Being a Best Friend Means Feeling Jealous Sometimes, Sorry

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bärli,

Sweet love, I have a lesson that is hard learned. I see you feeling jealousy about your best friends making other best friends, especially now that you are at a new school. Dr. Bell quote, “the only person that loves change is a baby with a dirty diaper.” You really hate it.

I smile when you describe your feelings (which I love about you) because they echo many of mine, sometimes. If you didn’t have that jealous feeling when another best friend meets the immediate needs of your bestie? I’d wonder if you were my child.

How beautifully human. How pure your love is.

When I was in undergrad, I remember telling someone at my church that I had over a dozen best friends. She looked at me and said, “they’re not really best friends, if you have so many. It’s not about quantity, it’s about quality.”

Uh, wrong. The same woman, 20 years my senior, also told me that I turn my friends into family. Uh, correct.

Look, it’s not a statement of quantity being more important if you ever find yourself lucky enough to have many best friends.

As you know, Kermit and I have been best friends for almost 50 years. K&S have been my besties for a year. It’s not about quantity of years or friendships. DUH. DUH. DUH. It’s about finding these amazing people and understanding that the two of you are unbelievably lucky to know the good, the bad, and the ugly about each other. No, strike that – you love the good, the bad, and the ugly about each other. You’ve seen that person’s everything, so you gently ask/say, “should we ride at dawn” when battle needs to be done.

BUT, one thing that happens when you ferociously love, which you do, is that you want to be the one to hand hold. In person. You want to make sure that you see, with your eyeballs, your bestie is okay, their needs are being met, the situation is under control.

It’s human. It’s genetic. It’s understandable.

Ralph Waldo Emerson has a quote about friendship that impacted me years ago, “The condition which high friendship demands is ability to do without it.”

I want to tell you a short story about two of my friendships and they are with couples.

You know your name and where it comes from. Geography tried to separate me from that core friendship and I’d say, though I don’t want to speak for the Big One, God simply wouldn’t have it. Many times, there was pain and suffering on both sides of the ocean and that continues today. The best friendships the three of us have (as individuals and I have with them as a couple) have been battered, bruised, twisted, healed, tested again, and bent – not broken. I ached everytime Godmomma or Godpoppa had their needs met by someone “on the ground.” I wanted to be there, providing the help. It wasn’t selfish. It wasn’t because I wanted credit or a title. It was because I love them so deeply. I want to heal hurt, celebrate triumph, create joy.

I couldn’t, many times.

I had to remember that the most important thing was that they receive the in-person love, support, joy…on their terms, at that moment. My love for them is strong enough to push through the jealousy I feel (not really of another person, just of the unfortunate CURRENT reality that I’m not able to teleport) because it is stronger than any other emotion.

The other best friendship is the one with LL and JL–. Bärli, there are stories that literally go back to the moment I was called “LaLa” for the first time (your beloved Ch). We knew each other before we became parents, as we were becoming parents, and as we’ve attempted to deal with being parents (Newsflash: the only cure for all three stages’ difficulties is Mi Cocina). We rarely get to see each other, as you know, even more rarely get to talk. I abhor my inability to be in-person to jump in the air in celebration or wipe the tears of sorrow. I don’t hate many things, but I have long hated this reality of our lives. My love for these two besties is deep. Very deep.

I have, many times, felt jealousy someone else was present for their individual and collective ups and downs. Many times. Having been blessed by the ability to laugh with LL as he was on tour or high five JL after a TV interview, I genuinely struggled when I could no longer do that.

I prayed about these particular friendships (again the individual and collective – we were a pretty awesome Three Amigos, in the day).

Prayer reminded me that there’s something deep when you know the roots and the leaves. These “best friend”ships were the ones that taught me the importance of depth. See, I am connecting to the generations up and down, with my LL and JL. Guess what? They are connecting to my up and down, too. I know the grandparents names from the kids and I have seen the grandkids make LL and JL’s parents shine from the inside. And, same.

Don’t worry about other people being your bestie’s bestie, bud. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Healthy and beautiful and unconditional love? We are blessed when there are many relationships with boundless love, especially our best friendships. Our souls need and deserve as much of that as we can get.

We don’t just nurture those with in-person activities. We nurture them with texts, with prayers, with a care package, with a shout-out in a speech that they may not hear, or in a myriad of ways to keep that best friendship alive. We don’t just show up when there’s rain, though we do and the umbrella is on point, we show up on the every day. I have always loved to see the school drop off routine because it’s just the ho hum. I remember one of Chah’s because he didn’t know I was coming. Seeing the route to pick him up was almost as awesome to me as seeing his face light up because, well, that was the everyday. Remember when Smiff did that for you once? Just the everyday.

That’s where you’ll excel – the everyday – whether it’s a good everyday, a boring everyday, or a scary one. You are a quality bestie, dude.

Relax your grip. They know who you are…and where you are.

And, they love you just as you are…ability-to-rearrange-molecules deficient.

49 -> 50!

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bärli,

I turn 50 tomorrow. If “everyone has the face he deserves” at age 50, per Orwell, I deserve the “Sehnsucht Sunshine.” Befreckled by it (better or worse), marked with the lines of laughter and a forehead of staff lines, I have been criticized as “having a smile too big for her face” and someone who “looks better in color.” So, I suppose I’ll take it. All of it.

There are so many things that were b**s**t, in the first part of my life. Yesterday, for example, we were looking at the clouds and I remembered, very vaguely, having to learn the different types of clouds. I mean, come on now. I did not need to see (and smell) the inside of a frog or attempt to sing coloratura repertoire or clean up chunks of your puke in my car. Twice. I knew the horrors of the Holocaust before the visual trauma of Schindler’s List, I knew cancer was brutal before losing Katie at the ripe old age of couldn’t-even-get-a-grey-hair, I felt the terror of public school safety before Uvalde happened hours away from us.

I learned things that made me rough around the edges and I’m thrilled about them. I learned hard lessons about what love is not (it is not what I have had when a man told me he loved me). I learned hard lessons about what family means to me. I also learned hard lessons about what personal responsibility feels like (news flash: exhausting, humbling, and thankless).

Some of the most important things I’ve learned came from two conversations about my singing / who I would or could be. One came from The Grant. He spent an entire lesson with me discussing chiaroscuro, encouraging me to find my perfect balance. I remember, vividly, asking him what my “balance” needed to be and he shook his head. He told me that he’d help me find my way, but I had to commit to being myself. In one of my first lessons with her, Pat Misslin told me I didn’t need to be anything someone told me to be. She said I could sing what I wanted, the way I wanted to, and make my own path. She said the only way I’d fail is if I pretended to be someone in the chorus because that wasn’t my voice.

I suppose my face reflects these lessons and so many others. I rarely wear darkness (literally or figuratively) because the world is dark enough, without my help, and usually appears brighter when I bring my sunshine. So many allowed me the grace to find my real voice, but it wasn’t until you made me your mother that I really found it, my sweet love. I think The Grant and Pat are both thrilled. I get lost sometimes, but not often. I am myself when I remember what they taught me.

I think the next part of my life is learning even more about who I can be, in this crazy world, as a mother, a daughter, a LaLa, a friend, a data privacy geek, an AI Responsible Use drummer, a Sehnsucht feeler, a light bringer, and God knows what else is coming my way.

I’ve always felt I’d make an excellent recruit…https://youtu.be/cG2JDiZFG0o?si=NmgwLtLGJDRMNHF2

Euridice

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bärli,

One opera refuses to leave me alone: Orfeo ed Euridice, written by Christoph Gluck.

Precious boy, even if you become the wisest, best-informed classical music historian/critic/snob of your generation, look down upon the Vienna version of this opera with disdain to the utter heartbreak of your mother. Nozze was my money maker, but Orfeo was my love.

The story of Orfeo and Euridice is one of almost unspeakable fidelity, suffering, and a love that knows no way to truly express what “love” is. So, let’s just put that little opinion to the side and stick a Cupid’s arrow/pin in it.

If a singer can fall in love with music by arriving through Hell? Mommy did. My first Orfeo ed Euridice, I arrived off-book and ready to go. With the Paris edition. Nope. “Vienna edition,” announced, clear as day, at the Sitz. So, I struggled. I’d learned a hard lesson earlier (in grad school) about being unprepared and I’d vowed never again. Before any rehearsal, I arrived knowing every vocal part, every orchestral part, down to the damn breath mark for the fifth flute (I’m exaggerating because I’m getting back into soprano mode). I was panicked.

Somehow, the terror of learning the new version added something to my Euridice that made her, I don’t know, untethered? unsettled? Feeling less than. Feeling like I didn’t fit. Feeling like I didn’t know how to take the steps necessary, sing the notes, play the part. I didn’t belong in that “Vienna” world, I belonged in the Paris edition. That’s the one I knew. But, I clawed my way through. Damn if my Orfeo, a dramatic soprano masquerading as “Amore,” and my side romance that summer didn’t pull me through. The three of them, my musketeers.

Boom. I did it. My Euridice was pretty damn something. And, she only got better, after that.

Though Euridice was definitely my heart, I longed to deliver the lines of the sopranos in the Act II, Scene 2 Chorus. Tears in my eyes, every time. And each Orfeo delivered beauty in “Che faro senza Euridice?” but none like my Chiari Orfeo, Lucia.

I digress. Point being: Euridice. More times that I can tell you, I have said, now!, “Lasciami in pace!,” which I 100% perfected in this opera. Do the individuals on the receiving end speak or understand Italian? Dubbio. Do I care? No. Euridice taught me! I don’t see her as weak. I never bought the direction of male stage directors telling me she was completely gone. Read about her “origin story” (you are FASCINATED with origin stories, right now, by the way – real or fictional).

She lives in her power. She loves. I’ve read quite a few “stories” about her. Sure, this opera is the “weakest” in terms of the story line (I mean, she dies, Orfeo sings over her, Amore sings, everyone is alive and dancing and happy); BUT, there is something about the real Euridice redemption story that is both universal and applicable, Bärli.

There’s something pretty damn powerful about a pure heart. It’s 2024. People have a lot of things driving them now: money, power, addictions, fame, imaginary ladders. So, maybe Euridice was just this pure heart screaming out to the world that she was there to love (Orfeo seemed to get that message)? That hit me very clearly, when I read the libretto, the first time. I read everything I could read about Euridice. I saw the same thing: pure heart.

I still see the newer depictions of her and read the newer writings that “feature” her. I love it all, but at the core it’s all just, well, her.

The snake bites her and she dies or Orfeo looks at her and she dies or she just dies. But, we all die. That’s not exceptional. So, what is exceptional about her?

She has this exceptional ability to draw Orfeo to her, clear. She loves with a depth that transcends her grief. She has a love that transcends death. That’s something. That’s a love that is almost unspeakable, sacred. A heart that just wants to love. Leave me in peace, let me love.

My third production of Orfeo, I had a stage director in Austria that asked me if I’d rather live in Hell with someone that chose to be with me or to live in the real world. I looked him straight in the eye and said, in my horrible German, “Hölle. Ich würde lieber in der Hölle mit Orfeo oder jemandem leben…falls er sehen kann, dass ich ein reines Herz anbiete.” He clapped and kissed my cheek. You probably think that’s gross, but he was old and didn’t mean it that way. He just mean that I “got it.” Maybe in a way he hadn’t, until I expressed it so awkwardly.

I’d rather live in Hell with Orfeo or anyone if he can see that I offer a pure heart.

By Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot – https://www.artic.edu/artworks/878, Public Domain

I hope this clip holds, over the years or that Lucia is plucked from the halls of German houses and put in the hallowed halls her voice should echo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFmudg64ZSM

Your Day in 2024

Posted on by lauraanneayres

This year is reflective. Not that you know, it’s all about foxes and a sleepover with tents and twinkly lights. But, inside? I’m reflecting on many things.

I still have Hollye’s service bulletin on my dresser. I can’t put it away. He’s trying to tell me something I can’t hear yet.

Another school shooting this week. Issues with work. Trying to figure out what is right for your educational trajectory and how to afford that. I miss my best friends, your God Squad. Ridiculous email yesterday that may or may not make my hopeful child sad on his birthday. This country’s election feels decisive in a way that inspires and terrifies me. I’m worried about pipes that are old, a roof that could have damage, and other household issues. I mean, what a list.

So, I go back to why I cannot put Hollye’s bulletin away. I think he might just be bringing me light? He brought me light. He made me smile, made me laugh, made me learn. The way he said my name, I still hear it, made me smile and I hear it every morning when I see his name. Maybe it’s that? Joy. Light. When I see his name, I also think of Suz. She also brings me light and joy. I’m not sure if Mr. Fisk thought he was a lightbringer, but he was to me. Just hearing his voice greet me brings me light that cuts through some darkness.

Last night? Instead of feeding darkness about other stuff related to your birthday that you will miss, I put together your birthday tent and sent the picture to Lindy and Cah – light. They were thrilled! I gave them light, they gave me light. Light abounded and darkness was overwhelmed with (literal twinkle) light. I’ve always been able to do that and I am lucky to know lots of people like that (Hollye and Suz are just two).

Guess what? Thankfully, I see the same in you.

About three weeks ago, down the street, next to our neighbors’ (an African American woman and her adult son) home, their neighbors placed a giant “T—p” flag and giant US flags. It is a spectacle and designed to intimidate. That’s the goal and it’s clear. You saw the response this week and were so pleased to tell me, “Momma, they put up their own sign! Go look!” They’d created a handwritted sign, “We Won’t Go Back.” You were so happy. Hate cannot drive out darkness, only love (and I’d argue light) can do that, Barli.

Keep remembering to bring the light AND let others help you bring out the light that is in you, when you feel the darkness surrounding you.

Nur zu.

The Dogwood Named “Dawson”

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bärli,

Miracles happen daily. Hourly. Every minute, in fact.

A seed takes root in the ground, only to become a plant that provides a habitat for a butterfly’s egg. The egg hatches into a caterpillar, which then forms a chrysalis before transforming into a glorious butterfly.

Babies are born every minute, around this great, big, boundless world. I will never forget being pregnant, feeling you kick, looking down, and seeing the heel of your little foot. I can attest to the fact that there is something quite miraculous about the entire process of a creation.

Here’s a story of a tree, wrapped in a miracle. Possibly a miracle wrapped in a tree?

Dogwood trees are a special gift to this world. Producing beautiful blossoms that form the shape of the cross, I know not if the legend of the Dogwood is true or false. I do know the blossoms speak deeply to my faith. I see the shape of the cross, the red-tipped petals, and the yellow points at the core as being one of many ways that God calls out through Nature, “I am with you, always.” I have worn a dogwood and a cross around my neck, every day, for as long as I can remember.

For my birthday, Momma gave me a dogwood for our home. The Vaughans hail from the land of the dogwoods, Virginia. We love our native Texas trees, but our hearts will always hold a special love for the dogwood because of our family and faith roots.

We planted this dogwood and began envisioning its name (another tradition). I knew the name on Tuesday, May 14th at 9:00AM, after a prayer service. There was no other name for this precious tree. It symbolized new birth, new hope, God’s image – Dawson.

Early in the morning, on May 26th, Dallas was hit with a terrible storm. Winds reached well over 50mph, hail was thrown against our windows, tornado sirens sounded, our house shook. I was terrified for our tree. I couldn’t sleep,

I spent much of that early morning, speaking to Dawson, through the window. Unable to control myself, I went briefly outside. Yes, there I was leaning into the “tree hugger” stereotype, in the middle of a tornado watch. Dawson was going through Hell, but Dawson was damn sure not alone.

Sure enough? Eventually, the sun rose over Dallas, brutally damaged in many places in our neighborhood. Majestic, centuries-old oak trees uprooted. Windows shattered. So much damage.

Dawson? Maybe a few leaves.

The “why” behind some of the things that happen still baffles my faithful heart. Why does one house remain intact, while the house next door disappears? Why do the storm’s winds break through one window with almost pinpoint precision and leave untouched our own home’s taped-up one? Why does this vulnerable, weak, precious little tree make it? Why? Also, why the storm?

The stronger tree next to Dawson, Dawson was planted within the strength of its canopy, had a large turquoise ribbon around it and Dawson had a small one, I am convinced it helped protect Dawson. It, too, has a turquoise ribbon around its broad, wide trunk, with the initials “AH” and “AH” written on it. The strength of the bigger tree was miraculous. The prayers, whispered through a window that didn’t crack, were miraculous. Every tree, every moment, every child is miraculous.

But, Dawson just might be more miraculous than most.

Protecting your 7-year old-ness

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It’s 8:07PM. You are cuddled in bed. Tonight is a big night because you get to watch “Chasing History,” which is some show about the 76ers and Knicks. I was smiling about Tyrese, so were you (jinxing when we said, “Coach Thomas”. I said he “would love it” and you said “needs to know about this”). #SouthGarlandHS

At dinner tonight, which was a rare night that I needed a night out, at 5:30, to avoid cooking dinner. By the way, I am privileged to remain able to take you to dinner, instead of mixing together the pantry staples…and, I know it.

But, at dinner, we had an interesting conversation. We’d just talked last weekend about your budget (for your allowance money). We’d also talked about expenditures around the house (some of which were due to your affinity for turning any flat surface into a basketball backboard). I mean, finances are tight. Not horribly so, but tight.

I was just about to blurt out, “Kid, let me tell you what it means to be a single mom” when I looked around the playground in front of us. I mean, I’d decided I was finally going to explain all the realities. What it mean that you broke our TV last week. What it meant that you wanted to do all the camps, all the stuff at Parish, that you basically ripped drywall plum off. I mean, I was going to break it ALL down.

But, kids. As per usual, kids. I saw them. Kids. Running around, doing serious stupid shit. One kid was hanging off a swing, from the top!, upside down. I mean, he’s going to the ER someday soon. Another kid was eating something he’d grabbed from the grass. Barfville, USA in 20 minutes. A girl was, I kid you not, climbing up to the top of the climbing thing with a doll in her hand. So, she’s either going to be POTUS or not. But, they are so beautifully unaware, right? In that, in your, innocence is the ability to do a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g.

I think this often, if I just let you all be kids? If I am one of those adults, like Granddaddy, that lets a kid be a kid? Hell. There might be actual learning and growth and creativity and, dare I dream, WONDER. If I just allow you to have a childhood. Which I will always try to do for you and any kid.

Bärli, there is a ton of chaos floating around me. Work is hard. This house is somewhat of a love-able money pit. I worry for the health of my loved ones. You are on a journey that is long. It is a rough time and (day and day out) I’m alone, by choice.

But, a very clear voice called to me, when I was about to share “adult” concerns with you.

Yesterday, I read a letter from a friend, who took time to write to me. She pretty much slapped me across the face and screamed, “STOP DOING THIS ON YOUR OWN, TALK TO ME” in a way that either Godmum or Godmomma would have done, if they were here.

How badly I miss them.

But, she was insistent that I stop holding everything in.

So…I stopped.

I told you the thing I wanted to tell you was that I loved you and everything would be okay. I made a mental note to remember that my friends are here to listen to everything that is tough and I neither need to hold it all in nor do I need to hold it in my shoulders (which literally tilt to one side now). They are here.

You are not.

Because YOU are a child. You need to deal with, as Kristina says, “child-size” portions of information. You have to be fed information you can balance with the fear of pooping your pants (not your current fear, but one of your buddies did it last week at school), making sure the kids don’t ask questions you don’t want to answer about your private life (c), being cool, having hair that looks like Grant’s, and knowing you are heading to the NBA. I mean, that’s it, right? Because you’re 7.

So, I thought tonight, let’s let him be 7. Just like he was allowed to be 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Just like when Godmum was with us and we were living with Lindy and we were around Godmomma. Lean on. my friends because they are here with us.

And, you be a kid.

I’ve got you.

Always.

Momma: the most phenomenal woman i know (iwd 2024)

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Yesterday, I was too busy trying to support other phenomenal women to support the most phenomenal woman I know: my mom. In my busy-ness and rush, she stepped in and took my son for a celebratory Spring Break dinner. Again, stepping in to make my life easier.

People dream of the life my mom has had. She was raised in a loving home, with both parents and two siblings. I’m sure it was a typical home with some laughter, some tears, some lovely chats, some screaming. My grandfather was ideally-suited to be in a home with four women because he was always attracted to knowledge and brilliance. In 2024, the typically “male” figure we refer to as a champion for women in the workplace? That was my grandfather. They grew up with a champion and a brilliant mother. My grandmothers were both creative, smart, and good. Just the place you want to grow up, if you are a girl because most girls around this globe do not have that start.

Mom went to good schools, she met a good guy, she had good kids, and a good home. Her adult life looked good to everyone. She helped EVERYWHERE for free: church, school, Bluebirds, Cub Scouts, providing snacks for practices & games, Dad’s social functions, charitable organizations. She was constantly helping. That’s what I saw, as a kid. But, looking back on it? She was rarely getting “thank you”s from anyone or feeling as phenomenal as she was, yet she persisted.

Then, she had teenagers and a husband that was in a very demanding career. She was one of those women that had to juggle different schools (at one point, three kids in three schools one of which was about 25 minutes from our house), a pretty substantial house (though Mom would hire a “housekeeper,” she has always befriended the housekeeper, and been unable to get actual house keeping because the housekeeper was never that great at, well, keeping the house). I have no idea how many mornings Mom cried, after we were in school. As a mom? I’d imagine quite a few. She would put breakfast out for us and I don’t remember a single morning that I wasn’t a raving nightmare. I cannot imagine how she endured it all. This must have been a time in her life when she was feeling very lost in all the “I’m not myself” roles and very far from an awareness of how phenomenal all she was doing was, yet she persisted.

When we were all in college and grad schools, Mom started to finally do some things for herself. She joined a non-profit (because she cannot NOT help others) and quickly rose to the head of that group. She was finally, at last, starting to receive some “thank you”s in her communities. It was wonderful to see. She was getting elevated by these, mostly female, people to positions of leadership and agency to make meaningful changes and recommendations. She was doing really well and I know her peers were championing her phenomenal. She still couldn’t see it, yet she persisted.

Her whole person changed that day I saw her with my eldest nephew. It was as if the dreams she’d had as a child were finally realized and it told me so much about this beautiful mother of mine, who has no idea how beautiful she is. It was a turning point for me because I saw, again, her acknowledge the phenomenal in a child that literally ate, pooped, slept on repeat and did nothing else. But she couldn’t see it in herself? She couldn’t see what I saw every time she got him to stop crying or sang him a lullaby or read him a book. (I remember Momma reading to him when he was like 3 months old and I didn’t get it. When she taught my son to read, years later, she told me that children need to start hearing big words, even if they can’t understand them yet, to be able to understand them later. See? She’s phenomal.)

The women of my generation are very different. We talk openly about needing reminders of our fabulocity because, well, kids. As a child, you don’t realize the damage you do to your mother. Children have to have someone that is “on my side” and that usually falls to the mom, which means I gave her holy hell on a regular basis. So, I’d like to be public and very clear about something that has benefitted our family, her friends, our communities, and many corners of this world for a couple of decades (love you, Momma).

Momma, you are phenomenal and you always have been. I look back at all these stages in your life when you were looking for something and I wish someone, I wish it could have been me, had whispered, “you are truly phenomenal.” I think you needed to have others say it more often and I KNOW you deserved to others say it more often.

So much of what I do these days wears me out and guess why? Because I am phenomenal, like my mom. I am modeled to help others, to care for my family, to create womens’ groups to support women literally everywhere I go, to do well in any job I am given. Because YOU showed me how to be phenomenal by being phenomenal yourself.

You really should start every day looking in the mirror and reminding yourself because you have chosen a life of service and those you serve certainly do not remind you often! When no one else is listening, I mean…God help us all if someone hears Linda compliment herself…just hear my voice reminding you, “you can do it” and whisper those words to yourself, “I am a truly phenomenal woman.”

Because you are the most phenomenal woman I know.

I cannot wait to get dressed and go to her house, where my son has had a sleepover with his grandmuddew, and read these words to her. She deserves it. Every woman does.

“God of Time and Space, Remind me This is Temporary”

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Bärli,

This simple, profound collection of words came to me from your Godpoppa, in 2016. He has always been my soul’s brother – connected to a deep part of my inner self and I am connected to his. He sent me these words as a lifesaver in the midst of an intense tempest storm, before your birth. My recollection is that he made this supplication everything I needed: short for ease of repetition, sacred for immediate connection to God and Mother Mary, and soothing [for the breath pattern – breathe in God, breathe out the reminder – allowed oxygen to balm my panicked brain].

God of time and space…remind me this is temporary.

In a fascinating and somewhat surprising turn of events, the Godpoppa Prayer has become something else for me lately. I’m unclear if this is the turning of the clock, which turns for us both my love, or if this is the roar of the hustle & bustle of being a professional in my career field and a single mother? I only know that this prayer has become a centering reminder for me that you are a small child for only so long. That I am receiving cuddles and only the occasional, “you’re the worst mom in the world” (which I know you do not mean) for now only. My own development as a person has allowed me the space to live in the moment and to see that there is beauty or pain or a growth or something to learn or any of a myriad of possibilities in every experience. Just as these bad moments are temporary? So, too, are the good moments, those flashes that are pure and full of wonder. I want to grab it all.

God of time and space…remind me this is temporary.

Your birthday morning recreated a scene from 2016 with a few alterations in the tableau. Lindy, PopPop, and Momma were together, just as we were on the day you were born; but, you were there, greeting a new year of life with your beautiful spoken words and laugh. We, the four of us, were not in a hospital in the land of mountains and lakes, rather enjoying the comfort of our home in the land of stars and stripes. Transfiguration, indeed.

God of time and space…remind me this is temporary.

It is the perfect prayer.

Amen.

Taking a breath

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bärli,

It’s a strange time in the year. I feel aware of the nearness of Father’s day. For us both.

Many fathers are chosen – not only created by birthright.

Some relationships are started on genetics, on “family ties.” You have many of those, too. I do, as well, and we are both lucky to have those ties. There are many iterations of “father/son” relationships and you are doing well, my little one.

Some are chosen when they make you a priority every day, and many weekends, teaching you things from how to “go potty with manners” to how to nail the perfect hook shot to how to hammer a nail to to how to ride a bike. #TheOGDadDM

Some are chosen when they make you their love, their object of devotion. #STA #amen

Some are chosen when they coach you about basketball or baseball or Jiu Jitsu or swimming or tennis or life – day in, day out. “You can be the best player there this week.” “Henry is competitive and wants every ball, but he also wants to make sure every teammate is helped up off the ground.” “Oh, Henry’s your kid? Yep, that Henry…he’s quite a baller.” #JDM #CM #TL #CM #Machado #Kyle #GV #CoachEdge

Some are chosen when they teach you a cool “just between us” high five. This is a first for you and something that healed the lost ‘you didn’t get the shoulder rides like other kids’ that killed me, as your mom. #CD

Some are chosen when your face darkens and says, “I don’t want him to leave,” because he’s the guy that held you in his hand. #TheDude

Some are chosen when they take a train, fly in a place, sit in a car, and then step out of the car to play the promised basketball game. Furthermore, these fathers sit with you (when you are crying on your mom’s bed because they are leaving) and tell you “it’s strong to cry.” They also cry when they are leaving you at the airport. #FD

Some are chosen when they spend time in BBQ joints and in a variety of sports venues showing you that you matter. #JH

Some grandfathers are chosen when they play games with a mailbox slot for 20 minutes just to elicit a laugh. #Bop

Some grandfathers are given & chosen when they hold your hand and whisper, “I was in this very place many years ago,” in downtown Dallas, after traveling thousands of miles.#AD

Some grandfathers are given & chosen when they hold you, freshly-born, and whisper, “Welcome to our family, little boy,” in Switzerland, after traveling thousands of miles. #RJA

Father’s Day is a day to celebrate these men. To celebrate the people identifying as male and recognize that you identify with them, for now.

I am the eternal worrywart, a genetic trait from your great grandfather, and I’ll always wonder what else I can do to make the joy in your life fuller, healthier, more robust, more authentic, and lasting. It’s my wish for all the children in my life. How do I help to do that or help to enable that?

Here’s one answer that is clear to me, as I stare down the dreaded Father’s day: take a breath.

They’ve got you.

Veteran’s day, whitney houston, and Heroes in your Midst

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Bärli,

You have started to learn some poetry and songs connected to our nation’s patriotic heritage. You were fairly beguiled by the song, “Grand Ol’ Flag,” which was one of my least favorite (no offense intended), thus I needed to introduce you to the plethora of words and wisdom that make the Americana catalogue.

Three reasons for your deeper interest in Veteran’s day this year: talking about it at school, understanding more about Daniel’s veteran status, and brief conversations about the Bassetts last year (and more this year). You are starting to understand the sacrifice it takes to secure peace…or the appearance of peace…for our nation and our citizens.

Thus, we are listening to the Greatest National Anthem of All (a.k.a. Whitney’s version) on repeat this weekend. You’ve just had me sing the Star Spangled Banner, as you started your basketball practice outside (sorry neighbors, can’t turn off the opera when I have a beautiful line).

I’ll tell you, you got my heart remembering how much is good about the US. Just because we sometimes focus on that which divides, WE are not divided. Whether it’s a Hot Wheels Monster Truck Rally, a Dallas Stars game, or our backyard – we are united by this beautiful, grand ol’ flag, aren’t we? Those of us that believe in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all people, we are blanketed together, in reds, blues, and whites. Neither “side” owns the flag – we all do. Just as Lady Liberty welcomes all to our shores, the flag serves to inspire us all to create a more perfect union.

When people like Granddaddy or Pop or Daniel or the Bassetts sign up to serve our country and to protect our democratic republic, we are further united. There is much to fear, there is much to regret, there is much work to be done; but, the bright stars and broad stripes represent that which unites us is far greater than that which divides us. That which was hard won in perilous fights by our ancestors at home and abroad should remind us that democracy is fragile, but resolve is strong.

Just as I felt last year, when you drew your picture for B&K, I felt grateful to my child for reminding me that better angels will always prevail.

God bless the United States of America.