way to the highway, the farm fields quickly turned to industrial areas. And then, the skyscrapers came out of nowhere – piercing the clouds and towering over each other, clamoring to stretch higher than the next.

As a young adult, I yearned to live here – to walk to the corner store, to use public transportation through the perfect grid of streets and to embrace every ounce of culture I could eek out of this bustling metropolis.

Fast-forward about fifteen years: I took my girls. We appeared to fit in amongst the crowds, but a quick trip to the corner Walgreen’s reminded us that we did not.

Those we passed on the sidewalks hurried through congested crosswalks, raced passed the other pedestrians and never looked me in the eye.  Even worse, the three people ahead of us in the checkout line were brusque toward the seemingly friendly cashier. Their callous responses saddened me as I watched his countenance change each time a customer rudely ignored him, just grabbing their plastic bag and walking away.

When I said, “Thank you, sir” he actually looked up and said, “Thank you for being so polite.”

It stopped me in my place. When had we as a society become so introspective that merely responding to another human being no longer was commonplace, but something rare? Was it just the day? Or were the people we encountered truly unhappy? Was it the constant crowd? Or, perhaps, the busy-ness of their lives?

I think I will always be drawn to the architectural brilliance and the cultural magnificence that literally explodes from every corner of the city. But, perhaps I realize now, more than ever, that the city – with all its nightlife and magic – actually may be a lonely place.

I am thankful to live in my small town. There is an innate trust that we have here. We stop and help a child fallen off a bicycle. We greet and sometimes give snacks to the postal worker. We watch our waiters and waitresses work through high school and move on to college. We know our neighbors. We invite people to dinner. It is that kind of town.

I am sure there are plenty of friendly city-dwellers, and plenty of grumpy country-folk. The creative hub downtown forever will draw me to it like a magnet, but the open spaces and the freedom of walking along a path or having a backyard garden will keep me grounded – at least for now.

Wherever you live, a smile (and a kind word) is sure to go a long way. You never know the difference you may make in someone’s life.