Slippery Slope

Definition of SLIPPERY SLOPE

As defined by Merriam -Webster : a course of action that seems to lead inevitably from one action or result to another with unintended consequences

It often seems as if my life is one.  Truly.  I remember in high school learning this definition and my girlfriend, Diana, and I making up stories that just kept going and going.  We would get laughing so hard making up stories about some unsuspecting soul.  I didn't know that would come back to haunt me. 

3 weeks ago our basement flooded.  Not furniture floating flooded but standing water from wall to wall.  (Enter initial 'course of action.')  Mind you, there is someone living in our basement right now.  I discovered this at 6am.  I woke up our friend and we started immediately getting all of her stuff out and I called Trevor with a slightly panicked tone in my voice and told him he had to come home right away.  My husband is Jamaican.  While this might seem to be a crisis to many of us, my husband never operates in crisis mode.  He doesn't have a crisis mode.  No problem, Mon.  He was home by lunch. 

We spend the day cleaning out every single item in the basement and dragging soaking wet area rugs through my house and into the garage where a pile the size of Everest seemed to appear.  The restoration company was able to come the next day and set up dryers and disinfected and all that good stuff.  Pretty minor flooding.  We were blessed really.  I know families that lost so much in area flooding that it was just a huge inconvenience to us. 

The insurance adjuster came and surveyed the damage.  They would have covered carpet but do not cover area rugs so that was the first big hit.  Area rugs are not cheap.  (Enter 'unintended consequences') Then a few days later the washer and dryer just stopped working.  Both of them.  Granted those suckers were old but the insurance guy told me to call if there were any problem with them so I did.   He was estimating the loss to be about $2500.  I started clean up and repainting the floors and the walls right away.  I took laundry to my mom's and spent the entire day there running between her house and my sisters two doors down to get a weeks worth of laundry for 7 done. 

I called the insurance adjuster to see when we would be getting our check so we could replace the washer and dryer and he told me it would be a few weeks.  Ugh.  So I'm thinking I can make the laundry situation work until we get a new set, right?  Wrong.  After depreciation of our washer and dryer and our deductible, we'll be getting a check for like $300.   Well, woohooo!   What the what?   I do not understand insurance.  I get they were old but I can't exactly replace them for that.   So in a desperate facebook plea to buy some old ones from people we know, some wonderful friends had just moved and gave us their extra set!  So gracious and generous.  So thrilled and happy.

We have to borrow a truck and go pick them up.  A friend comes over to help move the old ones out and the new ones in.  I go off to a friends with another week's worth of laundry piled up in the van.  The paint is now dry enough to move everything out of our family room and back into the basement and our friend doesn't have to sleep on the couch anymore.  Trevor through all of this is having to work every weekend so the pile in the garage remains and the trips here and there to pick up a part and borrow a truck and all of that eat away the little time we have in the evenings. I am supposed to keep parenting as normal and work around all of the basement's contents scattered throughout our family room and maintain my patience amongst the chaos.

He goes to hook up the dryer one evening and discovers the vent is filled with lint.  We don't want to shell out anymore money so on FB many friends weigh in on how to do it ourselves.  So we borrow a dry vac for the next day from friends and he works on sucking it all out another evening.  He can't get it all.  So we borrow another tool from another friend and he will get to that tomorrow.  Meanwhile, I am off to another friends to do a week's worth of laundry for 7 again.  Which takes an entire day.  I mean 8 am to 5 pm back to back as fast as you can fold it.  

I decide that Trevor has been working so much and so hard and I will just help out while he's at work so he will only have to hook up the washer and dryer when he returns that evening.  It's just sticking a little brush on the end of a plastic tube in the PVC pipe to clear it out.  How hard can it be?  In the words of my 4 year old nephew helping me fold laundry one day, "I'm a super good big help."  So I stick the sucker in there and wiggle it around and start to pull it out and it breaks off in my hand.  Breaks off so far in there that I can't reach.  Of course, it does.   At this time, I feel like falling to the ground and pounding my fist on the floor in the best 2 year old style fit you've ever seen. 

I text Trevor.  So I don't have to say it outloud.  That No problem, Mon vibe he's got going comes in SO handy on occassions such as these.

The laundry has taken over our bedroom and with the next toss of dirty drawers onto the top of the heap will require it's on zip code. Deep breaths.  I call the professionals.  The professionals can come the next day. Thank you, Jesus.  

They came today.  They can only get to one end of the vent because the other end they built our deck over.  Not kidding.  So they cleaned it out and my awesome husband hooked up our washer and dryer and I started laundry while whistling and skipping.  The sun shines brighter.  The birds sing clearer.  You get the picture.  


We are supposed to cut a trap door in the deck to have access to the dryer vent.  Don't worry. We won't be doing that on our own.


Oh and the PVC pipe I stuck that dryer vent cleaner in and broke off.....uh yeh, that was the vent for our high efficiency heating and air unit.  So I guess I'll call them too.   


And that, my friends, is a slippery slope.  

Springing in to me.

Every Spring I spend the last few weeks of March climbing out of a hole.  Call it seasonal affective disorder, depression, the blues, a funk, whatever it is when Fall turns into winter I seem to literally fall into another me.  A me that I don't really like honestly.  A me that is less patient and kind, less fun and friendly, less than who I know myself to be.  Nothing too dark, not crying in the corner by myself me but just not me.  Every March I climb back out of it.  I can feel it happening.  I can feel the irritability start to fade away with every ounce of sunshine that soaks into my skin.  I can feel my laugh come easier.  I can feel it happening.  Usually by May I'm back.  Found myself again. 

This year I was going to stave off the hole.  I was prepared.  I was ready and waiting like a lion for the pounce and it came anyway.  It hit me again.  I felt shame in it.  I felt loss in it.  And that just makes the hole bigger.   I felt the irritability rise as the temperature outside decreased.   Energy for five kids seemed harder.  Typically outgoing me, turns inward.  The mundane everyday occurrences of life were enough to freeze me in an overwhelmed state some days.  Subtle things mostly.

This year I learned from it all.  I learned we all need grace.  Sometimes, big huge double portions of grace.  We usually need the grace when people feel least like giving it to us. 

I learned that people get nervous when you just say you're blah, maybe even depressed, fighting the blues.  I realized how heavy the stigma of mental health feels.  I think it's because people don't know what to do.  I can hear about your influenza because I understand how that is transmitted.  I know you need rest and fluids to help you feel better and I know that in about a week you'll be back to normal.  Mental health isn't quite as neatly packaged.  There isn't any of that in-a-week-to-10-days you'll be all better proclamation. 

I learned that partly that stigma comes from others questioning your faith.  There are people out there that don't get it.  They do not understand the whole hormone, chemical imbalance, psychological aspect that comes into play.  So they think you can pray it away or if you were in the word more or had a better relationship with Christ, then the darkness wouldn't come.  I want to smack those people.  In the less of me times and the happy Spring/Summer/Fall me times, I want to smack them.  They make me feel less than and shame on me for giving them that power.   It is in those times I depend on Him even more.  You can long to feel close to Him and still feel far away.  Even when you seek His face.  Even when you sit at His feet.  That is where the faith comes in.  You trust He is there.  You know that this is part of that less than you you and that your feelings are just feelings and the TRUTH is He is right there with you.  In the Fall and the Climb.  He is with you always and you read the truth and you rest in it and wait for your feelings to match up.  Those people that don't understand, that's their issue.  Not yours.  Let them carry that. 

I learned that there are so many others out there like me that don't feel like they can tell anyone because of the judgements, the looks, the stigma.  One in five adults suffer from some form of mental health issues but no one ever talks about it.  (I could now go on a rant about the state of mental health in our country and the school shootings and the divorce rate, homelessness, etc but this is just to say, reach out.)  Be the kind of friend that someone can call and say I'm struggling lately.  And you don't judge.  You listen and you support and encourage.  Be the kind of friend that lets people in.  That lives authentically and shares your life with others, even the not so you you.  Be the friend that steps out in trust and says, I'm hurting and could use your prayers.  I'm in a hole.  My marriage is in a hole.  I feel like a loser mom lately.   Be the friend that can say that and the friend that can hear that without judgement.  Offer grace and prayer and maybe cook a meal or take them out for coffee or a nice long walk. 

I know we like everything to be okay.  I know it is most comfortable for everyone to think that life is without struggle.  I know we want to believe that everything is as cheery as our instagram pictures make it look.  I know we want to read through Facebook posts like a copy of US weekly and see how great everyone is doing.  We want it to all be okay.  So does the person in the hole.  And sometimes there is no real reason that they feel that way other than they do.  And that is okay.  I know the hole is scary and you don't want to get too close but it is okay to hang over the hole and reach out a hand.  It is okay to just say I don't know how to help but I'm praying for you.  It is okay to just say the ridiculous to get a laugh or to drop off their favorite Starbucks just to say you aren't alone there in the hole,  I see you struggling and am here.  

I learned that comparing ourselves to others is almost always a recipe for disaster.  Do not let your contentment in parenting, marriage, what you're wearing, your walk with Jesus,  how much you're making, your weight, any of that depend on how others are doing it.  You are fabulous even in the hole.  Usually you haven't really changed, just your circumstances have and your fabulousness is still there it's just harder for you to see at the moment.  But it is there.  And so is HE.

I learned almost all of us have been there.  Few choose to admit it.

I learned I feel like I have to explain this all away by saying it's not that bad and my family is still great and we are happy and I do count my blessings and I am appreciative of all I have.  I feel like I need to say most days are fine and it really is good.  That is the fear of the judgements I guess but then I'm back to the people that just don't get it and well, I didn't write this for them.  I wrote it for you, the one in the hole.  The one that has just climbed out and the one that is clinging to the ledge. I see you.   I know.  I don't know what got you in there.  It doesn't matter.  Maybe it's a seasonal thing, or a life's curve thrown at you.  Maybe it's from poor choices you've made or injustices done to you.  Maybe it's genetic, hormonal, chemical imbalance.  I don't know what got you in there and it doesn't matter.  What matters is you are not alone. I've been there.  I see you.

I learned that I put that shame of the stigma on myself and I won't do it anymore.  I learned that I am that kind of friend that can say it and hear it.  I learned that it is something I will most likely struggle with for the rest of my life and no matter how prepared I feel, it will come.  I learned to not let that make the hole wider and deeper.  I learned that I crave sunshine like my husband craves his momma's cooking.  I learned that my God is greater and that feelings are fleeting but Truth just is.  I learned that we do not extend grace ever enough and that there is nothing more lovely or humbling than receiving it.    I learned that for me,  I can not exercise it away or take enough supplements and herbal remedies or pray or study His word or cling to my faith enough to make this go away for me. I learned that it is okay to need help with it.  Whether that is medication or counseling or whatever that looks like for you.  I learned that I expect others to be okay with it but wasn't okay with it myself.  I'm over that.  Do I struggle sometimes?  Yes I do.  Is my life still beautiful?  Absolutely.  Is God ever present?  Indeed He is.  Always with me.   I have an enormous tapestry of blessings in my life to be thankful for.  I'm not about to let a little hole ruin that.   Somedays, when the sun is shining and the wind is gently blowing through my open windows, I can barely see it anyway.   And I have 3 seasons to prepare for the next round!

Is 46:4 "I am He, who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you. I will sustain you and rescue you."

Thoughts on Boston bombings.

Senseless.   Horrific.  Shocking.  Just a few of the words that I've heard people use to describe the viciousness of the bombs in Boston.  Sad.  Scared.  Angry.  Words people have given to their feelings of these events.  Hateful.  Detailed.  Bold.  The terms others have given to those involved with setting these devices.  For the runners and the rescuers and the everyday citizens that ran to help, opened their homes to scared cold strangers to shield them from the openness of the street:  Brave.  Loving.  Courageous.  Helpful. 

I can't describe this tragedy in a word.  I am heartbroken by the state of our world.  Bombings and war and school shootings and bullying and hungry and homeless and the sick and the hurting.  I am also hopeful because our God reigns.  He knows and sees and heals and comforts and it is in Him, I am at peace. 

In the moments after the incident yesterday I watched things unfold over social media and for the second time in a matter of weeks was blown away by it's influence and speed.  I recognized the danger of it first; the opportunity for false reporting and rumors, feeding the insatiable hunger for drama and the 'if it bleeds it leads' mentality.   I can tell by the images we post that there is a level of desensitization that makes me cringe. But that same vehicle allowed hundreds to locate and know that their loved ones were safe within minutes of a disaster that 15 years ago may have taken days to accomplish.  It also had a country, a world, praying for everyone involved within a minute of the first explosion.  I believe that mattered.  I believe that it made a difference.

As someone with a background in Sociology, it is interesting to see the reactions of people in moments of fear and shock and see the texts, tweets, FB posts and instagrams that we now have the opportunity to post before our brains have really even had time to process what has happened.  This ugly display of cowardice and hate was answered by many on social media with the same kind of anger that breeds such hate.  Some are quick to blame.  Maybe it's an ethnic group or our government they point to.  Some just ask for peace and prayer.  Others just sit shocked, saddened. 

I had a friend run the marathon.  A friend that has been like a mentor to and a huge part of our oldest daughter's life and her walk with Jesus.  I knew she had finished earlier but was unsure if she'd hung around.  I immediately text her and held my breath and prayed.  I prayed for all involved.  For friends of friends that hadn't been heard of yet, acquaintances .  I asked others to pray on FB.  I prayed for those whose name I would never know.  I prayed my friend was safe and that she had not heard or seen anything that would haunt her.  After a few minutes another friend shared that she heard from her and that she was okay and just a few seconds later I got the text:

One of the things that is frustrating with such tragedy is the fact that one person or a few can ruin so much for so many.  Unfortunately, I don't think that is something we can change.   26,839 people qualified for the Boston Marathon.  Do you know how difficult that is?  Do you know how many of those people have had to fight through pain and adversity and a myriad of issues to make it to that day.  Instead of hearing their stories and their victories we have to focus on something horrific.  The celebrations that should have been happening weren't.  The feeling of accomplishment was smothered by hate.  The success of so many was hidden in the shadows of a cowardice few.  That breaks my heart. But people died and so many were injured and it does need to be covered and we do need to know.  It has always bothered me deeply how the actions of one can ruin the lives of so many.  It is why I am so very thankful that I believe solely in the One whose actions Saved the lives of so many.

This country is currently debating gun control and how to stop school shootings.  We talk about terrorism and what we can do to stop it.  I'm not saying these aren't important.  They are and I am of the belief that there needs to be change but in the midst of the dialogue on gun control, some kid stabs a bunch of students on a college campus.  And in this day and time where our large national events have more protections over them than ever before, there are still bombings.   Our world is broken.  This is a heart issue.   I can't solve the gun debate or offer a solution that hasn't already been offered.  I can't solve terrorism. I cannot offer up a solution to all of this that every American will proudly support and agree with.  I can't prevent bad people from doing horrible things.  Not today.

Today, I can work on my heart.  I can work on the heart of my children.  I can make sure I and my family are prepared if it is ever our time to leave this earth, whether by natural disaster, God's design or at the hands of someone set out to hurt others.  I can love my children and my husband so that if ever anything were to happen to them or me, we could be at peace with how we loved one another.  I can show my friends and loved ones how important they are to me in the way that I value their presence in my life.   Today.  I can do that today.  So in times of disaster, that is one less burden to carry.  I can tell others about the impact God's love and His son Jesus have had on my life.  I can live a life of faith that others can see.  I can offer that to them.  Whether they do anything with that information isn't up to me.  God simply commands me to tell them about Him, to show them. The rest isn't in my control.  For that, I know we are all thankful:)  I can love those that seem unlovable, unworthy.  I can love the stranger next to me because it may be the only time in his day he is shown love.

In that spirit of authenticity, I also have stunk at loving lately. I mean, I love my family.  I tell them all the time and if you asked, they know I love them but I haven't been the easiest to love back lately. When I feel stress or am struggling emotionally, they are always the lucky ones to feel the weight of my craziness. I've been less patient, less accessible, less able to find joy through the struggles.  So when we prayed as a family last night, I asked God to forgive me for that, in front of our children and my husband, and prayed I would do better.  I prayed to be the momma they need and the wife he needs because at the end of the day, it's all that matters. I can do better.

My sweet friend knows I love her.  I've told her before.  Freakishly often.  It's how we roll.  She does the same.  She knows the impact she's had on my daughter's life because we've shared that with her and have shared our appreciation for her before.  I think that is why I didn't cry until I knew she was okay.  The relief that she was still with us....such a huge release of thankful tears.  Who haven't I told?  Who do you need to tell?  Who needs to feel your love?

We can all do better.  We can all be better.  We can all work on our hearts and if we're all working on our hearts and truly loving those around us, surely the ugliness of the world won't seem as scary.  If we can show our families this crazy kind of love in our lives, if we can pile on the love so thick than maybe it will make the sting of the pain of this world less.  When the ugliness intrudes on our lives, we'll be able to have a peace knowing that we loved as big as we could.  And maybe, maybe if we just love big enough...some of the people filled with ugly will feel loved too...and the world will be a different place.



*Continued prayers for those that were touched by this tragedy.


 

Riding the wave

So there was a minor little sports story that seems to have everyone up in arms around here:)  That's right, I'm blogging about the blog.  It's what we bloggers do.

A little background here.  I am the stay at home mother of 5 ages 13 and under.  I started this blog when we set out to adopt from Ethiopia.  Yes, there is a reason for the name.  The blog has followed our family as God blessed us with two children that happened to be living locally.  Since, I've written about adoption, being a large family, a multiracial family, social justice issues, mothering 5 children often with extras around as we are a part of Safe Families.  All of this is seen through the lens of my love of Jesus and His love for me.  It's the only way I know how to see life.   I blogged because I am a writer.  A writer no one reads or pays but a writer all the same.  It's never mattered to me how many people read it.  I am a writer because I write.  Sometimes 50 may read, sometimes it's 300.  Two evenings ago, I sat and blogged about this mailer I received about a local high school basketball coach and the small little blog garnered some mucho attention.  

Mucho, as in 1300 before I went to bed that first night and now, after having been shared on FB and tweeted and retweeted and last night picked up by the news, it's at almost 8,000 hits and previously I've had 10,000 hits in the history of the blog.  A 4 year history.  Sports are powerful my friends.  A sad little commentary on our society I think.  However, hundreds more have also gone on to read about my passions and that feels good.   Maybe someone will read about living a life of faith or adoption or Safe Families.   Maybe they'll want to read more.  And maybe they'll read this one story about basketball and I'm okay with that because as a writer, it is nice to be heard.  It feels good to have captured the feelings of so many.  And let's face it, this story really isn't about basketball at all or this coach.  This story is about one of entitlement.  This story brings up the issue of parents throwing money at their children's problems, parents and the example they too often set for their children...however well intentioned.  This story is about how much sports has changed and how it used to be about exercise, healthy competition and learning life skills like playing as a team, hard work and determination.  It's about common decency and respect for others, even if you disagree with them.  It's about bullying.  It's about a society with skewed priorities.  So I'm okay if my numbers return to 5 today.  Because God gave me a voice and a gift and He asked me to use it.  Whether that touches 5 or 5,000 lives isn't for me to worry about. 

Behind the scenes yesterday was hilarious.  My friends kept texting about sports talk radio and how they were talking about it.  That they had seen the blog here and there.  It was fun to see the excitement for me and very cool to watch the numbers rise throughout the day.  I wondered how many shares and retweets I needed before I got the tshirt that says, I went viral.  Can I check that off my bucket list yet? 

Yesterday afternoon, standing makeupless in yoga pants and a tshirt folding laundry on our kitchen table, I got a text that WISHtv would like to speak with me and they will be here in 30 minutes.  30.  Picture this, mom running up stairs hollering down to kids to leave all their stuff in their backpacks and hang up their coats all the while trying to find clothes that say I'm ready but not trying too hard.  20 minutes to go...All the kids are grabbing laundry and putting it away.  I'm throwing dirty dishes in with the clean ones sitting in the dishwasher.  Texting my husband what is going on so when he pulls into the neighborhood he is not freaked out by the news van sitting in his drive.  10 minutes to go....Run back upstairs to throw on some makeup while the kids are still scurrying about.  "Mooooooom, Grace says we really have to act like we love each other."  Yes children, that would be nice. 2 minutes to go..... "Moooooom, can I watch Netflix?"  No, not now.  Well, that did it.  No to Netflix and unnamed child is on a heap on the floor crying and letting out a guttural cry of how I'm no fun and it's always so boring around here.    Uh, excuse me?  Are we in the same house right now.  I'd love boring. 

I finally got everyone settled with a snack and a game and heard the knock knock knock.  The reporter and photographer were very nice.  The children were very tame.  I was a hot sweaty mess from running around trying to look 'normal.'  The patio door was opened and it was raining and both of these things combined made my naturally curly but blown out very straight hair start to curl in an odd fashion.  I could feel it happening as I spoke to the reporter.  I could actually feel it getting bigger.  Deep breaths. It was the quietest my children have ever been.  Ever.  I thought about hanging on their leg asking them not to leave.

As I closed the door behind them, I took a breath and wondered what had just happened.  Then I looked in the mirror and blinked my eyes 3 times wishing for a do over.   I am definitely a writer, not a speaker.  I stumble over my words and can't seem to form an intelligent response when asked a question.  My mind races and I babble and after they leave is when I think of the genius points I could have made.  Deep breaths.

Another station called.  I declined.  I don't want it to seem like this is a me against them.  It's not and I already had plans to meet friends for dinner and that's way more fun and less stressful.

Watching it all on the news was even more frightening.  We critique ourselves in a way we would never do to anyone else.  I was appalled at my weight, my hair, my obviously sweaty face (or now that I'm on tv do they call that dewy?).  Regardless, the image of me bothered me.  This morning as I showed it to the kids, none of them commented on any of that.  They were proud of me for using my voice to stand up for someone who was being picked on like I've spoken to them about countless times before.  They were proud of my writing and that I had the courage to voice what some would only think.  They were proud so many connected with something I had put a voice too.  Wow!  Schooled again by those babies.   A good friend set me straight too.  She reminded me how many people could learn about some of these social justice issues I feel so strongly about, about the bigger reason this happened.   

That is cool to think about.  The number is up to 9,300 now.  9,300 reading that post is good but what is even better is almost 1000 have read the one prior to it.  And the others.  The ones that shout about my God and His work in my life.  How quickly I had made this about me.  And my looks?  Society has done a great job instilling my low self-esteem.  Really?  9,300 people just read your work.  Who cares?   I doubt this little twist in the road will bring me the writing career I've dreamed about.  It won't bring me fame or riches.  (Except I did get an offer to buy me a drink)  I'd be lying though if I didn't say it felt good to be heard.  To use my voice for good.  9,500 now.  Somebody hand me my yoga pants;)

Smells like entitlement.

*sprinkles of sarcasm included because really how else could I respond.


I am baffled.  Truly.  I admittedly know nothing about our local high school basketball program.  Nothing.  I do not know our coach or any assistants.  I've never been to a game.  Never.  I do however, know enough to comment when I received a mailer urging the head coach be replaced. 
Seriously.  A mailer. 

A double sided, stamped mailer.  Which includes the following:

"It's time for a change.  The 2012-2013 Noblesville Miller basketball team was one of the most talented (and the tallest) in the entire state.  Yet, for the third year in a row, the team seriously underachieved relative to their talent and potential.  This very disappointing record included 9 losses -7 after leading or tied in the 4th quarter.  The team has lost the opening round of Sectionals the last three years."

The 2012-2013Noblesville boys basketball season was yet another season where:

Players were subjected to a negative and demeaning coaching style, berated regularly and subjected to profanity in practice.  Players rarely received individual coaching or positive encouragement from the head coach. 

Player morale deteriorated as the season progressed, but players perservered in the program because of their love of basketball and despite their strong dislike for the head coach.

Players were expected to perform "slave labor" for the head coach at youth camps and concession stands

Two-a-days (before and after school) practices left little study time and caused players to fall asleep in class

By sectionals time, player confidence and enthusiasm was depleted

-players just wanted the season to be over

Albert Einstein said, "insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results."  Such is the Noblesville Boys Basketball program. 
It's time to replace Coach McCullough and bring in a more positive and effective head coach to Noblesville Schools."

I do not know how many people this mailer went to or how much money was spent on it.  I just know I received it in my box and honestly couldn't believe what I was seeing.  Here is the trouble with it. Just some random thoughts.

It is mean.  Just mean.  This coach may not be good at his job.  You may not be good at yours.  But sending out a mailer asking for him to be replaced?   Mean.   Lovely lesson you are teaching your children.  Takes bullying to a whole new level.  This coach may be a jerk.  He may be a horrible coach.  This is not the way for me to hear your concerns.  This is not the "positive and effective" change you want for your beloved Millers.

How entitled does one have to feel to send mailers out to try to ensure that their child is on a winning team?  What kind of lesson are you teaching your kids?  Winning is fabulous.  I'm an IU fan.  I know what that's like:)  But how about hard work and determination and academics?

I too would not want my child to be coached in a negative or demeaning manor or to be berated or subjected to profanity. ( Even though I doubt if they were winning with this coaching style you'd have issue with it.)  Valid point if the alleged is true but your other arguments kind of make this one valid point become a non issue for me.  Not to mention, this mailer comes across as slightly demeaning and negative itself. 

I had coaches throughout my life that I liked and disliked. I played the game for me.  My parents would have never sent out a mailer about a meany coach.  They would have told me to play my game.  To hold myself to a different standard, to work hard.  They would have told me that in life there may be bosses I have or peers I have to work with that I may not like or agree with but I have to find a way to carry myself in a respectable fashion and work through it. 

Two-a-days are ridiculous, I agree, but are seen in many sports since I was in high school 20+ years ago.  It is a regular practice that this coach should not be singled out for.

The player morale and enthusiasm as the year progressed I bet was more affected by the attitude of the players and parents involved in this mailer than anything else.  Sometimes life isn't fair and things stink and it's okay for our kids to know that.  

The statement that we have one of the talented and tallest teams in the entire state gave me a good chuckle.  My husband is a 6 foot 5 inch black man and let's just say he ran track and played soccer in college.  For a reason.

The tone of the mailer hit me the most as an entitlement issue when I got to the ''slave labor'' sentence.  If you want to see slave labor, I will be happy to introduce you to the very real world wide issue. Your son having to work the concession stand isn't it and is completely offensive to say.  Spun this momma's head around and ended in a Z snap.

There are a dozen problems with our school system right now.  Our teachers need your support, our arts and music need your support.  I could give you the names of a dozen teachers who would love your funding for cool ideas they have for their classroom.  If you have money to throw at an 'issue,' I can help you find one but this?!  This is what you are going to join arms in and send out a mailer for.  Seriously?! 

The Albert Einstein quote?  Really.  It was  a good for a laugh. 

I am thankful parents want to stand up for their children when they feel they have been justifiably wronged.  Kudos for that.  But justifiably should be the key word here.  Voice your concerns to the coach himself, superintendent, parents, administration but to take out a mailer publicly shaming someone.  Ridiculous.  C'mon parents, we are better than that.   This group "paid for by concerned Miller parents seeking a better basketball program" is better than this I'm sure.  I'm sure they wanted to do right by their children, but in my opinion, they missed the mark.  Big time.

Would love to hear your thoughts on this.

*The image of the dejected ball player was a nice touch. 

Heart check

I've tried to post about this before but I often get worried about offending or being misunderstood and struggle for the words that are emblazoned on this momma's heart.  This week I had a conversation with some dear friends though about race and a beautiful blog post I read this morning prompted me to sit down and spew out the contents of my heart. 

My children are 13 and under so when you ask many of them what color they are you might hear "dark chocolate" or "caramel" and lately one of the seven year olds has decided she looks like peanut butter which she is exactly right on.  But last week my turning 13 year old walked in to our home and asked me if she was "colored."  Uh, well, um....yes kinda.  We had a discussion about what that term historically has meant and that if she would like to refer to herself as a woman of color absolutely.  That conjures up ideas of strong and beautiful to me but colored was reserved for this-is-your-place-here-at-this-water-fountain or in the-back-of-this-bus and your place is beneath me and I will fight with all that I am that my children, everyone's children, never feel beneath anyone else.  It was a great talk and as my children grow and learn about the slave trade and African history and civil rights it has brought beautiful God moment discussions.   But I wonder if those talks are happening within the homes where the children are "vanilla."  That is where change takes place. 

I have always studied black history, long before I knew who my husband would be or that my children would be the beautiful shades of brown that they are but I would be arrogant to not admit that it has made me look at it all differently.  Last week my son came home and told me how strange it is to be the only brown boy in his class when they are talking about civil rights and how to know that he wouldn't have been in that class just a few short decades ago....how he knows his friends aren't like that and to be thankful that it isn't like that anymore but to know it was and in some hearts, still is....that history weighed heavily on the heart of my handsome, inquisitive and sensitive boy and it weighed heavily on this momma's heart.  My 13 year old had to answer a question on how the civil rights movement affected her now and how it's changed the world and there on her paper lay the words, "I wouldn't be here."  She explained her interracial parents and how we wouldn't have been allowed to marry then.  When your kids are making observations like that, it just makes you take notice in a different way. 

I sat with some dear women friends this week laughing and carrying on and the conversation turned to the race of my children and some of our experiences as a family and I know these women love my family.   They love my children.  They love my husband and me.  Some said they don't think their kids see color.  Some said it isn't an issue anymore.  Some said they never hear about race stuff around here.  And they don't.  Not because it doesn't exist, but because it's not on their radar.  I'm not saying that is bad.  It was just in that same moment, I've realized how far we've come and how far we've yet to go.  Is race WAY less of an issue than it used to be?  Absolutely.  Just in the time since Trevor and I first started dating to now 20 years later, it amazes me at the difference in attitudes.  I am just saying there is an aspect of being white that brings a privilege to it that is hard to understand.  And by privilege I mean you don't have to concern yourself of the things of race.  You may not, for instance, notice the truck ahead of you in the carpool line with a white power sticker on it.  You may not have ever had a child come home and say so and so said they can't play with me because I'm brown.  You may not have had to think about what people think when your sons walk through the neighborhood someday. You may have never had your child in the 2000's referred to as a 'Negro.'

For the most part, our life is protected.  We are surrounded by people that know our family, love our story and cheer my children on.  BUT, it is my job to prepare my children for the world at large.
While I love that my small children refer to themselves as flavors, I am fully aware I am raising black children and equipping them to know there may be times, unjustified or not, that they are perceived a certain way because of it.  One of my dear friends pointed out that my children are just as much white as they are black and while that is genetically true, unless you know me as their mom, people might guess that but society as a whole will label them as black and they are.  I'm okay with that.  It's a beautiful thing.  It should be celebrated and something I am raising them to be proud of.  My rambling point is that not everyone celebrates that.  There have been times in my children's life already when I've heard that they are great at their sport because of their height or their color, not because they work their tail off everyday at it.  There will be times when my boys will be walking through the mall acting silly when they are older and it will intimidate the living daylights of the white lady walking by.  I know this.  I am a white lady.  I get it.  I really do.  There will be that moment that a son will bring my gorgeous brown daughter home and his parents will stop and think what does her color mean to them.  I know that the life experiences, things we see on the news, historical past are engraved on our hearts and that not believing or paying into the stereotypes of our day and time is hard to fight.   But I also know that it is worth that time to take an introspective look at our own hearts and to see what might not be so pretty about it.  To change it.  To teach our children differently.  See color.  It's impossible not to.  Don't teach your children to not see color or differences of any kind.  Teach them to celebrate them.  When my children notice a child with special needs, I don't shush their questions.  I answer them fully and honestly and we talk about how beautiful our differences can be or how cool it is that this child is just like us in so many ways. 

When you silence a child's questions about differences, it teaches them that it is shameful.  It's not.  I've seen parents turn three shades of red and apologize for questions about the color of my children or how I look the way I do and they the way they do.  Don't be embarrassed.  Don't be ashamed.  Say that is how God put this family together.  Isn't that crazy cool?  Isn't it awesome that we can look different on the outside but have hearts that want the same things.  Isn't it something worth celebrating that this little girls hair is tightly curled and yours lays perfectly straight the color of the sun.  Isn't it beautiful that this little boy smiles at the same things you do too but his skin is the color of the football you're playing with.  It may sound juvenile.  It may sound simple.  But it really is.  We are all God's children.  We are all different.  We are all of value and worth.  

I am the white momma to five black children.  Married to a handsome black man.  Is that something I set out to do like the people on Jerry Springer?  No, God brought me my husband and he happened to be this gorgeous Jamaican.  At many times in our lives we have even more children living in our home and I've gotten the how great you are for doing this and I've heard the comments from others not knowing I am the momma or married to a black man, those comments that say, we are white so we agree on this, or we are white so it's okay for me to share this with you.  The joke that they think is funny and turns the knife in my heart. You would be shocked at the things people think they can say to another just because of that. 

I guess all this rambling is to just make you take a second to look at your heart....to be intentional about talking with your children about race and what it means to them, what they see in their everyday life about it.  My daughter comes home from school talking about her Hispanic friend and how she loves to hear her talk Spanish to her on the phone with her momma or a group of Hispanic friends at school speaking Spanish to one another but I can assure you across town the same experience is a negative for someone...that they don't know why they can't speak English or are they illegal or deserve to be here or or OR.   My two young daughters looked at a boy walking with braces on his legs and crutches this weekend and while I said it isn't polite to stare I also pointed out how we sometimes take for granted how easy it is to walk from one place to the next and how this boy I bet doesn't and how that experience of his life has probably shaped some pretty cool qualities in him.  My dear friend just adopted a son who is missing a hand.  My kids weren't thrown off by it.  One just simply stated look how God made him, momma.  Those differences were celebrated.  My children respond to differences with a beautiful simplicity and acceptance because we are very intentional about it in our home.  Can you imagine how beautiful life would be if everyone were!?  I was raised in an all white home.  Differences were celebrated.  I was taught that.  It made me who I am.  It probably created the family I have.  It has opened up my world to a beauty far too many people don't see.  I guess I just want you to see it too.  To introduce your children to a world where the love of Jesus and unity with others is what matters.  To live fully in the sea of diversity and not to be afraid of it. 

I'm swimming in the sea and it is the most amazing view of what heaven will be like.  For that I am thankful. 

Early morning heart talks

In the wee hours of the morning when my husband leaves for work, my 7 year old daughter often moves in to his warm spot in the bed.  Typically we both fall back to sleep but there are days when she spews out the contents of her heart to me.  This morning was one of them.  Lately when I look at her, I've been shocked at how big she is getting but as she clasped my hand in the both of hers and quietly started to speak, she was tiny again.  Maybe because of the vulnerability of sharing your heart with someone, maybe because I needed her to feel small again and to be reminded how much she needs her momma still.  I have a fleeting moment of wanting to tell her that it is too early to be awake and not time for conversation but I know how important it is to listen to your child's heart when they share it.  So I listen.  "Please remind me to take my library books in the morning, momma."  "When I wake up tomorrow, I am going to try hard to be nice the whole day."  "Sometimes being nice feels hard."  "Gracie did great in her performance last night."  "I hope I have a good friendship day at school."  "Happy Valentine's Day Mommy." 

Happy Valentine's Day, sweet girl.