Great Awakenings

Great Awakening: a religious revival in the British American colonies mainly between about 1720 and the 1740s..... The Great Awakening represented a reaction against the increasing secularization of society and against the corporate and materialistic nature of the principal churches of American society. -Britannica

If you are keeping up (with the whopping one post that I have written in the last three years), the sudden change in life story has made quite an impact, to say the least. Going from partnered to suddenly soon-to-be single has left countless pieces to pick up; lessons to learn, things to figure out. (Why is rethreading a weed whacker basically rocket science????) Apparently, I had been partially asleep, living on autopilot, and then suddenly the plane dropped several thousand feet, turning stomachs, throwing unsuspecting passengers about, scaring the bejeezus out of everyone so that going forward, even the slightest bump was now served alongside a platter of anxiety and panic. Enter "medication as needed" and a whole team of experts to help with the transition. Welcome to the current Great Awakening: a religious revival born of heartache, grief and an overdose of insecurity and uncertainty. Thank you, Life.

After my brother died back in 2021, I was counseled that you should not make any major life decisions the first year after a major loss. And so, I have tried to keep that in mind while my team of experts, who clearly did NOT get that memo, are asking me to make EVERY MAJOR (and not so major) life decision as if I had ever had to actually decide on anything important since becoming a Mrs. (I might plow down the barn if anyone asks me again where I see myself in 10 years....please people, I am focused on making it through the week here, 5-, 10- and 20- year plans are gonna have to wait.) It isn't that I have never made a decision or anything. It's just that for the past 25 years, there has been another voice, another opinion, a higher ranking alpha who knew decisively what they wanted and so that is what we typically did. (Family what color shutters should we get for the house? White you say? Green it is.) Decisions were easy. A question would be posed, I'd go round and round in my head until I could think no longer, and more often than not realize the simple answer was: I don't care as much as you do, so do what will make you happy. Sure, I would weigh in here or there on things that seemed to matter more (which often lead to some tense moments) but really, life is so fleeting and temporary that many things just didn't seem that important to me. 

Now I am learning I was wrong: IT IS ALL TREMENDOUSLY AND UTTERLY IMPORTANT...EVERY LAST THING! (At least, that is what my primitive brain is telling me when faced with the decisions lurking around every corner...don't worry, I have a different "team" of experts to help me sort through the intrusive, panicky feelings that come from living in survival mode.) 

All I know is that I can no longer live on autopilot. Don't get me wrong, there are days I still unintentionally try to, because inside the body of this 40-something year old woman is a young child who just wants to run and play and create and do her own thing and not think about actions and inactions and reactions and all of the adulting things. 

But then, as the child inside is going about her skipping and singing and merry-making, I am rudely brought to the present in random moments like at the luncheon I attended last week: You see, I was invited to go to an awards luncheon to support one of our high school athletes. In the buffet line, I grabbed a salad, added some balsamic vinaigrette dressing to it and sat down to eat like a normal human being. (So I thought.) As I was enjoying both the conversation and my salad, somewhere between fork, plate and mouth, a drop of the vinaigrette dressing decided to add some excitement to the day by launching itself off the springboard of my utensil and cannonballing directly onto my eyeball which instantly caught on fire, awakening every. cell. in. my. body. Immediately, that eyelid sealed shut, but seeing (poorly) that no one around me had noticed my horrific plight, I quietly stood up, head down, hand inconspicuously over half my face, and made my way into the bathroom where about four women (or maybe two but I was now seeing double through the liquid gushing from my eyes) were clearly just waiting to laugh "with" me. By this time, the tears were rolling down my face and the unsuspecting women were horribly concerned with my apparent emotional turmoil. After explaining my situation, they suggested that "maybe I should wash it out with some water" (yes, I would have rolled my eyes too had I been able) and I went to work flushing out the inferno and stopping the unfortunate, teary-eyed, snotty-nosed chain reaction. Insert my revival....maybe not so religious but it was certainly a revival of sorts.  

Eventually, I made my way back to the table, where the conversation was still going and the eating had come to a halt. Disaster averted. 

There are awakenings and then there are Great Awakenings. Most of life flounders around in between. And ever so often, we experience revival. I'm just hoping that the next one comes sans vinegar. 

The Day the Blues Broke Me (almost)

 

THEOLOGY IS THE STUDY OF GOD and God's ways. For all we know, dung beetles may study us and our ways and call it humanology. If so, we would probably be more touched and amused than irritated. One hopes that God feels likewise. -Fredrick Buechner, from his book Wishful Thinking For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39 Don't freak out. It's just paint..... Blues are hard.  -Deborah                                                                             ***

For many humans, when crisis rears its ugly head, there is this sudden pause, like the screeching halt of a trainwreck occurring in both real time and slow motion; we are forced to make a sudden, often unexpected, soul-searching stop and reevaluate everything we know, or thought we knew, to be true. The moment can be subtle, or catastrophic, gradual or sudden, often both, but when it occurs, there is a pause.  

And this is where a new chapter begins. 

And like a dung beetle, studying human behavior, we wade through the excrement, the wreckage and chaos, looking for answers. Eventually though, we have to make a choice on how to respond, on how to show up, and maybe fight for our lives to remain whole and unbroken.....or at least, strong enough to carefully pick up all the shattered pieces, or perhaps only the most essential ones, and create something new and extraordinary. 

Friends, life has derailed a little over here. (Forgive me for my understatement.) We have found ourselves at this new juncture and as I stand at the crossroads and look, I have had to pause. To gather my wits. To breathe. 

To be sure, our marriage will go down as one of my life's greatest blessings. I have been so blessed with being able to give 25 years of my life to a man who has been an amazing provider and has loved his family immensely. His hard work has not gone unnoticed. The five incredible humans we have brought into this world are my life's most remarkable gifts and I am forever grateful for the opportunity to be their mom. The joy I feel inside, even in the midst of so much heartache, is indescribable. 

At the same time, these last six months have been harder than any I have ever faced. The turmoil of grief I cannot even begin to describe, the slow and then sudden loss of a 25 year blessing, has been a game changer (hey sometimes game changers don't change the game how we had hoped!) The new insecurities, fears, unknowns....they pop up everywhere. Like a horrible carnival game, me bopping one down and the next four appearing....The many nights of weeping, the darkness creeping through my very soul, the sorrow, anger, (insert every emotion ever felt here) as I cannot breathe, cannot fathom how this is right, or how it is even a part of the plan.... I have been brought to my knees, no words to utter, no solutions, no answers. Just the pause of unspoken prayers, tears shed, words I have yet to find. And I have recognized in those standstill moments, how important to me are the stories from our shared history. I didn't realize as I wrote post after post in this blog, how essential these memories would be for my very survival. I do not believe in clinging to the past, but it can be life affirming, saving really, to know and remember where you came from, where you have been, who you are and hopefully, it helps to one day point me and my family in a new, life sustaining direction. 

For none of this can separate us from the love of God and in God, all of this will be used for good one day. I have to believe that.... even if it feels like total nonsense presently.  

                                                                            ****

So, how does the second novel of the series begin? The one where we throw off our old selves and create something new? 

I believe this is where I would insert a wide-eyed emoji face and say, for the love of God, where does one even begin? Where is the proper emoji for having only had to learn half of the adulting for a quarter of a century and now being thrown into uncharted waters so deep you go into panic over the depths of the unknown lurking beneath and around you....not knowing what you don't know or even what you need to know that you don't know, is a horrifying moment in time. Where is the emoji for THAT, Siri??? Sheesh, she is so limited sometimes. 

For me, I think it begins with the blues. You see, when faced with extremes, we often look to something we can control, to hold onto and just do. So, what's the first thing anyone seeks to do when faced with life-altering circumstances? Bedroom makeovers, right? Hello? Anyone? So, I wanted to update Solomon's bedroom to be new and fresh and teenager-ish. And because our original bathroom remodel we had discussed prior to Christmas had to take a pause, we decided to throw on some new paint and potentially get some new carpet and, one day, furniture so that he has a space all his own. Of course, all 14 year old Solly cared about was that the room was blue. So, Lily and I looked through paint colors and we picked out what seemed like perfectly good blues. Now, I have very little experience with paint color and for those of you who DO have experience, I am sure you know where this is headed because just because something looks great on a one inch square, does NOT mean it will look anything remotely close to that on an entire wall. It's like looking at color through a distorted lens....as if it were in one of those "fun" houses where everything is too big, or small or squished or....I might has well have picked the color by allowing our dog to pull a number out of a hat. 

The day the painters threw on two layers, I was sick and emotional and finishing my monthly reminder that yes, I am still in fact most likely ovulating each month, (at least my body thinks so) and it was grey outside and freezing inside and the cold meds weren't even close to touching the symptoms: The perfect storm. I went upstairs on their break and my heart sank. Uncontrollable tears ran. Deborah was called in as this required reinforcements that a box of kleenex simply couldn't provide. Thank God for best friends who live next door and can drop everything to come over, tell you kindly but frankly not to freak out...and reassure you it is only paint and can be redone and does not mean you are going to suck at every decision you will ever make for all of eternity! (Way to catastrophize the moment, Karen!)

As I sat there, the incredibly kind painter frantically searching through the color wheel while also reminding me he doesn't usual help pick out the colors, my friend counseling me back to calm, the world crashing in, I felt like these blues, the decisions, the weight of everything, was breaking me. I told the painter to just finish what we had started. And I was thankful. Thankful for my friend, for the tools I have that remind me to breathe through the emotions, for that one rational brain cell that assured me it was actually ok to make mistakes (you know, that thing I coach over and over again), it could be fixed, it was only paint after all. 

I was even more thankful when, on second thought, I decided I needed to scratch the entire color scheme and have him restart the next day with new colors, and my friend called in backup and we spent an evening on the phone with an excellent teacher (interior designer) learning how paint colors actually work, how light changes them, and basically why the average person struggles to pick the "just right color" the first time. With new found confidence, we chose the right colors, and lived to see another day. 

"The blues are hard," Deborah reassured me. And isn't that the truth? The blues are hard. But, they will not break me. Bend me a little more than I might like? Yes. But break? No. 

****

In Jeremiah 6:16, we are told to "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls." 

I am learning to ask for help. I am learning to seek out the "good way" and trusting that as I walk that path, I will find rest for my tattered soul. And somewhere in that rest, there is hope and there is peace. And this is where the story begins again. 

Wesley

 "Jesus, Tender shepherd Hear me, Bless this little child tonight. Through the darkness, be down near me, keep me safe 'til morning's light...."

"God bless: Mommy and Daddy, Andrew and Wesley, Eileen and Karen, all my friends and loved ones, help me be a good little girl, praise in Jesus's name, Amen."

***

I don't know how old I was when I memorized this prayer. I don't know when my mom spoke it to me first, but I don't recall ever going to bed during my childhood without it prayed over me and with me. As I got older, I learned it was a family prayer because when saying bedtime prayers with my cousin on one of our many sleepovers, she held the same prayer in her little heart as well. And she shared how she added to it, to make it more inclusive of everyone she loved, which I immediately copied because I, too, wanted to pray for everyone I loved. 

As I had kids of my own, the prayer changed to speak over my children as part of their bedtime ritual. While I don't know if my older kids still say it, I hope that one day, when words fail them, when they don't know what else to pray, that they have it to fall back on as I did this last year. 

It has been a full year since my oldest brother, Wes, passed away. He was 49. I had just dropped my first born off at college and was a week in to a new coaching job at one of the most competitive high schools in our area when he passed unexpectedly. It was crushing. Actually, when I stop and let myself feel it, it still crushes me. In that first few weeks, I had no words to describe the grief, no words that I could think to pray, except for the childhood prayer I started my prayer time with every night before bed. Night after night, I prayed the familiar prayer and just ended with 'please hold us' as I quietly wept. It's all I had. 

These last few years, the passing of so many loved ones, Andrew (14), Elliana (9), my dear friend Mary, and now my own brother, topped off with a pandemic and other personal struggles, has been rough. But as my big brother, a staple of my life, Wes's departure was so deeply shocking. I was not ready for the decisions that come with closing out someone's life. It was a level of adulting so unfamiliar, I found myself googling things such as: 'where to buy custom sports urns' and 'the first 10 things to do when someone dies'. Thank God for the internet. Whoever you are who put together such thorough lists to help guide others on a path that no one wants to have to take, thank you. Truly.

And, "through the darkness, be down near me," we got through it.

***

I knew the anniversary of Wes's death was coming. I had filled the schedule with distractions that err on the side of insanity ("You need me to host 43 teenage girls for a High School Soccer Team sleep over? I'm in!") and had done an inventory of my life and started purging the unnecessary junk, with a special emphasis on the "started" part because holy smokes, Batman! We have collected a lot of junk! There were a few choice words as I sifted through our stuff, a few terse things said to a couple less than excited kids....(sorry you guys!)...and a few moments that stopped me in my tracks as something would trigger a memory that I had not anticipated. (That tiger blanket that Wes used to throw over himself for us to try to fight him....that stuffed animal he gave me when I was like 8....the pictures....heart tugging reminders....)

My sister and brother and I had ordered flowers to send home, planned a zoom call, readied ourselves. I even bought a new watch for myself as if that would settle things up....Wes had a thing for watches after all... Yet, I was not prepared for the onslaught of emotions, the reminders, the sudden need to escape, the tears. Someone once said that grieving is like the ocean.....you will feel big waves of feelings that rush over you and over time, the waves get farther and farther apart. I had assumed, in my arrogance, that I was done with the waves. My grief surfing, as with the longboarding of my youth, was over. I had no more big feelings, just a little hole in my heart that I had learned to live with by pushing to the side and filling my time with everything but hard emotions. Insert face smack emoji here. Where is that surfboard to cling to?

"Keep me safe 'till morning's light...."

***

Today, all is quiet. We made it through. The sleepover, the zoom call, the flowers, the kind gestures of friends who quietly remembered. The waves. And, now I know how big and wide that ocean truly is. Wes loved the ocean. He loved to surf. And he loved his family deeply. He did not always know how to express that but there was never a doubt. It is unreal to me that it has been a year. But here we are. We are left with a silence we were not prepared for, an abyss that extends far beyond the absence of a birthday text this year from the guy who was always first to remember. We are left with the recognition of how important it is to love each other wildly and fiercely while we are able. And the waves ARE farther apart but the ocean, well, it is still so very wide and deep.

Rest in peace big brother. I miss you. 

God bless....and thank you for existing in the first place. Amen.

 

Don't Get Stuck on the Cookie: Part 2

Last April, I wrote part one of this post. In a fashion completely authentic to myself, I don't actually think I had anything planned for part two. I assumed it would come to me, like they all do, in fits and starts and then a sudden burst of inspiration that allowed it all to flow. Instead, I just got busy. 

At any rate, I reread that post this morning and thought, ya know, I could have just stopped there. It pretty much said it all I think. Except, that little voice in my soul keeps hounding me to write again. I just process life better when I can get it into words to share. And wow, is there a lot to process!

A week ago, I had just fallen asleep when I heard a maternal voice, loud and clear, speak to me: 

"Karen, pay more attention to the details." 

I startled awake, sat straight up in bed looking around to see who had been talking. It was pitch black, other than the sliver of moonlight coming in through the shadeless picture window. The house was silent, still, no one was there, yet, where did that voice come from? It was a motherly voice, not familiar to me yet I knew it was one of tough love and gentleness, wisdom and, wait, was that also a little smirk in her voice? Can midnight voices smirk?

I spent the next hour thinking through what details I had missed that day, that week, the last year or two (and let's be honest, it was the middle of the night, I probably wrestled with my entire adulthood). Was I lost in the clouds? Am I the one person who actually overlooks the trees for the forest? Who the heck is this faceless voice to assume I don't pay attention to details anyway?!

Call it my brain screwing with me, a whispering reminder from God, some struggle buried deep in my subconscious, (maybe the wine?) I don't know, but it stuck with me well into the next day and week. What are the details I am overlooking? Have I gone so far the other way that I NEED to get stuck on a cookie or two? My blinders are strong....I can look past a whole lot to stay grounded and sane in the chaotic life that I have created. Is there self-care in that or is it an excuse to let too much go? Am I too hard on myself or have I been too easy? Can it be both? 

And then I realized that this is the juxtaposed life we lead. We have to balance the letting go with the holding on. We have to remind ourselves to go ahead and have that cookie, don't get stuck on it, but know there is a point at which our tummies may ache. We need to pay attention to the trees while also keep a wider view of the forest. Be careful, we tell our children. Stay safe. But.....in order to grow, you have to take risks, be uncomfortable, maybe even throw a little caution to the wind a time or two and yes, make mistakes, sometimes BIG ones. But don't get stuck there either! 

Yin and Yang. 

Marlin and Dory

Tigger and Eeyore

Pooh and Piglet and wait, Owl and (how many characters does it take to define the human condition?)

Paradox is ultimately why black and white thinking and living doesn't work in reality. Life is a whole lot of carefully yet impetuously constructed contradiction with a side of confusion and if you are lucky, an occasion dollop of clarity. We can choose to fight it, or roll with it, sometimes both, all at once. We can choose which cookie to eat, which ones to stay clear of, see the trees individually and collectively, or hell, leave the forest and find ourselves staring out across the ocean, or desert or heck, just go off the grid and find yourself in a space of your own creation. 

So, yeah, don't get stuck on the cookie, and also, maybe catch a few details along the way and while we are at it, throw in a wild splash of color because we only get this one chance to create something beautiful. 

Hugs! 

Don't Get Stuck on the Cookie: Part 1

The year was 2014. I was running ridiculous miles as Boston loomed near. I was having doubts about my purpose and worth and wondering whether I was doing what I was actually here for. I struggled with food, had a bit of body dysmorphia and was obsessed with health and performance. I was likely an anxious mess but I wasn't about to let anyone in on that. (I am sure no one noticed, right?)

I had apparently made a Lenten promise to "write one person a little note" every day of Lent. I do not recall this idea. I doubt I made it through two days because although the thought was in the right place, I know the follow through was probably lacking, and I would hope that if I really wrote 40 different people over the course of 40 days that year, that I might remember it. I do not.

At any rate, fast forward six years. As I was cleaning out some things the day before Easter this year, I found an envelope that read (in my handwriting):

To Karen

(Open on Easter)

Intrigued, I held onto it to open the next day, on Easter, like it instructed. And I subsequently forgot about it, again....apparently that is how I roll you guys. 

Anyway, I read the letter the day after Easter. And the next day. And the next day. Not because it was such a great letter but because I guess I still need to hear the wisdom of my 37 year old self. I want to be more like her again one day. (But maybe with a better memory and a better grasp on a few things!)

Here is what I wrote: 

3/5/14

Dear Self, 

There are 40 days in Lent and you are going to write a note every day to someone new. Day 1 is YOU! Of course, you are totally feeling that second glass of wine (it was totally worth it no matter what you think tomorrow!) but you have to know some things so I (you) am going to tell you. (Confused yet self?)

First, you need to fight for your family; for your kids, their needs, for the things that are going to build memories and connect you. The time is NOW. Get movin' Girl!

Secondly, eat the damn cookie already! You are running 50+ miles a week. I am pretty sure it won't be a problem. Stop thinking about it and just do it. Then you will have more time to move on to bigger and more important things. Don't get stuck on the cookie!

Third, people need you. Stop your constant inner struggle with "figuring out your purpose" because you are living it! Start acting like you, your purpose, and path are in front of you because THEY ARE!

Finally, relax a little and remember to love--Love your life, your husband, your kids, your family and friends and the strangers you run into on the street. These are the moments that life is made of; these are the greatest and least and everything in between and you will do well to love as much as you can. Take a deep breath and just relax. You are doing just fine. (So long as you don't get paralyzed by that cookie!)

Much love, 

Your Self

So today, remember: Don't get stuck on the cookie! And honestly, there are a lot of cookies in this lifetime! 

Cheers!

Open Letter to Fellow Parents

 Dear Fellow Parents, 

I know you love your children. I know you want to protect them and keep them safe and all that stuff. I get it. I have kids, too. A lot of them actually. But, we need to have a little chat about Middle School drop off. You see, when your child was 5 and 6, and you insisted on driving up exactly in front of the school door to drop off your precious cargo, we all understood. We were all there, making sure we saw our little angels walk into the building so that we could drive away with emotional ease. Afterall, they were babies then. 

Two years later, we were encouraged by the teachers on Drop-Off duty at the Elementary school to let our kids out earlier; there was even a sign back then: Drop off Kids After this Point (or something like that) letting us know, "It's ok, mom and dad; your kids can safely walk from here. We are here to make sure they get into the building." And many of you understood and readily dropped off your kid at the sidewalk, letting them walk a few extra feet into the building. You did it! They made it! And we all went about our day, happily ever after. 

But now, dear parents, your child is a 7th or 8th grade teenager, and I have to ask, how did you forget all those years of drop-off training? Even my kid living with Autism eagerly jumps out of the car 4 or 5 cars back because he knows he can do hard things.....things like, I don't know, walking an extra 20 yards into the building. I imagine, one day, he may even tell his own children how he quickly jumped out of the vehicle and rapidly walked those extra yards on a slick, salt covered sidewalk, through 14 degree weather, wearing his pandemic mask, just to get into the warm building. It is building his character and who knows, maybe even making him a little more grateful to be able to go to school. And yeah, I know, sometimes the kids are reluctant, and haven't slid over to the drop off side of the car quick enough, or are struggling to get their stuff together or are being, gasp, difficult.....we've all been there. It happens....but not every gosh darned day!

I promise you, it won't kill your kid if they get out BEFORE they are the first car in line. I suspect, it may even make them a wee bit less soft. But really, you've got this. Your kids will survive....if only you would let them! And then one day, they will be able bodied enough to get to High School all by themselves. These are the days we have been working towards, Parents! We've got this! We are in it together! 

All the best, 

That Mom behind you who has been waiting for 4 cars to drop off kids right at the front of the line (my kid has been safely inside for minutes!)

 

Are We There Yet? (A year in review)

I preach it to other parents all the time: let your kids fail. Let them make mistakes. Help them learn from the stumbling and they will be more steady on their feet and stronger for it. I preach it all day long. If the parents promised not to call the PsychWard, I'd get it tatooed on my forehead and make them read it at every encounter.

And 2020 hit. Boy did it hit. I was trying to journey back in my mind to recall how this year began (yes, I was in the photo app on my phone....no way my brain would ever remember all of THAT!) and it kind of hit me...this year was like my view on failing magnified by alien zombies who are clearly experimenting with torture using my own darn sermon topic (with some additional random BS thrown in for good measure.) 

A quick review of my year includes:

January: The septic system clogging up and backing all the way into our basement (which subsequently took about 10 hours of cleaning and throwing away $h!t, metaphorically and otherwise, and 6 months of psychological recovery....I mean, how can that smell just stay on you and permeate your entire being when drenched in that much bleach!!!!) (I am not including the actual pictures....you're welcome!) But, I learned so much about the septic system....and my kids were given a treatise on what you can AND CANNOT put in toilets.....so much learning.....and THAT is why Sloth made his way into our home....to offer stability and humor. 

February: A carbon monoxide leak that was on the verge of killing our whole family ("you would not have woken up tomorrow" was a common statement by the fire department, the EMTs and air/heat/plumbing guys as they miraculously discovered the problem, evacuated a very confused us out of our own home, turned off the gas, capped the hole and made sure our blood oxygen levels were ok enough to not require further care.) We now own carbon monoxide detectors that actually work and I thank God often for the incredible timing of that random Air/Heat appointment. 

March: Oooooh, when those March winds blew....while it started with this tiny little GLOBAL PANDEMIC, we took a splendid trip down to FL where everything was ok, so long as you were on the beach, breathing in the salt air, soaking in the salt water and around absolutely no salty people. The trip ended quite abruptly, right after I secured a quick little concussion, when we found out school would be starting back up again, but this time, at home. ALL FIVE KIDS TOGETHER.... USING THE SAME INTERNET!!! But, not to be outdone by January or February, March threw in a tree almost falling on Liam and me while we went for our daily run. And again, we thanked God for the impeccable timing. 

April: I can honest to God say....April would, maybe, have been our best month (if it weren't for the lights and noise and screens all continually hurting my head)....and oh, the anxiety. So, here's the thing, I have experience limited episodes of anxiety in my adult life. For the most part, I am fairly resilient and soldier through random stresses and fears and don't get too anxious about random life stuff. But then I had a concussion, during Covid, and the insomnia at night was unbearable and I got to the place that I was scared I had hurt my brain badly enough that, this time, I was actually going to die. And that is when I realized anxiety had crept in while I was unawares, and I needed to go to the doctor about this silly head problem. By the time they got me in, I was on my way out of it, I had broken down and had a mini-midlife crisis in which I finally surrendered to whatever might be because I felt like my life had had purpose and meaning and so, it was okay if I died. (Seriously, that was a conclusion I drew in order to keep myself going.) Luckily, the anxiety started to lessen as the concussion healed and I was given the go ahead to get back to my normal life.....which of course, by that point, was nothing even close to resembling normal. 

May: By May, we had things better figured out. We were using most of our time wisely, spending solid hours connecting with each other at home, had learned how to zoom and google chat and group facetime, were not sitting in the car for thirty minutes every time we went to the grocery store because of the anxiety over having to wear a mask (a true story....it took me weeks to bravely wear a mask into a store, and still, I rush through most shopping experiences as quickly as possible because it gets me into the fresh air sooner.) My girls made my birthday one of the most special ever and I can honestly say, May was a saving grace to this year in many ways for me. Really, the only big negatives were those raccoon attacks in the coop but even there, we just threw up our hands to the universe and then started catching all those babies, (and then their parents...and cousins....) and finding them new homes that don't involve my chicken coops. It was like our own little Mini-Raccoon Rescue. Kind of. 

June: Oh sweet Jesus....things were looking better....things were opening up! There was hope. We saw beautiful sunsets, gorgeous days outside, Liam even played baseball. Sure, we were still catching the rest of the raccoon's extended family (man they are prolific breeders), but all in all, June was almost amazing. 

July: We were still coming off our June high, living summer life to the fullest, lake trips, fluffy clouds and rainbows, so when I cut my finger deeply trying to cut a late night snack, Lily and I just patched it up by ourselves because, shoot, is THAT all you got 2020? (Never, ever test fate like that y'all....it just isn't worth it!)

August: I never thought I would say this but I LOVED Middle School Soccer tryouts this year. It meant we were on the field, together, and yes, it meant coming up with all sorts of crazy activities due to the covid protocols we had to follow and yes, it took me a few days to stop being harsh underneath the mask (did I mention masks are not my favorite things ever?) but generally speaking, it was fantastic. And when the time came to make cuts, I was very honest with the girls: I don't know any coach with half a heart that actually likes making cuts. Cutting kids is hard. But it is not the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I knew those girls who did not make it this year would face it bravely and go on to do great things. And then, Solomon played football! Like, real tackle football! And Liam tried out for a travel baseball team and honestly, it may have been one of the proudest moments in my life. He was a little nervous the day before....I'll admit, I was nervous for him. My instincts were to talk him out of it, protect him from failure, but then I heard my own sermon play through my head and I knew he needed to do it. 

"What if I don't make the team?" he asked.

"Is that any different than now?" I asked back. ("No.) "Will you die?" I asked. ("No.") "Then there is no reason not to try. If you don't try, you will never know. If you do try, you will either be on a team or be right where you are but better because now you know what you need to work on."

He gave it his best. He fielded the balls. He caught the pop flies. He even pitched! And I was completely shocked at how far he had come. For a split second, I thought he might actually have a chance. But then he had to bat. And he needs a lot more work on that. But, now he knows exactly what he needs to do. And the smile on his face when it was all over, well, that was worth every bit of it. And then, in 2020 fashion, he found out he didn't make the team from kids at school. But, no worries because he was already off running cross country and he never really looked back!

September: Oh, September.....2020 decided to rear its ugly head again....multiple hospital visits and that doozie run in with one of my players that had me in a brace for what felt like eternity. While fully tearing both my MCL and ACL, was never on my bucket list, the experience has been chalk full of real life moments. I learned how to navigate the insurance system and workers comp, I'm fairly familiar now with the internal structure of the knee, the strengthening and injury prevention methods to better help my players, and I learned what a wonderful community I have supporting me. I am so thankful for the generous outreach of unfettered help from so many people. I was injured, without a doubt but I was also blessed in so many ways. 

October: October was spent relearning how to use my leg, through injury and pain, while also strengthening it to prep for surgery. I was unable to drive for almost the entire month. Try that sometime, with 5 kids....so much fun. 

November: Surgery.....for anyone who has had surgery you know what I am talking about....I am glad that is behind me. I am so thankful my brother was able to be here but pretty much the rest of it was just icky. But, Madeline also turned 16 and bravely faced some new life experiences herself and oh, we got a new puppy! Not all was lost!

December: Outside of that random dog fight between Storm and the neighbor's Doberman, you know the one in which my 16 year old thought to tackle the doberman in order to save our dog.....it was a pretty smooth month all things considered. But I will admit, as we enter 2021, we are so thankful to start anew. 

And before you think I am delusional enough to believe that 2021 is going to turn everything around (Madeline did jinx the entire year within the first few minutes by jokingly saying: Ah, 2021, what's the worst that could happen?!....Why Maddie why??), I will just say this: I am grateful for the opportunity to believe in fresh starts and for the turn of the year to offer just that. I also believe 2020 has prepared a lot of us for the unknown in ways no other year ever has. And that is something. Maybe the January addition of Sloth to our household was just a sign of things to come....of days spent together, enjoying each other's company. And for me, of a time when slow was the new norm and smiling for no good reason was really the best way to be. (I have started to think of that smile as the smile of survival. Thanks, Sloth!)

Happy New Year Everyone....or at least, Yay! A New Year.....at last!

Much love. -K