The Birthday Girl with the Biggest Heart

The problem probably started here. (Though blaming The Kitten alone isn't really fair as Lily's heart was set on animals long before the Saturday in February when The Kitten entered our lives.)

As much as I tried to plan Lily's birthday as a tea party, as a princess ball, as some sort of preschool athletic contest, no plan made more sense than Lily's first choice: a pet adoption party. And so, when The Kitten entered our home just two weeks before the party, the plans were already in motion; she just fit in as a brilliant accessory.

The first step was to check in with the moms of the three friends Lily was having for the party. Once each mom told me her daughter's favorite animal, I headed over to Amazon to buy some adorable Beanie babies (and a roll of velcro--more on that in a second).

Tuesday night, the process continued with ribbon, velcro, and some serious blisters on Jeff's fingers as he began to execute the plans I'd concocted.

(Bonus points if you can find four creatures in this picture!)

Using ribbons I found in my mom's ancient sewing box (how cool is that?!), we spent the Tuesday night before the party cutting ribbons and velcro to make custom-fit collars and leashes that the girls would be able to take on and off themselves. Jeff even designed "wrist slips" so they could take their new friends for a walk!

Wednesday afternoon, I stayed a bit late at work to create some certificates and checklists for the party. Using some designs I found online as guides, I drafted my own preschooler-friendly versions.

Adoption certificate (l), vet checklist (r)

By Friday night after Lily's bedtime, Jeff had gotten everything we needed from Party City, and I was ready to start creating some goody bags. The idea was to go along with the pet adoption theme, and I was pretty pleased with the final products.

Each bag had "pet toys" (Animal Crackers), "Puppy Chow" (homemade from this recipe), "cat food" (Goldfish) and two barrettes (based on the favorite animals each mom gave me for her daughter). My favorite part, though, were probably the personalized labels that said "Lily's Pet Adoption Center - [girl's name]'s Take-Home Supplies - Thanks for adopting a new friend today!"

While I was busy assembling bags, Jeff was hard at work creating custom-fit "pet carriers" for each girl's Beanie Baby. (The plan was to give the girls the opportunity to decorate their bags with stamps and stickers, but they were too excited to slow down once they got to that part of the party!)

Saturday morning gave us just enough time to prepare the final stages of the party. (If the "Pet Adoption Center" looks familiar, you might be having a flashback to Lily's Birthday 3.0, when Jeff built the stand to be Lily's pizza parlor.)

And, of course, what would a pet adoption be without a vet to check out our new friends? Our neighbor's twelve-year-old daughter was absolutely amazing as our resident vet (who also helped us wrangle the preschoolers for two hours!).

The girls had a wonderful time: everyone loved their individual pets (I'm so glad I asked for favorites ahead of time so there was no fighting over who got each animal!) and had tons of fun playing with them and giving regular check-ups. As for me, it felt like I'd channeled just a tiny bit of the incredible treasure hunt birthday parties my mom created for me and my brother each year. If I gave Lily even a tenth of the joy I experienced on those Saturdays once a year, I'd be pretty pleased!

Once the preschoolers were tired out and ready for cake, it was time for the rest of our guests to arrive--about 40 in total comprised of our neighbors, friends, and "chosen family."

But this blog isn't complete without one more note: the one that inspired the post's title. Even before adopting The Kitten (a rescue who had been tossed by the side of the road in Mississippi at just a few weeks of age), Lily made a declaration: she wanted no presents for her birthday, only "food and treats for doggies and kitties who don't have any." Well, it turns out that, when you tell a lot of animal lovers that information, hearts are touched and supplies abound. 

So much was donated that we'll be splitting it between three different shelters: the Humane Society, Wolf Trap Animal Rescue (where The Kitten came from), and a local shelter one of her godmothers will be bringing her to in order to have a special visit and meet the dogs and cats her supplies will help.

All in all, a very successful start to Lily's fourth year! 

Post-script: The Kitten probably deserves her own post, but suffice for now to say that she's bringing a lot of joy to all of our hearts--even her big brother's!

Rosie Posie Cottontail

Dear Rosie,

Christmas won't be quite whole without you. Though gone are the days of you drinking all the "spice water" out of the tree and enthusiastically chasing a laser pointer around the living room, you remain very much at the center of our Christmas celebrations. Whether perched in front of the tree or meowing pitifully until we get your pillow set out in front of the fireplace, you have always been our Christmas cat.

Of course, you didn't start out that way--as a Christmas cat, I mean. You started out as a tiny fluffball of a runt, the littlest one in the litter by far, the one who insisted on kneading me firmly in the armpit before attempting repeatedly to suckle on my arm. Perhaps taken from your mama a bit before you were ready, you seemed to imprint on me from the first night in our home with Guillie, and that has never changed. Not a night in the last 17.5 years has gone by in our home that hasn't found you tucked cozily in the crook of my arm, body under the covers and head sharing my pillow.

You've had to adjust quite a bit in the year and a half since your sister went up to heaven, and I'm so sorry for that. It's clear how much you miss her (not to mention how much you wish she was still here to deflect Lily's energetic adoration of you). You've learned to make do, to snuggle with Ozzy when necessary and to endure Lily's affection, but it hasn't been easy.

We joke that you are our cranky old lady, the one who tells us when she should be fed, who yowls until we form a lap, who constantly demands our attention and affection. But, Rosie Posie Cottontail, the truth is that your fur has soaked in more of my tears, your ears have endured more of my rants, and your comforting warmth has soothed more of my heartache than anyone could possibly imagine. If animals can be children--and I believe they can--then you are the child who first prepared me to be a parent. And for that I owe you the world.

Lily asked if she could take this picture of you and me tonight. I'm covered in a blanket because Lily thought it might bring me extra comfort, and there's a crackling fire warming you just outside the camera's frame. Tonight has been a teary one, sweet kitten, and I expect the next 48 hours won't be much better. Because now is the moment when I have to not be selfish, when I have to confront the pain I know you're in and allow you to leave, allow you to go greet Guillie (who will be waiting right next to God, Lily reminds me) and to be joy-filled again. I just wish it didn't hurt so much to take away your pain.

We will all miss you, sweet kitten-cat. Know that our hearts will never change.

With love,

Your person mama

Life (revised version)

For over 15 years, I've been reading, reflecting on, and returning the writing of high school students. There are assignments I enjoy more than others, but there are none so challenging to grade as the revision: the moment when I'm faced with the revised version of the student's work and am left with the task of discerning what has been changed and what still remains the same.

As I read a set of revisions from my freshmen a couple of weeks ago, I found myself unintentionally separating the papers into two categories: the cover-up job versus the total overhaul. Allow me to explain.

The cover-up job is the one that seeks to fix all the cosmetic issues. The commas have been adjusted; the run-ons have been remedied; the typos have been banished; the citations are now in proper MLA format. On the surface, the cover-up job is glossier and more polished than the original, but the foundation hasn't undergone any real change.

The total overhaul, on the other hand, is often virtually unrecognizable from the original draft. The thesis has shifted focus; the evidence has changed; the previous analysis has been scrubbed and replaced with new ideas. However, all the substantive changes have also resulted in some new problems: new fragments have arisen; the title of the text still isn't in italics; the apostrophes are haphazardly placed. On the surface, the total overhaul is still a bit scratched and bruised, but the foundation is sured up and ready to take on critical eyes.

I understand why my students sometimes prefer the cover-up job: it's quicker and easier to complete, and it might even gain them the extra point or two that nudges the assignment grade from a B to a B+. But my notes on those essays are always the same: "I appreciate the small changes you made, but a real revision takes courage and time. It requires your willingness to erase all the hard work you put in originally in order to create something better. It asks you to challenge yourself to think new ideas and find new ways to put them on the page. Next time, I encourage you to consider completing a total overhaul. I'll be happy to support you as you do so."

As I read those revisions two weeks ago and wrote a variation of that note on many drafts, I found myself contemplating how I've responded to the revisions life has thrown at me. Have I been willing to do the work of a total overhaul, or have I been content with a quick cover-up job? Have I complained about the time spent on a revision only to find there are now new errors to deal with, or have I been willing to take a deep breath, put my head down, and continue the process for as long as it takes?

I'm not sure what the answers are to those questions--though I am sure I've met each of life's revisions with a slightly different attitude. What I do know is that, if this is the first post you ever read on this blog, and if you saw the picture of the top of my wonderful family, you might be tempted to think that you were looking at my original draft, no changes recommended, no revisions or edits required.

But then I hope you'd go back and read the years written here. The years of heartache and pain, of joy and hope, of love and sorrow. Then you might see what I see in that picture: an incredible revision of the life story I thought I was writing. The one that ends up still a bit cracked and bruised on the outside, but the one that is constantly striving towards a firmer foundation. The one that bears the weight of too many revisions to count but that somehow is the gift I get to live every day.

And, most importantly, the one that reminds me of this: when you get to the end of one revision, it's just the start of the next.

Go, Mommy, Go!

The Chesapeake Bay Bridge is 4.35 miles long and rises to 186 feet above the bay. For many people, simply driving across its span causes heart palpitations, panic attacks, and worse. For others, its narrow width is intolerable only in light of the traffic congestion it causes on summer weekends. For me, it became the challenge to beat as I ran my first 10K. But before we step onto the bridge, let's review this journey.

You may remember this post from December 2015 when I'd picked up running again for the first time just four months earlier. My time for that first Run with Santa 5K was nothing stellar (33:56), but I was proud of what I'd accomplished. When I ran the same course again in March 2016 after several more months of training, I was pleased with my new personal record (28:19) but immediately set my sights on the next goal: break 28 minutes.

March 2016: Lucky Leprechaun 5K

This new goal required considerable more preparation as I knew I'd likely need to do more to train than just run three miles three days a week. After chatting with a good friend, Steph, who is a phenomenal runner herself, and after reading several articles on my own, I put myself into a regimen of interval training in the months leading up to my second Run with Santa 5K in December 2016. I even asked that (incredibly patient and gracious and encouraging) friend to join me in trying to break my personal record, and she happily agreed to pace me as I attempted to finish with the 9-minute miles required to reach my goal.

 December 2016: Run with Santa 5K

This time, not only did Jeff and Lily make it to the finish line to see us cross, but they got to witness the massive grin on my face as Steph checked her watch to report my time: 27:34. I'd trained hard, I'd proven to myself and my daughter that I could do whatever I set my mind to, and then I set my mind on my new goal of breaking 27:30 in the Run with Santa 5K, 2017 edition.

And that's when Steph stepped in with a new challenge: what about a 10K?

I've never been a distance runner--in fact, at that point, I'd never even attempted running more than 3.5 miles. I mulled over the challenge for several months: could I complete more than 6 miles? Even if I could, would I need to walk most of it? And how in the world was I supposed to do my job and be a mom and fit in a long run each week?

Not knowing the answer to any of those questions, I began to tentatively read about the Cross the Bay 10K--the one Steph recommended for my first race of a longer distance. Though the 1.7 miles uphill at the start was intimidating and the idea of participating in a race that has 20,000 entrants was overwhelming, I couldn't stand the idea that I'd back down from a challenge. And so, on March 21, 2017, I registered for the race.

Training started over the spring and summer as I tested my legs at distances up to 4.5 miles, but it wasn't until school began in September that I started to train in earnest. Five days a week, my alarm went off at 5am, and I pulled on my running gear and hoisted my workout, school, and lunch bags on my shoulder and made the pre-dawn drive to campus. Mondays were for 3-mile runs on the hilly road that leads into school, Tuesdays and Thursdays were 1-mile sprints on the treadmill followed by time on the elliptical, Wednesdays were grueling interval workouts on the track, and either Friday, Saturday, or Sunday was a distance run on the rolling hills surrounding our home. With each week that progressed, I found myself amazed that my body could take me 5, then 5.5, then finally 6 miles. Perhaps more shocking, though, was that I found I looked forward to the runs--not to the exhaustion or the early morning darkness or the seemingly endless uphills--but to the sense of accomplishment that waited at my own personal finish line each week.

"Early mornings, hard runs, long distances, discipline, race day"

In spite of all the preparation, standing in the bleachers of Navy Stadium last Saturday, holding my bib number for the next morning, I still found myself wondering quite what I'd gotten into. I'd set a ambitious goal for my first 10K: break an hour--and I just didn't know if I could do it, or if I would finish the race at all.

Nerves were at a fever pitch by the time I arrived at the start line Sunday morning at 7:45am. Unlike so many of the runners around me, I had no fancy gadgets or gear to measure my pace or chirp in my ear about distance completed. With just a simple stopwatch on my iPhone and a playlist ready to start, I stepped across the line and began my journey to "Beat the Bridge."

And beat it I did. Not exactly in the time I'd hoped (1 hour, 10 seconds was my official time), but without walking a single step and by running my hardest as I crossed the finish line.

November 2017: Across the Bay 10K

Jeff loves the photo above--he notes my feet aren't even touching the ground because I'm pushing so hard to fly across that finish. I love the photo above for a different reason: I know what I heard in this moment, and it makes me smile every time I see it.

"Go, Mommy, Go!"

Lily must have yelled it as loud as her little lungs could muster because I could somehow hear her over the other spectators, over the clanging cowbells, over the pounding chorus of "Eye of the Tiger" playing in my ear. If I'm flying in the picture, it's because that little voice was sending me some wings.

So, I did it. I didn't do it perfectly or exactly as I'd imagined, but I beat that bridge and ran my first 10K. Steph (who also ran the race but finished a ways ahead of me) is already sending me links to upcoming 10Ks, 8-milers, and half-marathons. For now, though, my sights are again set on my third Run with Santa 5K in 3 short weeks, so it's back to challenging interval training and keeping up my distance with weekly longer runs. 

I'll let you know how it goes.

Heart Never Changes

It started as a short phrase of affection, one of many we used in saying goodbye or goodnight to each other. Though it might sound trite to some, it never felt it to us as we called out, "I love you with all my heart!" As Lily grew older and became more accustomed to the familiar words, she shortened them for simplicity's sake, and "All my heart!" became the new phrase in favor.

(Of course, "all my heart" also spawned one of Jeff and Lily's most memorable toddler debates, catalyzed by Lily's assertion that she "owns" Daddy's heart, and, therefore, she can love him with "all my two hearts." But I digress.)

"All my heart" was a familiar phrase by late last spring, one that was perhaps in danger of becoming trite--even to us. But then the toddler tantrums began in earnest, the frustration set in, and the exhaustion often led me to wrestle mightily with feelings of anger. When I'd put Lily in a timeout, only to have her endlessly whine at the door; when I'd ask her to choose her clothes and get dressed, only to have her throw tops and pants around the room; when I'd try to cook dinner while feeding the cats and asking Lily to clean up, only to have her start wailing that I wasn't reading a story--well, sometimes, we would both dissolve in heaps of tears on the floor.

And those were the good days--when the exhaustion ended in tears. On others, it ended with me raising my voice, telling Lily that I needed to walk away or that she needed to sit by herself while I held her door shut and she pounded on the other side. Somewhere in the middle of one of those episodes, sunk on the floor outside her room, tears streaming down my face, I suddenly put something together: I still loved Lily with all my heart.

Of course I did--this isn't new news to Jeff or my parents or my best friends or any of you reading this blog. But it felt remarkably "new" to me--to discover that, even in a fit of intense frustration or extreme exhaustion, my heart was still full of nothing but love. And in that moment, I needed to tell Lily that. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Lily? (pounding on door stops)
Lily: (tearfully snuffling) Yes?
Me: I'm going to come in.

So I gave her time to back away from the door, picked her up in my arms, and carried her to the rocker in the corner of her room--the rocker that's been there since day one, that's absorbed so many emotions from all three of us. I sat her on my lap, her damp face facing me, and wrapped my arms around her waist.

Me: Lily, you know I love you with all my heart?
Lily: Yes.
Me: And you know my heart never changes? Even when you're having trouble being a good listener or when you're fighting with me or Daddy. Even when you get a timeout or can't have an extra story before bed. I always love you with all my heart. My heart never ever changes.
Lily: Heart never ever changes?
Me: Never ever.
Lily: Heart never changes?
Me: Heart never changes.

And with that, my daughter broke out in a wide smile, threw her arms around my neck and her head against my chest, and whispered quietly, "Me too, Mama. My heart never changes."

All these months later, it's still the last thing we say to each other. I wonder what her teachers think as she races down the hill to school, then stops at the bottom to call back, "Daddy! Heart never changes!" I relish hearing her voice follow me down the stairs after a give her a quick hug before going for my run: "Heart never changes!" I often need the reminder as we come out the other side of a storm of tear-filled tantrums: "Heart never changes!"

Because it doesn't, my sweet girl. And it won't. Never ever.

Heart never ever changes.

Summer Retrospective

I've been a student or a teacher pretty much my whole life. With the exception of my first summer out of college (when I was traveling with a children's theatre company for a year), I've always existed on this schedule of 9 months on, 3 months off (though now it's more like 9.75 months on, 2.25 months off). Now that I'm an administrator in a school, I still feel the shift in rhythm when the students leave and the campus quiets, but gone are the days of freedom, of not having to set my alarm, of feeling that I can truly stretch into a few months of summer.

That said, we made the most of this summer, both of the three weeks I had away from school and of the many weeks of other new adventures and exciting firsts. And so, since the photo journal is always more exciting that the written one, here's our summer.

It was a summer of firsts...

First fourth of July picnics and after-bedtime fireworks...

First milkshake (topped with the appropriate amount of whipped cream to celebrate successful nighttime potty training!):

First serious hike--Lily made it a full mile on some steep slopes!

It was a summer of favorite things...

Popsicle walks before bed:

Hours at the local playgrounds:

Visits to Sweet Frog on nights Daddy had to work:

Days at the pool and nights of neighborhood gatherings:

It was a summer to celebrate Lily's love of all creatures great and small...

Her much-beloved Ozzy and Rosie (who may not be with us much longer, but who Lily takes care of with great gentleness and care):

Her equally beloved Mallie, who she spent hours with every day we were in Connecticut (and still had plenty of love left over for Beamer and Dude!).

 Her adoration of her MelMel's new puppy, Oliver:

And her constant imaginary play with any stuffed creature in arm's reach:

A summer of a beach week with best friends...

And, somehow, even a summer of rejuvenation for Mom and Dad!

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't always ideal. There were tears and tantrums, anger and frustration, exhaustion and disagreements. But it was summer--the summer our daughter was three, the summer she first went to camp, the summer she first spent an overnight with her Ganny and Gannydaddy, the summer we found joy in spite of disappointment. The summer that made us smile.

The summer whose memories will keep us smiling long into the fall and winter ahead.

The summer whose sequel we're already planning for.