A Christmas Wish

Recently, my mother lent me a book to read (Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead, if you are interested). Between two pages, used as a bookmark, I would guess, was a sheet with my mother's writing.

It was her rough draft for two thank you notes that she had written after her birthday to two dear friends.

Written in cursive, with words and phrases struck out and new ones inserted in, it reminded me of all of the thank you notes my mother had asked me to write growing up. I had always hated writing them. But now, looking at her rough drafts, I realized how special it is to receive a thank you note, especially one that is hand-written. What she wrote was so gracious and loving.

So my Christmas goal was to write handwritten thank you notes to my friends, to thank them for being there for me, and to tell them what I admired about them.

Didn't happen, of course, and now that my son is out of school, I doubt I will get around to it.

Instead, I am going to write my thank you note here. 

To My Friends:

I see you, struggling to meet the demands of your children, your job, your family, and the expectations put on you by others. I see you feeling worn down and unappreciated. I see you volunteering your time to help others, and working long hours to make sure that your students/clients/coworkers/family get what they need. I see you trying to figure out how to live a "balanced" life when we all know that is pretty impossible to achieve. Your life isn't easy right now, but you keep going on, putting one foot in front of the other.

Yet, you smile at a friend. You offer encouragement to others. You keep going, even when times are tough. You offer sunshine, even when you feel like you're under a dark cloud yourself.

You are strong, and beautiful, and kind, and loved. Your friendship means the world to me. My life would be a little less colorful without you in my life. Without even knowing it, you made me feel better on a dark day. I love spending time with you, even if that "time" is just a series of emails or  texts, or shared groans while we work out, or a quick gab session while dropping our kids off somewhere.

It is my Christmas wish that you feel love and peace and happiness this season, and that you know your light has been seen and appreciated by others. Thank you for being my friend,

Love,

Mary Beth

Being a Kid Again

As I enter my 42nd year, I find myself acting more and more like a child. Some examples:

Purple and turquoise are my colors!

My new glasses - Not only are they very colorful and fun, they are ACTUALLY kid's frames. Yes, my face is so petite and narrow that I need kid's frames to fit it. My last glasses always felt too big for my face, and now I know why. I need to shop in the kid's section.

I am Superwoman!

My running shoes: I bought pink wings to dress up my shoes. They're called Shwings. They are awesome. Do they make me go faster? Probably not. But does that really matter? My shoes have WINGS.



The Spider War: My son and I are engaged in a spider war. Last year, I bought a bag of cheap black spiders for his birthday party/Halloween. He decided to put them everywhere this year, including one in the shower. Every morning, I move the spider to somewhere else to scare him, and then he moves it to scare me, and so on. Some examples of places the spider has found itself:

On top of the shampoo

On the showerhead

On his washcloth

                           













I am still working on my Halloween costume, but suffice it to say it involves purple legwarmers, a headband with a bow, cheap bangly bracelets, a pair of leggings and a sweater. I am going back to my childhood for our church's annual Trunk or Treat, and I can't wait to dance around to my '80s music (and embarrass my child completely).

I have always liked the term "childlike." To me, it means trying to be as awed by life as a child is, to enjoy each day, to take nothing for granted, to be happy because God is good. It doesn't mean ignoring all of the bad things in the world, or hiding from them, but rather accepting that they are there, but so are all the wonderful things that make me smile.

Being in my 40s has freed me, in a way. I am going to do what makes me happy, even if it seems silly to someone else. Because, what frankly, who cares what they think?

Life is good today. I am going to enjoy today with all I have. That's what children do, and we could learn a valuable lesson from them.

Hero Worship

About a month ago, I got to meet one of my heroes. I went with a group of women from my church to a Women's Connection Conference at Montreat Conference Center. The conference title was Calm in the Chaos, which is quite fitting for us, as we all needed some calm in our chaotic lives as moms, spouses, daughters and friends.

The featured speaker was Glennon Doyle Melton, writer of Carry On, Warrior  and the just-released Love Warrior, author of the wonderful blog Momastery, founder of Together Rising, a non-profit that works to improve the lives of women in crisis across the nation and the world, and mom to three kids, who have had to get used to their mom being the open, truth-telling woman that she is.

If you are a mom of a certain age (and possibly also certain political leanings), Glennon is well known to you, and possibly adored by you. If you haven't heard of her, visit her web site today and see what the fuss is all about. In a nutshell, she is a woman who unapologetically tells her truths, who addresses bullying, sistering (caring for your friends in good times and bad), how hard marriage is, how hard motherhood is, how hard LIFE is, and who still has hope for the world and love for all people.

Right now, her life is a bit of a mess (like many of us). She just finished her book, Love Warrior, about her husband and her's fight to save their marriage and working through the rocky parts. After finding out about his infidelity, they decided to see if their marriage was worth saving, and they stayed together for several years. But right before her book came out, right before she went on this book and speaking tour, she decided it was time for them to separate and divorce.

As you might guess, the publishers and other powers asked her, "Do you want to keep this news close to your chest? Do you want to wait until after you've finished publicizing your book on MARRIAGE to share that your own marriage is now over?" And she said, "No." Not only would her integrity be shot if anyone had found out, which in this day and age, someone probably would have, but that wouldn't have felt right to someone who believes so strongly in telling the truth, even when it hurts.

Glennon coined the word "brutiful," which is a combination of beautiful and brutal, to explain how the world is to her and to others like her. There are those of us who are just more empathetic than others, who feel the world's pain more than others, and she is a shining example of how to get through the painful parts to get to the good parts.

Right now, she is promoting her book, and being as open as she can be about her marriage, because even when truth needs to be told, life also demands that one be mindful that your children are listening and other people's children are listening and learning from how you treat one another. From what she has said, (and the cute Instagram photo her ex-husband put on his page to celebrate her book release), their separation and divorce is an amicable one, but even if it wasn't, there is nothing to gain from being hurtful and petty and saying things that feel good in the moment but not so much afterwards.

Glennon turned this love for others into a growing non-profit, Together Rising. It began very small - one sister reaching out to Glennon to tell her about one of her sisters who was going through a rough patch and needed help to make the holidays a happy time for her children. Glennon asked for help on her blog, and sisters answered. Now Together Rising still helps women and families in need during the holidays, but the non-profit also helps throughout the year when a sister needs something life-changing immediately (a family vacation for a woman dying of cancer, accessible vans for two women who were sick and needed transportation, and service dogs for children with Type 1 Diabetes, autism and Down Syndrome). She calls these requests for help Love Flash Mobs. Women give just a little ($25 or less- you aren't allowed to give more!) to help those who need it, and the community always comes through to help.  The non-profit also receives funds from companies, big and small, who believe in what they are doing. What's more, Together Rising also helps schools who are trying to serve special needs children in the U.S. and refugees in Europe through several organizations who are providing food and shelter and medical care.

I love this quote by Mother Teresa - "We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop." That is what Together Rising is doing, being that all-important drop in the ocean. And that is why Glennon is my hero.

I have another hero right now, too. Her name is Adrian, and she has four children. You can learn more about her story on her blog, Tales of an Educated Debutante. Her youngest, Amos, has special needs. He will turn three soon, and can only say Mama. He had surgery in the last few months to "free" his tongue. You see, his tongue was attached in a way that made it impossible to move. This is so unusual that no doctor or therapist had noticed or thought to check. But Adrian is a Mama Bear (you have to be, when you have a special needs child), and has kept exploring options, trying to find answers for her child and for herself. Until you have a child with special needs, it is hard to fathom how frustrating it can be to find answers. Then you question, when do we stop? When we do say, this is how he is and the why isn't so important, so let's just focus on what he can do? Every day, you question whether all of the frustration of seeing another specialist, trying a different test, is worth it. Every day, you try to enjoy life and not let the uncertainty get you down. 

Right now, Adrian is fighting with her insurance company. Every policy has certain limits on the number of visits to therapists. Even when the doctors say that this therapy is vital to a child's development, there is a limit each year. Which means that parents pay out of pocket, because who is just going to walk away and say, well, we'll pick up again next year and let our child stagnate for several months. Except some parents cannot pay, and that is their only option. (But that is a whole other story.)

Adrian wants to change that. Yes, for her son, but for all of our sons and daughters. She wants that limit removed so all children can get the help they need, whether they need physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, or all of the above. Imagine if your policy said you could have 26 visits a year - that means that after a couple of months of therapy, your insurance company would no longer pay. Each of those therapists charge a fee per hour. I know from our experience that OTs in our area charge between $100 - $250 per session. If your child needs even one session a week, that adds up quickly. Amos needs several sessions a week (between PT, OT and speech).

Adrian has studied her family's plan. She has three other children, herself and her husband, all of whom do not need those therapy sessions. If the limit cannot be removed, then why can't her youngest son use his siblings' and parents' allowed therapy sessions?

Beyond that, the insurance company has denied several of her claims for needed medical equipment or treatments, saying they aren't "necessary." He can grunt and point and make some noises, so he doesn't really need adaptive equipment that could help him speak through a computer, the insurance company says.

This issue is a serious one for all parents with special needs children, because who makes the decision about what is medically necessary? It often isn't a doctor or nurse or medical professional (or so I've heard). The medical professionals understand the need for therapies, adaptive devices and treatments, but their opinions are not being sought or honored.

Recently, Adrian got a chance to apply for a study with the Undiagnosed Disease Network. Through Duke University Hospital and other hospitals across the country, the National Health Institute (NIH) funds research and treatment of patients with no known diagnosis. If Amos is accepted into this study, it will  mean one week of tests from specialists, anything they think might unlock the mystery of his developmental delays. No fighting with health care companies, no waiting for approvals, just the best health care that the hospital can provide. What a blessing that would be! So Adrian is waiting for what she calls her "golden ticket" to arrive, and I know there are many, many people who are hoping that their invitation to participate comes. We also hope that there are answers for her and her family at the end of the week.

Here is a mom, doing all she can to improve the life of her child. Here is a mom, spending hours on the phone with the insurance company each week (sometimes each day). Here is a mom, pursuing any avenue that might give her son a chance to thrive. Here is a mom, who is conflicted sometimes about how much of her time is spent on her youngest child, who obviously loves her three other children, too. Here is a mom, trying to enjoy life with her family, and not be run down by all the hoops she has to jump through to get the services her son needs.

Those are my heroes - women who are truth-tellers, who hold onto hope, who live life with joy and love, who fight for what they believe in. Thank you, Glennon and Adrian.

Walking a Day in His Shoes

I think that some parents with "neurotypical" children look at my child, who (for the most part) looks "normal," and wonder what the fuss is all about. Why does he need occupational therapy, and what is OT anyway? Why does he need special accommodations in the classroom? They think, my child doesn't like seams in her socks, or hates the texture of Jello, or doesn't like loud noises - that is just part of being a kid. Why do you make such a big deal about it?

You could say the same thing about anxiety, or depression, or a host of other invisible diseases and disorders, and the answer is the same. Yes, everyone has bad days, and every kid has things that bug them, whether it is tags on clothing or certain sounds or a type of food. But when it interferes with daily life, that is when it becomes something more, a disorder.

Therefore, I wanted to let you walk one day in my son's shoes. He has Sensory Processing Disorder, or SPD, or, as I often put it because it sounds easier to understand, sensory issues. For the most part, his SPD is mild, and that adds to the whole "he looks normal" issue.

First, a quick definition or two. SPD is a disorder where a person's senses do not communicate with brain in a normal manner. Their wiring is different. This can manifest in different ways - either a child is under-reactive (it takes much more stimulation than normal for a child to feel anything), or over-reactive (everything is too loud, too itchy, too much). Some kids are under-reactive or over-reactive in every sense, and some are over-reactive in some senses and under-reactive in others. There are the five senses we all know - seeing, smelling, tasting, hearing and touching - and a few others - proprioceptive (knowing where you are in space), interoceptive (the body's sense of what is going on internally) and vestibular (your sense of balance and how to move your limbs and trunk to achieve motion).

A Typical Day in the Life of an SPD Child (Well, MY SPD Child)

6:30 a.m. - Wake up. Run to the bathroom, because there is very little time between feeling the sensation of needing to go and the actual going. Start talking and singing to yourself, because you need the stimulation of sound and your mind is constantly going.

6:45 a.m. - Breakfast. Eat the same thing every day, because routine is important, and only certain foods are acceptable. Because of your sense of taste is over-reactive, strong tastes and unfamiliar tastes can make you gag. You certainly don't want anything spicy, or anything with a certain texture, like rice.

7:00 a.m. - Pack a lunch. Again, you eat the same thing most days. This year, you've gotten more adventurous and tried school lunches several times. You tried pizza for the first time in 1st grade and hamburgers, chicken sandwiches (it's just like a giant nugget on a bun, you said) and hot dogs for the first time in 2nd grade.

7:10 a.m. - Shower. You often just stand in the shower and sing, because you get easily distracted, and you aren't a big fan of water on your head. But every few days, your mom makes you wet your head and she washes your hair. Often, you get angry and you end up stomping your feet when your mom tells you to hurry up. You brush your teeth gingerly. You will only use one brand of toothpaste - any other leads to a meltdown and major gagging, so your mom makes sure to buy two tubes every time so you don't run out. Your mom also insists on brushing your teeth every few days, to make sure they actually get clean. She is trying to give you more independence, but still has to help sometimes.

Your hair has to look a certain way, or it really upsets you. You don't like it when you can see your hair. For Crazy Hair Day one year, your mom tried to put hairspray on your head and get it to stick up, but you screamed, "Get it out! Get it out!" the second she sprayed your hair, and you had to hop back in the bathtub so she could wash it out. Your mom isn't worried you will ever have an earring, tattoo or doing something crazy with your hair - it would bother you too much!

7:25 a.m. - Getting dressed. Luckily, you are not that bothered by clothing texture. Many kids with SPD are. You put on whatever your mom has laid out for you. At least, you start putting them on. But then you realize you need to tell your stuffed animal something, or a book or toy catches your eye, and your mom fusses when she walks in three minutes later, and you only have your pants half-on and you're playing instead of getting dressed. She tries to stay patient, knowing that your distractibility is part of your SPD, and not something you're doing to drive her crazy.

You get ready to walk out the door, but reach the back door leading to the garage and stop. You need to coordinate opening the door and holding it open while you walk out and down the steps. For "normal" kids, this is automatic, but it is not for you. You have to actually think through the steps and figure out where to put your hands on the door for balance. As you get older, this "pause" to figure out how to move is shorter, and will eventually go away. You've even managed to climb the stairs holding things in your arms. But when you step into a new place, you almost always stop to orient yourself to make sure you don't fall.

7:50 a.m. - School. There is a morning routine in your classroom, and you try really hard to remember all of the steps. Sometimes, your teacher has to remind you or move you along when you get distracted by someone's new shoes, or how the white board is flickering. You sit down to write the Morning Message in your notebook. Since you get to read when you finish, you do it quickly, and your handwriting is illegible. You can write legibly, but it takes a lot of concentration, and you usually don't bother.

If anyone questioned why you needed accommodations in the classroom, all they would need to do is watch you. Even when you're engaged in something, some part of your body is moving. You flap your arms when you are excited, or nervous. You bounce up and down or jiggle your legs. Your eyes don't stay on one thing for more than 5 seconds (unless it is a screen or a book).

Because you constantly need to move, you sit on a inflated cushion on your chair. It helps you wiggle a bit without actually really wiggling enough to distract others. Sometimes your teacher has to remind you not to talk to yourself during a quiet time. Sometimes, she even has to move down your color for talking, because it is not fair to move others down for talking and not you. Luckily for you, you aren't a child who is bothered by being moved down. You get a little upset, knowing that means no dessert for you that night, if you don't move back up, but you don't have a meltdown.

When it is time to work on an individual assignment in class, you often have trouble focusing. If it is something that interests you greatly, you will find it easier to focus, but even then, the tapping of a pencil, or someone walking by in the hall, or your classmate's colorful pencil might catch your interest. Every input you get from one of your senses is given the same weight in your brain - you have no back burner or background noise. You can learn coping mechanisms to make this better, and you are improving. But it is a slow process. Your teachers learn that in small groups, you need to be in the center of the group, right in front of the teacher. In fact, sometimes when she is teaching the whole class, she has you sit on the carpet in front of her so she can keep your attention on her. But you don't always complete independent work. Your teacher understands why, most of the time. Sometimes, she sends work home with you. Whenever possible, if the work involves writing on a worksheet, the teacher will let you type on an iPad (using a great app called SnapType) so you don't get too frustrated with trying to fit things in boxes. You are not good with spatial relations when writing.

Sometimes, even when you're not looking at the teacher, you're still absorbing what she's saying. You're just not good at eye contact. Other times, you're not paying attention at all. It is hard to tell the difference, and since you're a smart cookie, you've always understood the material and answered the questions correctly. But as you get older, that might change, and your mom and your teachers worry about how to teach you to focus yourself.

When it is time to go to lunch, or a special (art, PE, music, library, science, technology), you get to be line leader. Your teacher has learned the hard way that if you're in the middle or back of the line, you stop to look at something on the wall, or in a classroom or on the floor, and the class leaves you behind. However, if you're right in front, you stay with the teacher and get where you're supposed to be.

You don't have a lot of friends. Your social skills are lacking, and you shy away from contact with other people. You don't like rough-and-tumble games like some boys do. Because your balance is not great, you don't like slides, and you take a long time to climb a ladder or go up steps. You live your life in a dream world, so often you walk up to people and start talking about something that is going on in your imaginary world, and they have no idea what you're talking about, and don't understand how to interact with you. Sometimes you play tag with other kids, but you are not very fast. They either figure out that they have to slow down for you to catch them, or they just run away from you the entire time, laughing that you can't keep up. The nice ones let you catch them. Not all kids are nice.

Honestly though, it doesn't bother you too much that you don't have friends. You like to play with other kids, but are also happy playing on your own. Your parents are more upset over this than you are, and hope that you will make a few good, true, friends eventually. But they also treasure your self-confidence and contentment in playing on your own. You are comfortable in your own skin in a way that not many kids are, and that is something we want you to always be.

After school - Transitions are really tough. You get absorbed in devices - TVs, iPads, computers. Mom has to cut you off and that always makes you mad. You tend to melt down a bit when she makes you turn the device off and practice piano and do your homework. Your mom tries to be patient, but sometimes she gets frustrated and you lose a privilege. She hasn't figured out yet how to give you the time you need to decompress, but not lose you to the lure of the screen. She think that every kid has this problem, and it's probably not entirely because of your SPD, but it certainly doesn't help.

But you love music, and always have. You practice your pieces for your piano lesson, and get mad every time your mom corrects you. You learn pieces by ear, memorizing how they sound. Your mom (and your piano teacher) are trying to get you to sight-read notes, but it is tough, probably because the ability of your eyes to change focuses, from the sheet music to the piano keys, isn't very good. Plus, your fingers tend to drift off the keys where they are supposed to be, so you would rather look at them than the music. But once you learn a piece, you remember it, and can play it by memory. You also love to make up your own pieces. In spite of your complaining about having to practice, you really do enjoy it once you get started, and you often will play the piano (and the keyboard, and the guitar, and the drums) for fun.

Out in the World - You move differently than other children. Your gait is a little weird, and you tend to veer off on the diagonal, so it is always interesting walking through a crowd with you. You tend to bump into people if Mom and Dad don't keep a good grip on you, but you don't like that.

Loud sounds can upset you. Mostly, you just cover your ears, and you've learned to cope with it. But every once in awhile, something really catches you by surprise. You hate walking by an idling truck or motorcycle, because they can be very loud when they start up and take off. Mom and Dad have learned that games that involve popping a balloon are really hard for you, because the cumulative effect of constantly popping balloons wears your nerves thin and lead to a meltdown.

Eating out has always been a challenge, as you tend to like to eat the same things. Slowly, you've increased your list of acceptable foods to include enough things to make eating out possible. Well, almost everywhere has chicken and french fries, but your parents do like for you to get vegetables every day, and that is hard when everything veggie-related comes with a sauce (you don't like them) or with rice (also a no-no, makes you gag). But your family has gotten adept at checking online for children's menus and helping you make good choices. Restaurants almost always have broccoli or carrots, and you love those, and are willing to let your parents substitute veggies for fries sometimes.

6:00 - Dinnertime. Most nights, your mom fixes two dinners - one for you and one for herself and your dad. You eat baked chicken (cooked in olive oil and seasoned with a few spices, but nothing spicy) and vegetables almost every night. You like the frozen bags of broccoli, cauliflower and carrots that steam in the microwave, and canned carrots cooked with brown sugar and cinnamon. Sometimes, your mom buys little quarter boneless hams instead of chicken, and you love those, too. Now that you will eat pizza and subs (turkey and/or ham, with swiss or provolone cheese and yellow mustard), you can eat takeout with your parents on the weekends.

7:30 - Time to read. You lay on the bed and read to your parents for 10 minutes. Then, they read to you for 10 minutes. When they read to you, you can't stay still. You wiggle from one side to the other. You take off your socks and tie them around your feet. You fiddle with the clock beside the bed. Sometimes, you even sing. It's not that you aren't enjoying the book. You just need a little more stimulation than listening to a book is giving you.

8:00 - Time for bed. You thrive on a schedule, so even during the summer, your parents try to stick to the schedule. You are allowed to read in bed, and you often do. Sometimes you get up and make signs for your imaginary class, or for an exhibit you're making in your room, or for your library. Your father gets frustrated with your "messes," but your mind in constantly going and imagining new things. Sometimes, you just have to get the thoughts out and written down (even if no one, including yourself, can read them).

9:00 - Sleep. You usually are asleep by 9, and sleep well until the next morning. Your parents check on you, and tuck you in. You often have your sheets tangled up in your legs, because you turn over a lot, trying to get the wiggles out and get comfortable. If you're not asleep, it's because you're reading and don't want to stop. Your mom understands that all too well. Your parents gently insist you turn off your light and go to sleep, and you do.


I hope that helps you understand just some of the challenges of having SPD. If you ask another mom of a child with SPD, her child's day might be totally different. In fact, one of my friends whose son has SPD is pretty much the complete opposite of my child - he is athletic, high-energy, under-sensitive to stimuli, daring, and highly sensitive. He wants friends and sometimes acts out to make others laugh. So while his issues are completely different than my son's, the underlying problem is the same. It is finding a way to regulate the information you get from your senses and have your body respond to them in the correct manner.

Occupational therapy can help with this, from giving children an outlet to move their bodies and learn how to correctly sequence limb movement to hop or skip or jump, to teaching them fine motor skills. It gives kids a safe place to explore sensations they don't like (such as digging through dirt or shaving cream to find objects), allow understimulated children do "heavy work," like pushing full laundry baskets, that helps them regulate their need for activity and teaches techniques to parents, like brushing and joint compression, that can calm a child's reactions to stimuli.

If you have any questions, please ask me. I am happy to talk about Sensory Processing Disorder, and why my son needs a little extra help in the classroom. I would love for more parents to be aware of SPD, and how to talk to your children about people who are "different," because we have all have things that make us special. Just like my son wouldn't want to be teased about sitting on a cushion in class, another child wouldn't want to be teased because her hair is red, or she is left-handed, or he walks with a limp, or he likes the color pink, or she like superheros more than princesses or he sticks his tongue out when he shoots the basketball. If we teach our children (and ourselves) to walk in another's shoes and celebrate our differences instead of wanting to conform to the "normal" (whatever normal is), then I can't help to think that our society would be a better one.

Being Kind

Today I had the honor to attend a luncheon honoring myself and five other women who had completed our six years of service with the Alamance County Service League, and welcoming our new provisional class of women who are just starting their six years of fun, sweat, laughter, baking and friendships.

This organization is not for everyone. You have to have the time to commit to volunteer 50 hours a year at League projects. You have to be someone who prioritizes serving others over other responsibilities and activities that fill your life. You have to be someone who either has flexible work hours, be a stay at home mom, or be at a time in your life when you can make time to volunteer after work hours and on weekends.

While that sounds a bit sanctimonious to say this isn't for everyone, I really don't mean to be. Everyone is in a different place in life, and has different priorities. Right now, between grad school and other responsibilities, I would probably not be a good Service League member! There are several wonderful people I know who had to quit the League because it wasn't the right time for them to volunteer in this way. But for the last six years, I had the time to give, and wanted to volunteer, and was lucky enough to be able to.

We always have wonderful speakers at our luncheon, and this year was no different. We had a speaker from a local non-profit organization that runs a family literacy program called It Takes a Village Project, who inspired us all to want to work with them in the future, and two past presidents, Molly and Jen, who spoke about the lessons they learned from Service League. I want to elaborate on their message today, because it touched me.

Be Kind. We, as women, are held up and compared to each other, and judged by society, other women and (sometimes most harshly) ourselves. Are our kids getting straight As? Are they scoring goals on the soccer field or playing the lead in a theater production? Are we getting a promotion at work? Is our house clean and stylish? Do we cook a homemade dinner each night? Do we have the latest car/phone/TV/status symbol? Are we going to the gym several times a week? Are we involved in our children's schools, at our churches, at the local non-profit agency? Are we giving enough money or time?

How do we measure success? Often, it is by outward signs. We have nice clothes, a toned body, children who are successes at school and at extracurricular activities. We have a good job and are married and have a nice house and a car and everything looks peachy keen in our lives.

But were we kind? Did we give of ourselves when no one was watching? Did we smile, even when the person we were trying to help was unappreciative? Did we do something for someone else just because it was the right thing to do and not because we were told to do it? Are we teaching our children to be kind, to treat others with respect and understanding, to volunteer because it brings you joy even as you bring joy and hope to others?

The Service League taught us all the lesson that the giving of yourself to others in service is a privilege we are lucky to have. We are fortunate to be in a position to be the givers. We may not always be in that position. There are times we all need help, support, love, a hug, a hand up, an understanding smile. So always treat others with respect and kindness and love, the way we would want to be treated if we needed help.

We all chose to be "Yes" women. Yes, we will give up our lunch hour to deliver meals or perform a puppet show or do a craft with an older adult. Yes, we will put our kids in the car and bring them with us to deliver those meals or visit with older adults. Yes, we will spend a day (if not two or three days) making baked goods to sell at Holly Days so we can spend more money the next year helping individuals and families in need. Yes, we will chair a project or organize a fundraiser or serve as the Treasurer, Vice President, President, Provisional Chair/Parliamentarian, Corresponding Secretary or Recording Secretary. Yes, we will pick up extra cleaning supplies and pantry items when we go grocery shopping for our Christmas Cheer families. Yes, we make a meal for the medical professionals who are donating their time at the Open Door Clinic. Yes, we will commit to come to monthly meetings (at least some of the time) and sign up for service projects so we can fulfill the commitments the League made to our community.

We do all of that, and so much more.

I've gotten better at saying "No" recently, mostly because I've had to so grad school can be my priority. There are things that I am truly sorry I can't commit to right now.  But there also are things I still am saying "Yes" to because they are dear to my heart.

Going to the luncheon today was a bit like coming home after a long absence. Some of the women I hadn't seen in awhile, and I had missed them. I missed the community of women working together towards the goal of uplifting those in need.

Coming together for a luncheon can seem like a frivolous thing. But that misses the joy of sharing a meal with friends, for laughing about getting lost on Meals on Wheels routes and the horror of glittery ribbons shedding all over your beautiful cake. That misses the support you feel when a friend gives you a hug and says, "I've missed you!" That misses the point of gathering and celebrating those who have finished their six years and those who are just starting out. It misses the joy of putting on a pretty outfit and sipping a drink and feeling special because you are one woman in a group of wonderful women who are making their part of the world a little more brighter with their smiles and their service.

I am so proud to say I am a member of the Alamance County Service League, and that it changed me for the better. I am proud to be a "Yes" woman in a world where it is often every person for him- or herself and success is measured by the things you own or your place on the totem pole.

Be a Light Bearer

Recently I picked up an old favorite book, A Ring of Endless Light by Madeleine L'Engle.

When I first read A Ring of Endless Light, I was a young teenager. I identified strongly with Vicky. I, too, loved to read and write poetry. I felt everything strongly, and wondered if I would ever find someone to love. I loved dolphins, and spending time with my family, and was pretty naive, much like Vicky (although she had much better luck with boys than I ever did).

When L'Engle came to my city, my mom took me to the local bookstore so I could hear her and have her sign my copy of the book.

She wrote, "Mary Beth: Be a light bearer. Madeleine L'Engle"

Be a light bearer. I love that phrase. To me, that says, keep being the light in others' lives. Keep some of that innocence and naivety, keep believing the goodness of others, keep fighting the good fight to help others.

As I re-read the book, I was struck, again, at L'Engle's beautiful wording and language. I still feel a little like Vicky, even though I am in a different stage of life now. Even though I have seen and experienced a lot more of life, I still believe in the inherent goodness of people.

So I take this charge from L'Engle, to be a light bearer, very seriously. And it is a charge, a commandment to go out into the world and be positive, be a light in the world, and also to stand up for what I believe.

And this is what is weighing heavily on my mind, as it is on many minds in N.C. - HB 2.

If you are living under a rock and haven't heard of it, this bill is also called the "Bathroom Bill," and is designed to do different things, depending on who you ask. The legislators who passed the bill, and the governor who signed the bill, say it is about protecting women and children in bathrooms and locker rooms. It was created to counteract a local Charlotte ordinance that allowed transgender individuals to use the bathroom/locker room of their choosing.

It has created a firestorm of criticism and, quite frankly, makes me sad. I don't want our state to be the butt of jokes on late night TV, boycotted by Bruce Springsteen and other performers, shunned by Fortune 500 companies, and seen as being backward, rather than progressive and modern yet still Southern.

But most of all, I hurt because I see people, Godly people even, putting things on Facebook about how boys should be boys and girls should be girls, and why are we even having this conversation because you should be happy with how God made you, and this law protects our children and why should I have to bend over backwards to accommodate someone else's "beliefs" when they could harm me and mine.

There are so many things wrong with these statements.

I don't happen to know anyone personally who is transgender (or if I do, I don't know it). But it doesn't take long to find articles and videos online that show, with no doubt whatsoever, that trans people have felt "wrong" since they were 3 or 4 years old (and by wrong, I do not mean that they are wrong or bad, but rather that their outside self and physical characteristics do not match their inner self).

I already put this on Facebook, in response to a video segment from 60 Minutes on a transgender swimmer at Harvard, but I will say it again. At 3 or 4 years old, you don't know about politics or gender identity. You watch Sesame Street and Super Why and Tom and Jerry cartoons. One day you're a pirate and the next day you're a princess and you're not worrying whether that fits your "gender." So if at 3 or 4 years old, you feel wrong in your body, and you continue to feel that way, then it isn't a fad, it isn't something you can pray away or ignore or repress. And if you do try to ignore it or repress it, you will make yourself sick, in mind and body. You are a transsexual person. That is how God made you. It is not a mistake, you are not a mistake, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I know this sounds crazy to people, because most of us have never felt this way. But imagine it is your child/grandchild/friend's child or grandchild. Imagine the pain they already feel because they are "different" in a world that does not always welcome different people. Look at statistics, and see the (too-high) rate of suicide in trans teens and young adults. Listen to the insistence of a six year old child who knows in her heart she was born the wrong gender and imagine how horrible her life will be if she is told over and over again that her feelings do not matter and she is a boy, and she needs to get over this nonsense because she should be happy at how God made her.

Imagine that instead of talking about some nameless, faceless person out there in the world, you are talking about someone's son or daughter, someone who is loved and cherished, someone who matters to God.

Then look at this law and see it as the slap in the face it is to the LGBTQIA community. Realize that, furthermore, it is a slap in the face to all towns and cities, who are being told they cannot create their own nondiscrimination policies that go further than the state's policy. See that most companies realize that it is bad for business to purposefully (and it was purposefully) exclude LGBTQIA from discrimination protections in our state. And see that taking away the ability of EVERYONE to sue workplaces for discrimination in state court and make them pay more and do more to bring a suit in federal court is harmful for the entire state. See this bill as a response to fear over a bogeyman that does not exist and a cover for a strong dislike (even a hate) towards those who are different.

But let's talk about that bogeyman, because that is what people are hiding behind in supporting this bill. This protects the women and children, they say. How?

How does this keep a molester out of the bathroom? "Gee, now that there's this law here, I guess I won't go into that girls' room." Nope, I am not that naive. So if you were afraid that some molester would take advantage of this nondiscrimination policy and walk into the ladies room, saying they were transgender, what stops them from doing the EXACT same thing right now?

"Excuse me, but aren't you a man? This is the Ladies Room."

"No, ma'am. I am actually transgender, so while I have male characteristics, I was actually born a female and belong in this bathroom, according to the law."

Are you going to ask for proof? How are you going to ask for proof? Are we all going to be carrying around birth certificates, proof of physicals, or be branded in some way, male or female?

This is a slippery slope and it goes nowhere good. The policy of schools and public facilities (and private facilities and businesses) should always be that if there is anyone who makes you uncomfortable in a bathroom, then go find someone who can help. It shouldn't matter if that person is the same gender as you, or a different gender. If they are in the bathroom and not doing bathroom things, and are staring, taking pictures or otherwise making you uncomfortable, speak up. Walk out. Find someone who can help.

And if you are a parent, and you don't feel comfortable sending your child into a restroom by themselves, find a family bathroom, or a single room bathroom that you can use with your child or stand outside of it and keep watch. I know that isn't always possible, but in most circumstances, you can find one somewhere.

As a parent, it is a fine line to walk between arming our children with helpful information and scaring them. I don't want to scare my child into being afraid of public restrooms (the self-flushing toilets and loud hand dryers do a good enough job of that on their own). But I do feel a bit uncomfortable sending him into the changing room at the public pool by himself. So I do need to give him the "talk" before this summer so he understands when to get an adult if he feels uncomfortable.

But that has nothing to do with transsexual people, or gay people. They are no more likely to be molesters than heterosexual people. And let's be honest. This bill is not about protecting women and children against the bogeyman. It is about leaving out LGBTQIA people out of the nondiscrimination policies in the state.

There are people who say that statistics show assaults go up after passing these types of laws. Great, then let's do something about that. Spend more money on education, so schools can afford school resource officers full time and for any after-school activity. Hire more police officers to patrol the streets. Offer training for all adults who work with children to spot suspicious activity (because while stranger danger is real, most assaults are by someone the child or woman knows). Budget more money for the local sexual assault center and the nonprofits that work to combat assaults. For that matter, teach children about how to treat the opposite sex, how to love one another and not judge others, how to be a friend and not a bully, how we are all different but that doesn't make us less than or more than others. There are so many things that can be done other than pass a law that doesn't actually do anything to stop an assault.

Be a light bearer in the world. Stand up for the little guy. Offer him/her the same protections you would offer anyone else. Substitute the word "Christian" or "Jewish" or "black" or "white" or "woman" or "man" or "older adult" or "people with red hair" for LGBTQIA, and see how you would feel if you were purposefully left out of the nondiscrimination policy.

We are not this. That has been the refrain from ,many North Carolinians. But right now, we ARE this, and until we stand up and let those in the legislature and governor's mansion know that this is not who we want to be, North Carolina will be defined by their actions.

There Are Horses In There!

I am taking a break from writing my first grad school paper to write... a blog post.

It seems counter-intuitive, but writing my blog is definitely a different experience than writing a paper. No citations, no checking to make sure I have formatted things correctly... this is the part of school I was not looking forward to when I began!

But I have had a topic on my mind for awhile now, and I wanted to share.

Every day, I drive the same route to take my son to school and pick him up. So in 2 1/2 years, I've probably passed by this same corner, with a stoplight, hundreds and hundreds of times.

About a month ago, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked over to my right, and lo and behold, there are (miniature) horses in the yard, right beyond the fence.

Horses. I think there's four of them, but there may be five. It is hard to see, as you go by or even if you're stopped at the light, the entire yard and count them.

You'd think that I would notice horses, even very small ones, before now. I have, after all, lived in this town for almost 12 years. This lot is on a busy residential street, and while the fence has a lot of vines and bushes to cover portions of it, once you see the horses, you cannot imagine how you didn't see them before.

But isn't that how life is? There are little moments of grace and joy that we, as busy people, rush by and pay no attention to, until something literally or figuratively nudges us to notice.

Now, every time I go by, I look to see if the horses are out and about. My son looks, too. They are about the size of a large dog, and I keep imagining why they are there. Does the owner rent them for parties for little kids? Are they raised as therapy animals or service animals? Are they simply beloved pets of someone who lives adjacent to this lot?

Can I go pet them someday?

But the bigger question is, what else am I missing because my eyes are focused on the prize? Stop and smell the roses, they tell us, but then they also tell us to work hard, play hard, and to lean in, and that we can be anything we want if we just work hard enough.

I have been fortunate enough to stay home with my son for eight years now. There have been times when I have despaired that I would ever have time for myself, or uninterrupted adult conversation, again. (And I only have one kid. I know many moms with two, three or more kids vying for their time). But I have also reveled in the moments when I get to sit outside on a sunny day and play with my kid (or let him play while I soaked up the sun). I have loved taking him museums and other places and not having to deal with the weekend crowds.

Now, though, I am turning away from that life (very slowly) as I begin grad school. My life is busier than I would like at times. I have to let him fend for himself a lot while I read or work on a project for class. My ultimate goal of being a school librarian seems modest, considering all of the wonderful things you can do with a LIS degree. But being a school librarian (or school media specialist) will mean I will still have summers free, and will be, more or less, on the same schedule as my son. He will still benefit from my being there to help him with homework and take him to music lessons in the afternoons so his evenings can be free (or more free than they would if I worked in a different position).

There is nothing wrong with being ambitious. There is nothing wrong with doing something for yourself that might not be the "best" thing for others in your life. But there's also nothing wrong with choosing the slower path, the one that might not lead to promotions and big salaries, but does allow you to smell the roses sometimes.

I know a lot of women who have their own home businesses (jewelry, skin care and makeup, home produce delivery, exercise and health supplements, and so on). While I didn't think that was a good fit for me, it is a great opportunity for many women, mostly moms, to make money on their schedules, to still get to be a mom while making money. And isn't that what we all want to do - make enough money that we can enjoy our lives and spend time with our families and friends?

No matter which path you are on:

• Don't forget to look around and listen to your child tell you a story or see the picture she drew. 
• Don't forget to check in with a friend, just to say hi and reconnect, because it will make your soul smile. 
• Don't forget to take a moment to thank God or the universe or whatever you believe in for sunsets and tulips and beautiful vistas and yummy food and life-giving water and chocolate.
• Don't forget to set aside time to read, or do yoga, or binge-watch your favorite show, or cook a great dinner, or get a mani/pedi, or whatever else recharges your batteries.
• Don't forget the roses. And the horses. They are magic.

Taking a Deep Breath

If I don't post very much for the next few months, it is because I have started grad school.

{Gasp}

After being out of school for 20 years or so, it is HARD to get back into the habit of studying, researching, and turning in assignments. I am still feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all, but this week, I feel I have a handle on it.

I didn't last week.

Because not only did I have grad school starting last week, but my son was in a play, and I had to make 7 crock pots of taco soup for a teacher luncheon at my son's school. Yes, last week did not demonstrate good planning and judgment on my part.

But I reached out to friends and family, and made it through.  I had a nice cry, buckled down and finished my assignments due this week, and let my husband handle play duty for a few nights.

So often, we forget to take a deep breath. We forget to appreciate the little things. We forget to treat ourselves right, and eat well, and get the right amount of sleep, because we're the moms, and that's what moms are supposed to do. But we end up so much worse off than if we took a deep breath and made our health a priority.

I decided that sanity was important than punctuality, and let my son sleep in on Friday. He got to school about an hour late, but was SO much better off for it. After a LONG month of practices that, honestly, were too late for him (getting to bed an hour after his bedtime, wound up), and an opening night performance Thursday, I knew he would feel better, and I would feel better, if he slept in a little. I ran it by his teacher to make sure he didn't miss anything important, and, thankfully, she understood.

And while I kept eating the things I am supposed to eat, and didn't eat one bit of chocolate (very proud of myself for that), I didn't worry so much about getting in my daily exercise. There simply weren't enough hours in the day. I worked out one day this last weekend, and knew that was good enough.

And on Monday, I went with some of my dear friends to a museum and we let our kids have a great time playing. That built up my happiness reserve again and gave me what I needed to get through this week. We don't get to do that nearly often enough.

It is the little things. It is the note and gift of tea from a friend. It is a hug. It is a pat on the back. It is a call from my sweet mom, making sure everything was looking a little rosier now that the first week of grad school was past me. It is watching our kids launch paper airplanes, and build contraptions with pulleys and buckets and ramps and dominos, and try to catch butterflies and explore an incredible treehouse/playground.

It is remembering, each morning, before I get up, to take some deep breaths and think positive thoughts, to not just jump right into the day, but thank God for that day first and for all the joys and challenges it will bring.

If I can remember to breathe, I think I will get through this first semester of grad school okay.

Inspiration Comes from Cleaning

Before anyone who knows me well has a heart attack, thinking that aliens must have taken over my body if I found inspiration in doing something I dislike (cleaning), let me put your mind at ease.

My much-neater husband took the opportunity of a day off last Friday to do some "spring" cleaning, and I felt a little guilty, so I cleaned out a few drawers.

What I found amazed me.

It is a slightly wrinkled print that was in an envelope. I don't remember receiving it as a gift, or purchasing it, or even putting it in that drawer sometime in the last 11 years that we have lived here.

The message of the print sounds like me, so much that I've put it here, over my computer, to uplift me as I begin grad school next week.

Here it is, a picture, then the words:

"she lives

she dances.
she sings.
she takes, she gives.
she serves.
she loves and creates.
she dissents, she enlivens.
she sees.
she grows.
she sweats.
she changes.
she learns.
she laughs.
she sheds
her skin.
she bleeds on the
pages of her days.
she walks through walls.
she lives
with intention.
--- mary anne radmacher

I cannot tell you how much I love this. If someone in my life knows where this came from, great! If not, the mystery will continue, and I am not bothered by that. No matter when I got/purchased this, it is seems like a message from above. It is pushing me forward, toward a new career, toward a new, more healthy me, toward what God has planned for me.

It will serve as a reminder, on those days when I am struggling with making myself work out, or finish an assignment for school, or just get up out of bed when I'd rather stay warm under the covers, that I am living with intention. I am shedding my skin. And I am doing so with joy.