First/Last First (grade)

Last day of first grade, and Owen isn't the only one excited! I'll be honest, it's been a bumpy year. Figuratively ... and physically.

That's the bump Owen suffered from a tumble in gym class, which no one seemed to notice. Not the gym teacher, the music teacher who had him in class right after, or his homeroom teacher at the end of the day.

Of course I contacted the principal right away and to his credit, he responded with sincere apologies, not too many excuses (although he did suggest perhaps Owen's bangs covered it up in school) and spoke to each of Owen's teachers about the incident. Still, it took me a long time to get over it.

Yet Owen seemed unfazed - by the bump at least. His issues with school began with talk of a few of his classmates that were "mean" and got in trouble every day. We had many chats about bullies, appropriate behavior, and being a good friend and classmate.

He also struggled with lunch, and after going in to join him one day, I understood. The cafeteria of his elementary school is chaos. Loud. Hectic. Busy. As an introvert, Owen craves some time to be quiet and take things in. Between his class (more on that in a bit) and the environment at lunch, he just wasn't getting what he needed. We had a lot of talks about that too; I went in about once a week to provide him with comfort and I seriously considered having him moved to the "allergy" table, which always seemed a lot calmer.

We were still seeing his therapist at that time (we started shortly after Dennis' accident when Owen became anxious and was struggling with a lot of emotions) and she helped him come up with and practice strategies to make lunch a better experience. Slowly, things got better on that front.

And then one day Owen sat crying at breakfast, telling me he didn't want to go to school. It happened again the next day. And the next. But he couldn't, or wouldn't, put his reasons into words. At the same time I had befriended a classmate's mother, and she called one day to ask me if Owen was unhappy in class. Her daughter had recently come home crying about school too.

We reached out to his teacher (who up to this point had ignored all my offers to come in to volunteer in class and was adamant that I didn't need to come in for a parent conference because Owen was doing fine), and that's when she told us both in no uncertain terms that she didn't have the time to teach our "quiet, good" kids because some of the class was taking all her energy to discipline. She begged us to go to the principal, and by her voice I knew she was at the end of her rope.

Again, to his credit, the principal listened and made a few changes within the next few days that made a world of difference. Owen no longer cried before the school day, although he never exactly became enthusiastic to go unless there was a field trip or fun day planned.

Looking back I wish that I had become a lot more vocal, a lot earlier. I wish I had acted on my feelings that something wasn't quite right sooner, and advocated more for my child. I feel like I let Owen down. I wish I pushed for a conference, and although I did end up volunteering for another 1st grade teacher which showed me a lot, I wish I insisted on coming to at least sit in Owen's classroom one day.

And while in many ways I am disappointed in our experience this year, I can also say that we still learned and grew.

I'm grateful that riding the bus and being with the neighborhood kids everyday has opened up a whole new world of friendships to Owen, and I love seeing him happily play in the yard with his new buddies.

I'm really proud of Owen for the gains he's made socially and emotionally. He navigated his new school and some tough situations and learned what works best for him. I can see that he's become stronger. He developed a positive relationship with the class "bully" and built on a foundation of compassion for others (at Play Day, he was one of two kids to go over to an injured classmate and try to comfort her).

While he told me he was "bored" a lot this year, his report cards and test results show he did great work, especially in Math (brag moment: Owen scored 100% on both of the county wide math assessments). According to an assignment he brought home this week he also learned "meshuring", found that it was hard to get a soccer ball during recess, and was surprised that you weren't allowed to bring toys to first grade.

Through this challenging year I learned how to watch Owen climb up the stairs of bus 16 without crying, let my preppy fashion standards lapse (a little) and allowed Owen to wear athletic shorts and t-shirts to school every day, and realized it's not just OK but occasionally absolutely necessary to be the squeaky wheel. And I learned that if you buy your child ice cream when visiting for lunch you will also be buying all his buddies ice cream.

So we both head into summer a little braver, wiser, smarter. Time to enjoy our time together and make lots of great memories. Hope y'all have a fantastic summer too!

Gifts for This Mom

I waited a long time to be able to celebrate Mothers Day. To own it.

I didn't marry Bob until age 29 and when I became a step mother to Cearra I was very conscious of not trying to "take" her mother's place. And thanks to Disney, step moms don't really get to celebrate Mother's Day, although I've long felt, now more than ever, like C's mom too.

Baby fever first hit me in earnest in January of 1997. I remember coming home from driving a laboring friend to the hospital in the middle of the night and telling Bob, let's have a kid! Instead, two months later I was having surgery for breast cancer at age 31. We waited through treatments to finish, and waited to be given the OK from my doctors.

Next came the discovery I couldn't get pregnant "naturally" and the long, trying months of procedures and shots in my stomach before the day I finally sat on the couch crying and knowing I could not endure that particular form of hope wrapped in barbed wire one more time.

We turned to adoption. And more waiting. We officially started the process in October 2005, and brought Owen home in March of 2007, the day after I turned 40.

If you lost count, or, like me, aren't great at math, that's nine years of waiting from when I first imaged having a baby to becoming my baby's mom.

My point in recounting all that is to say again: I waited a long time to be able to celebrate Mother's Day.

Is it any surprise that I totally bought in to the consumer side of the holiday these past seven years? Yep, I wanted the cards and the flowers and bring on the jewelry. I wanted to go to Mother's Day brunches and dinners out. I wanted to celebrate in capital letters that I was finally, emotionally, officially a mom!

My family did a good job. Bob made me a card with picture of him, the kids, and the cats, and I teared up. One year not too long ago Cearra addressed her card to me "Dear Mom", and I cried. My parents sent me a card saying how proud they were of me as a mom, and I bawled. Last year Owen picked out a ceramic rose and lawn sculpture type rabbit for me, and I laughed so hard I cried. I gloried in all of it.

With Mother's Day just around the corner, I was thinking of what I'd like as a gift; in other words, what shiny object I could pick out and email to Bob that I'd like. And I realized that while I can always find things I want, the more important thing is what I need.

On Mother's Day and every day, I need my family to know I love them. I need to kiss Bob in the morning although I'm still half asleep when he heads off to work, and I need him to know how much I appreciate him supporting me being a stay at home mom. I need to get a text from Cearra when she leaves our place to return to her apartment saying that she's made it safe and sound. That I am so proud of her and that she is my daughter. I need to cuddle with Owen in the morning and hug him when he comes home from school and tell him that I missed him.

I need my mom to know that while I fail at calling or emailing often, she is always in my thoughts (and heart) and I am always thankful for the beautiful way she raised me. I need my mother-in-law to know I think she's amazing too, and that I know how lucky I am to have her.

I need them all to know that they make my life what it is and that I consider myself so very blessed. And yes, I need to know that they love me too and they appreciate me as I appreciate them (so thoughtfully chosen Hallmark cards are still expected).

There are things I wish too. That Owen's mom in Kazakhstan, while most likely feeling her loss especially strongly on Mother's Day, can find some peace in imagining him safe and sound and much loved. That sons and daughters who have watched their mother's pass on can find some joy remembering good times together. And that those women still wanting and waiting to be mothers find the strength to get through this day and keep hoping and believing.

So no, I don't really need any possessions on this Mother's Day; because I've already been given the greatest gift of all. I love you with everything I am Cearra and Owen, now and always.

Spring Break in the 704

When my friend Le Anne and I discovered our kids had the same spring break, we quickly made some fabulous plans that included RVing to Charleston. As with a lot of our plans, they were foiled by Bob's crazy work schedule, but Le Anne and Marc were kind enough to invite Owen and I to spend the week with them in Charlotte and we eagerly booked our flights for two reasons:

I adore the Kieffers, and I loooove Charlotte! Trip on!

As you may remember from earlier posts, Owen, Rhys and Elloree were all born in Kokshetau; and we've spent many wonderful vacations with them. Upon our arrival last week, Rhys and Owen headed straight upstairs and spent the next few hours gleefully stuffing random objects under rugs to make jumps for their monster trucks and playing Minecraft on their tablets. 

What was most interesting this trip was how well Owen and Elloree got along; they became almost inseparable on the second day. Le and I have always said that these two will end up hating each other or being married because they are so similar in temperament and personality. In fact we think we'll have to order DNA tests before they reach their teens because they must be related!

We all had such a busy and fun week - Marc took the kids to see a Charlotte Bearcats basketball game and a minor league baseball game; and we all visited the best free kid's library I've ever seen, plus the aviation museum, a plantation with horses, and a raptor rehab facility. 

We had yummy meals at home cooked by Marc, and several at two of Marc and Le Anne's Mellow Mushroom restaurants (Owen's fav is the Ballantyne location because the upstairs tables have computers in them; mine is the newest location Uptown because of the amazing mid-century, "Mad Men" decor Le Anne designed). 

Under a sunny sky the kids jumped on the trampoline and played soccer against the moms. On the rainy days we took the kids to see "Rio 2" and played Twister and Skip-Bo, and on Friday we celebrated sassy Elle's sweet sixth birthday. Every moment was well filled with fun and friendship.

  

Waiting for the metro to take us downtown - two ninjas and a cutie

Outside the free library. Carolina blue sky!

O Man

The world famous "Blonde with Dog"

Playing vet at the rehab center

May all your wishes come true!

Again with the ninjas

Now, let's talk about Charlotte, shall we?

I've become a bit obsessed. Charlotte is a compact, clean, green and welcoming city. I like it. But what I really love is the Kieffer's neighborhood, Dilworth.

Built in the 1820's as Charlotte's first "streetcar suburb", the streets are lined with majestic oak trees; the beautifully kept houses a mix of bungalows, Queen Anne style and colonials. The neighborhood buzzes with friendly folks walking dogs, jogging by, or watching over their playing children. Cute shops and restaurants are within easy strolling distance, as is access to the city center via train, bus or roadway. Sitting on Le Anne and Marc's back deck in the early evening, surrounded by lush greenery and watching birds flit and flirt through the sky while the lights on Charlotte's towers and buildings twinkle is a joy.

I'm working on convincing Bob that any of the following Dilworth for sale houses would be fine with me!

Gotta keep dreaming, right? 

One Year. We Persevere.

One year ago today Bob's cell phone ring pierced the early morning quiet. In the next few minutes we learned that life would be forever changed; for Dennis, Cearra, us.

***

I remember the first time they met as adults (having occasionally been at the same parties in Dennis' - and Bob's - hometown of Cumberland as kids). It was Nascar weekend in September 2011. I knew right away that Dennis, in his gentle, quiet way, was attracted to Cearra, and I thought, "oh, I wish you had a chance". Throughout the weekend they gradually started talking more, and I knew that Cearra was drawn to this handsome young man who helped in the kitchen, braved a cold rain to accompany the other guys during a round of golf although he didn't have clubs to play, and shyly blushed as the older woman - after a few glasses of wine - oohed and aahed over his biceps. As we all went our separate ways Monday morning, I saw a sparkle in Cearra's eyes that had once been dimmed, and I thought, "well, maybe".

A little over a month later, they met again at the company's 10th anniversary party. Dennis had gone shopping the day before, and arrived looking handsome in a new shirt and tie. They sat next to each other through dinner; easy, companionable. And when Bob and I accompanied a few folks to a local bar for after party drinks, Dennis and Cearra stayed behind to talk some more. When we swung back by the hotel to pick her up, I saw in them both the possibilities.

The next day Cearra approached me, chatting about how nice Dennis was, what a gentleman he was, how easily they had talked. How much he made her smile. He knew she was in a long term relationship, and he respected that, but added that he just wished he had the chance to date her. She wasn't ready yet, and headed back to school and the course she had long thought her life would take. I waited. Because I knew.

They continued to text as friends, getting to know each other. And eventually Cearra was brave enough to take the big and scary step of ending something that wasn't making her happy. When she did, her friend Dennis was there waiting.

From that point on they were best friends. They just fit, as I suspected they would during that weekend at the race. Dennis supported Cearra and made her feel safe, secure and respected. He knew how to calm her down and make her laugh at herself when needed. He didn't get angry with her or pick fights - he was her constant. Cearra took care of Dennis in a way I think he'd been searching for a long time. She was (still is) fiercely loyal and supportive of him. 

Cearra finished her last semester at school, and Dennis came to her graduation. He beamed with pride as her name was called and she walked to her diploma and then, to him. She moved back home, and he followed, and fit smoothly into our family. He was always game to help me in the kitchen, even though I usually gave him the job of chopping onions. Many weekends he helped Bob with jobs outside; power washing the siding or moving our annual delivery of the mulch mountain.

I've always suspected I overwhelmed him at first; intent on making him tell me about himself or join in a conversation. And while he was never rude, I quickly learned that Dennis preferred to take in what was said rather than babble on himself. 

That very quality is why Owen instantly took a shine to him. Dennis treated Owen with respect and interest. He'd listen to Owen tell him about Monster trucks and often came home after work and played Wii with him, or threw a baseball in the side yard. Owen liked his shiny, loud, black Mustang quite a bit too.

I watched some of Bob's stress melt away as Dennis took on more and more responsibility at work. Dennis was smart and conscientious; he wanted to learn about the business and was eager to listen as Bob talked of everything from interacting with the customer to contributing to a 401k. People often remarked on how much Bob and Dennis looked alike, but I think it was more that they just were alike.

Dennis was generous and kind (just like Bob). He gave me some of his frequent flyer miles so that I could go help out a friend in Atlanta; and he wordlessly put a check on my dresser to help her out monetarily. He was always good-natured and easy to be around; he even happily donned a Ravens jersey and accompanied us to New Orleans to cheer on our team, despite being a proud Dallas Cowboy fan. 

But more importantly to me, he made Cearra happier than I'd ever seen her. Soon, I began referring to him as my future son-in-law. We all believed that.

***

People ask me all the time how Cearra is doing now; and while I appreciate their ongoing concern, it is hard to answer that question. I tell them that she wakes up every morning and goes to work, then returns to the apartment she has slowly made into a home. That she has a new kitten that has brought a beautiful smile back to her face. That she joins us on the weekends and that her and I enjoy some time each Saturday to shop, or get manicures. I tell people that she is strong and brave, although her heart is still shattered. And that she loves Dennis, and she misses him every day.

They ask about Dennis, and sadly I can't tell them much of anything. We know he's progressed much father than his original neurologist predicted; that's he's in a nursing home; that he can walk with assistance and has recently passed a swallow test and may be able to start eating soft foods. But his guardian denied Cearra the privilege of visiting Dennis the day after Thanksgiving, and she hasn't been able to sit by his side since. This woman has also blocked us from being able to see her occasional updates on the facebook page set up to share information and prayers; both actions which have caused even greater pain and which I will never understand. No matter what, Dennis is always in all of our minds, hearts and prayers.

I notice new wrinkles around Bob's eyes as he makes his way through our new reality. I won't forget the night Bob called me from Chicago, and through tears choked out "I can't fix this for her." Any parent knows that your child's suffering is so much more piercing then your own. All you want is to kiss and hug and bandage as you could when they were small and wounds were only skin deep. On top of that pain, Bob was dealing with the loss of an outstanding employee, the threat of financial repercussions, and the emotions of each member of the AES family, including Dennis' best friend, who saw him fall. Is is a testament to Bob's strength and goodness that he pulled us all through those first few weeks.

At first I tried to hide my tears from Owen, but of course he saw my sadness, he wondered at the sudden disappearance of his dad, sister, and one of his favorite people. He struggled for months, developing stomachaches and headaches and anxiety, and often climbing into my lap to cry. In our efforts to help him we took him to a therapist and to visit Dennis once he finally returned to Baltimore; a visit that while stressful and scary for Owen was ultimately also a good thing. He's doing OK now, but I know he still misses his buddy Big D.

As for me, not a day goes by that I don't mourn this huge loss. But I've learned you can't live under the daily weight of grief; you have to look for the joy still around. It doesn't mean you forget, just that you chose to focus on happiness. As I reflect back on this year, I realize I've learned a few other lessons too.

I'm a first born, a Kaufmann, a slightly watered down version of my Dad. I'm accustomed to leading. In the months after the accident I spent a lot of time worrying and planning in my head what should happen next, how people should feel or act, what we should all do. Thankfully I have enough awareness of other people's feelings that the majority of my dictates (all driven by fear and pain and confusion) went unspoken.

Rather I had to learn to let others do what they thought best; what felt right to them. I had to lay down my inclination to look into a future I couldn't see anyway, and just let it be. Sounds so easy - live in the moment; let go, let God - but for me that was a challenge. Actually doing so has been freeing. I trust Bob will do what is best for the business and our livelihood will be OK. I trust Cearra to do what is right for her; to make the decisions that will eventually help her towards the happy life she chooses for herself - whatever that may look like. I've learned I don't need to plan or schedule or arrange for them. I just need to love them and be there when they want my help.

As much as it sounds rotten to admit now, at first I was very angry and often gripped by rage at Dennis. How could he do this to Cearra? He'd made her a promise, yet he chose to make a series of decisions that led to heartbreak for so many. How could he be so careless when his whole life was opening up in front of him? When he fell from that escalator, he changed all of our lives forever. And none of it had to happen.

I've learned that it's best to forgive. Not only does my faith expect it of me, "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us", but harboring negative feelings takes a toll on one's soul. I think most people, myself included, have made stupid, thoughtless choices and mistakes over the course of their lives. Not because they mean to, or because they want to hurt themselves or others, but just because it is the nature of human beings, and none of us are perfect. The tragedy is that Dennis got "caught" in his mistake.

I know that Dennis would never intentionally hurt Cearra, or his family and friends; and of course he'd never choose to be where he is now. Anger is part of the process of grief, and I had to let myself feel it; but once I was able to let go I could breath more deeply again, and focus my heart and energy where it was needed.

I am, by nature, logical and realistic. I value information, especially in situations that are scary and seemly uncontrollable. So as I did when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, after Dennis' accident I read books, traumatic brain injury web sites, scientific articles, and talked to doctor friends. I learned coma scales, recovery rates, and which parts of the brain control which functions. And in this way I quickly realized that the medical prognosis was grim. From there, my reaction was to frame any and all information relayed from Dennis' bedside within the parameters of science, and to try to plan for the future based on what I thought I knew.

Those close to me were operating differently; and their response helped them navigate the fog and pain. They were relentlessly upbeat, "knowing" Dennis would soon wake; believing he'd soon come home. They related stories of a second cousin's best friend who fully recovered after a car accident and saw signs in Scripture. This approach was right for them, and I often berated myself for not being able to share their sunny hope, but in the early days it also made me feel shut out and a little crazy. I thought I was being realistic; they thought I was being pessimistic. Sometimes I felt as if they were being willfully ignorant of the truth. But I also chided myself for not having their view.

Gradually, I realized I could share some of the optimism they professed; after all, no one truly knows when a miracle may occur. I came to admire their faith while gleaming some for myself. Yes, the statistics and current situation point to one outcome, but I've learned that sometimes it's better just to focus on the outcome you'd like to happen. You can understand "what is" in your head, but continue to hope for "what may be" with all your heart. 

***

So today, a year later, we keep going as best we can. Like Dennis, we are on a long, hard road to healing. I read recently that "hope is the backbone of perseverance", and I like that. As a family, for Cearra, we will keep our heads up, our hearts strong. This story is still being written. 

Can We Have More of These Days Please?

It's my birthday! All day I've been basking in the glow of cards, texts, calls, sweet treats and facebook greetings from friends and family near and far. I am so blessed! Thank you all.

Turning 47 doesn't bother me. I'm thankful for each year I get to spend on this earth, and look forward to new experiences and continued happiness ahead. Oh sure, some of the signs of aging I could do without - I don't love the number "11" etched between my eyebrows and I've finally switched to professional color in an attempt to keep the gray away longer (see you next week Abby!) - but all in all, I don't think I'm fairing too badly.

It's Connie Britton's birthday too - we are the same age. Of course she has dermatologists and make-up artists:

And Daniel Craig is a year younger than me ... and considered a sex symbol:

So yeah, I'm feeling OK!

Not to mention that I've matured enough to know that hating one's appearance is a waste of time and energy that's better spent enjoying life. I had too many years feeling fat and bad about my body. But as I gaze back now at those days when I could kick my leg over my head (Conestoga Kick Line forever!) and wear a strapless gown without Fort Knox strength foundation garments, well, I realize I looked pretty good. What a shame I didn't fully enjoy it then.

No more. Now, despite its' love handles, and wrinkles, and wobbly bits, I appreciate my body. It's protected me and fought a tough invader, and on a daily basis it allows me to take a walk with my husband, hug my daughter, and shoot hoops with my son.

As for the age spots, fine lines, and blurry eyesight, I just slap on some makeup (and, albeit belatedly, sunscreen) and my reading glasses, and get to it. Because if I can't embrace myself now - flaws and all - how will I feel in another ten years?

So dear friends, my gift to you today is a reminder that each and every one of you is special, and beautiful, and important to me exactly the way you are.