on community: when they became we.

Posted on June 17, 2013 by caramac54

Jen and I met early on our freshman year of college, each fanning the flame to the other’s craziness – time passed, and eventually, after she’d landed in Seattle, I too found myself moving northward, in need of a new home. She and Shannon and Amy took me in to their Green Lake home, where I lived in the hobit hole of a basement for two months – but I tell ya, that time sealed the deal for me on friendship with this woman. So sit yourself down in your comfy chair, and relax into this beautiful read...

I love this shot of Jen that filtered through on Instagram the other day – hot to trot!

—

I never really glommed onto the whole “WWJD” catch phrase that seemed all-too-consuming, and yet way superficial at one point during my existence. I guess I just live knowing that Jesus would LOVE, and beyond that, I probably couldn’t answer like him, so if the answer can’t be LOVE, then I will have to figure it out a harder way. I’m OK with that. And until recently, I didn’t even really think about it.

I also never thought it odd that death is normal to me. It isn’t scary. While it is sad, it is also so redeeming that the sad is only temporary, even when it lingers. In third grade, I lost my first close loved one – I am sure I didn’t even really know what a “loved-one” was at that point. He was 3. A pseudo-brother that I spent most of my waking moments with between one of three houses, as our three families essentially co-existed while our parents figured out life raising children.

Quickly after that came a string of loss in the neighborhood – given that we were the only young family, we lost one neighbor after another, all to regular old-age circumstances (again, which I really knew nothing about at the ripe ol’ age of 9). My great-grandparents, followed by my grandma and her sisters came next. College had its own handful of strange and unnerving deaths.

Then, in my early twenties, I lost a teaching partner… my mentee, a first-year, joy-filled, amazing young woman in her first year of teaching. Shortly thereafter, her sister passed in another unexpected, tragic circumstance, leaving their parents childless. Next, the husband of another co-worker. Another death here or there, and then 2013 came in like a lion… 8 deaths in 6 weeks, one being the most tragic I have ever experienced.

If you are still with me, you may think, “Are you KIDDING me?” No. I am not. And, I am not being dramatic about them, and I can only assume there is someone else who understands my existence. As I said previously, I didn’t even know this wasn’t normal. Earlier this year, someone asked me, “Why do you think you lose so many people?” I had never thought about it. And my first reaction was, “I guess it’s because I know a lot of people.” But my mind spun, and twirled, and twisted and stretched and ached after that question came. On many occasions, I have asked, “Why??” I have screamed it. I have sobbed it. I have wondered it. I have whispered it. I have talked to dear friends about it.

In my small group, the most gracious community I have been a part of in a long time, we segued into this conversation one night while we were studying the Beatitudes. We were discussing the traits we see in one other that lend themselves to our roles in God’s community. As I listened to my dearest, most loving friends explain how they see God working through the tragedies that I have experienced, their words were like flood-gates opening, and an answer to a prayer that I had never spoken. While I had exhausted the mantra, “WHY?” in hopes that I would understand why each person I knew died, I had never asked, “Why ME? Why, God, do you want ME to experience this sadness, this turmoil, this frustration, over and over and over again?”

“You are a strong individual, and I am quite sure you could get through anything.”

“You would do anything for anyone.”

“You just know what people need.”

“You feel other peoples’ feelings.”

“You put others first, even if it is too a fault sometimes.”

Wow. ME?! Are you SURE you are talking about ME?

And as I drove home that night, I realized, “Yes”. Yes, I was created to be strong, and determined, and with a heart that understands people, and with a strong emotional side, and a will to care for others. I had never felt like this was any kind of special gift, but more a learning; that as I lived and re-lived one death after another, I started responding in ways that people had for me. In times of sadness, I would think about “What Has Been Helpful For Me?” instead of “WWJD”, and I would try to provide that – a hug, a tear, a meal, an ear, a tissue – all based on what I may or may not have needed in my own near-and-dear experiences. And as I drove home that night, I realized that I wasn’t doing the best work I could be doing to share the way I was created, to create community; to exist in a community that would show LOVE to ALL.

You see, I was using these gifts to LOVE those I knew. To LOVE the heck out of family and friends who were sad or grieving. I was using these gifts within my existing community of friends, but not within my existing community of physicality. And I felt convicted. I have more to offer and I am saving it up, just in case someone I know needs it more, as if God will let me run out of LOVE. Seriously?!?! Highly unlikely, I suppose.

Quickly, everything fell into place with the next tragic event. A missing 24-year-old. A case somewhat familiar, with similarities to the most recent death I had personally experienced. Mandy Matula, presumed to have been killed by her boyfriend, missing. The searches were huge, immediately, and they were local; just a few miles from the first house I lived in when I moved to Minneapolis.

I kept hearing phrases like,

“That poor family!”

“I hope they find her!”

“I feel so bad for them!”

“They have to be nervous, scared, exhausted… after searching all day.”

And that weekend, I was determined to become part of “we” rather than talking about “they”. I got up bright and early on Saturday morning, praying for grace and mercy and LOVE. I dressed in layers, covered from head to toe to ward off ticks, snakes, mosquitoes, sun, wind, and rain. I drove to the local church where the search would begin. I hugged. I introduced. I laughed. I cried. I searched. I joined them. They became we.

I have experienced grace in more ways than I can count, list, share, or document. I heard a pastor say once that the mission of people who experience the grace of God should be to extend grace to others. I believe the same is true of LOVE. I have experienced both, and in the last 6 weeks, I have been reminded of extending grace and LOVE into the community beyond my normal every day, to turn they in we. The extensions have not been turned down. Rather, they have been met with grace and LOVE that were unnecessary and unexpected, but more genuine than I could have begged for.

And when my colleagues, friends and family thought I was nuts, and asked, “Why would you go and search? Weren’t you scared?”

I simply said, “Why wouldn’t I? And yes.” Scared doesn’t matter. Grace matters. LOVE matters. COMMUNITY matters.

How have you turned “They” into “We” this week? I dare ya to try it. Really, it is much less scary than we probably believe it to be.

—

Don’t you just love her? Do leave a comment for Jen below, and in the meantime, cheer on Cara’s writing today by becoming a fan of be, mama. be on Facebook, or by subscribing to receive emails in your inbox directly (click “follow” in the left-hand column).

The Canon Chronicles (11): a letter

Posted on June 14, 2013 by caramac54

Once a month we – er …me, myself and I – take a break from the regular writing scene, and highlight the Little Man’s life with The Canon Chronicles. Enjoy!

Mine.

Cancan,

Now Baby, here’s the deal: you have got to stop growing! According to the wide, wide world of the internet, you’re apparently going to be a TODDLER in just one month – and toddlers …well they toddle, and write on bedroom walls with Sharpie and string toilet paper from one end of the house to the other – and weren’t you just lying prostrate on the ground, practically motionless, like yesterday? (Actually, being motionless was never really your strong suit, you squirmy little motion-activated human sensor, you).

But as per that absolute awe that is you, you’re still – and always – our little campfire. I’d tickle you forever just to hear that delightful giggle of yours. I love that you and Daddy have begun to have wee little mini wrestling matches on the couch - and speaking of Daddy, you just can’t get enough of him. As of late, you’ve been reaching for your dad like nobody’s business, and as one wise friend told me, don’t take it personally. It’ll happen. Both ways. So instead I cheer internally and inhale my Girl Scout Thin Mint creamer-infused coffee* for just a second longer …because I can. And because Daddy’s the one chasing your crawling bum around the living room and dining room and kitchen respectively.

You could spend all day pushing your little crocodile walker up and down the hallways, and it always makes me giggle, because you’re just pure business. Don’t mind me! Just heading to the office, Mom! You love the swing at the park, and being outdoors almost seems to put a trance on you. All. That. Green. You have this fantastic pelvic-thrusting dance move that you love to pull out anytime, anywhere – from Whole Foods to church to our own kitchen table, you’re dancing, dancing, dancing. You keep it real and you bring on the holy laughter, that’s for sure!

You pull yourself up on each piece of furniture and you survey the scene by walking around it, over and over again – and our hopes of an adult-friendly living room are slowly being replaced by the realization that cast iron coffee tables are not so forgiving on malleable heads. We even succumbed to christening the living room with a pack-n-play, and thus providing a half hour of containment mostly for Mama’s sanity’s sake.

But what can I say? You are light, pure light. We love you, Little Man, and we can’t wait to let you eat cake in just a month’s time!

xoxo, Mama.

—

What do you love about your kid, your dog, your goldfish? What in life is providing you with ultimate light and joy?

*Coffee-Mate really didn’t pay me to advertise their product – it’s just that dreamy.

on traveling with babies (10.5 thoughts – part 2).

Posted on June 13, 2013 by caramac54

When Cancan was five months old, I wrote this piece on traveling with babies – he’s now doubled his digits, and traveling with the little bugger is a whole new deal. And with it comes a whole new set of traveling thoughts…

happy baby. Photo cred: the HBH.

1. Practice flexibility. When I was living in Washington, a group of us went to see Cirque de Soleil – and loved it. But mostly, I, who flunked the flexibility test every year in P.E., loved the bendy people. How ever are they so bendy? we’d all wonder, eyes wide, heads cocked to the side. I realize that the same is true today: the time to be bendy is now, with baby in tote. Gone is the stringent necessity to make it back to the hotel room for nap time. Gone is the foodie San Franciscan desire to only feed my baby homemade, organic baby food. Gone is the ________ (fill-in-the-many-blanks).

2. Get yourself an Aunt Tina and an Uncle John. Now really, there’s only a small handful of us lucky enough to stake familial relation to Aunt Tina and Uncle John, so your own relatives will have to suffice. So sorry! But here’s what I do know worked so well traveling with them: they love our kid. They love us. They, too, are bendy. We’d all been to NYC before, so no one felt the need to stand in line for the Empire State Building or ferry on over to Staten Island. Been there, done that. Instead, their low-key, go with the flow attitude modeled to us the very same response to each other and to Cancan – and that was magnificent. Oh, and did I mention that they made us leave our child with them so that we could have the afternoon off and laugh giddily at Book of Mormon? Like I said, do yourself a favor and find yourself an Aunt Tina and an Uncle John.

But you can’t have them. They’re ours. (Photo cred: the HBH).

3. Think about where you’ll be traveling. We realized that we’d only be renting a car for six hours total the entire week we were there, and otherwise would be solely taking public transportation, including the occasional taxi – the latter of which do not require carseats. So, we only rented a carseat for an additional $10 on the day we drove north to Andover and Salem. [I also didn't realize that you technically don't need a carseat base, so whenever we travel now, we just check in the car seat - for free - with the airline, and then buckle the seat directly into the rental car.]

4. BOB-it. I originally planned on taking the following with us: a travel stroller, the Ergo, the carseat base and the carseat. Here’s what we ended up taking with us on the trip: the Ergo and the BOB (stroller). I feared wheeling the BOB in and out of crowded east coast sidewalks, but my friend Re reminded me that actual families live in NYC, who navigate the streets daily. She suggested taking the stroller of which I was most familiar, that also had the option of reclining and therefore possible sleep. Winner winner, chicken dinner. Baby took almost all of his naps while we walked the streets of Boston and New York, and the extra space was a welcome addition. Also, given the miles (literally) we walked each day, over sewer grates and cobblestone alike, I was grateful for the more durable stroller. I think we would have used the Ergo a bit more had it not been so hot, but having a sticky baby sweat-suctioned to my shirt was not my idea of a good time.

5. Find a friendly tourist destination. Ya’ll, I’m just telling you: San Francisco is not a baby-friendly city. Yes, I live here. Yes, my head knew that, but it wasn’t until every other passerby stopped to chat with the Little Man that my heart realized this truth. So, I look forward to seeing you …not here.

6. Yelp it! One thing is true when it comes to traveling, and I suppose to much of our regular life as well: we love finding and seeing and eating local culture. (Okay, minus Dunkin Donuts in Boston – a must). So, pull out your iPhone and YELP a lunch or dinner destination right here, right now – and chances are you’ll find a fabulous hole-in-the-wall, non-touristy destination. This also helps quickly figure out whether the locale is attractive to the under-1 population.

Baby-friendly, Yelp-savvy, NYC. Photo cred: the HBH.

7. Time change: this was probably the thing I was most worried about: how would we deal with a three-hour time change? It’d been suggested that we try to have Baby meet halfway, but we also knew that if he was tired, there was no stopping the eye-rubbing and Cranky McCrankerson. So we let him set his own pace – so instead of going to bed at 7 pm (ET), he made it to 9 pm, which was actually rather, well, nice. We ended eating dinners out and getting to go to a 7:15 Red Sox game instead of being confined to our hotel room for the majority of the night.

8. I asked Mama’s Group tips on traveling with babies, and I loved Anne’s answer: ”On the plane, all rules go out the window – so bring twice as many snacks as you think you need and half as many clothes.“ Bam. Whip out the boob. Let it rain Cheerios. And as soon as Bubs starts to squawk, swiftly insert a packet of baby food in his mouth.

9. Don’t BOB-it through airport security. Since using the BOB had been going so well, I thought to myself, Self, you really should just keep Cancan in the BOB throughout your time in the airport, and just check it at the gate. And then this happened: THE BOB IS HUGE. It does not fit through the conveyor belt. Your stroller will then have to go through its own line and the not-so-friendly TSA agents will think that you’re hiding drugs in the side pockets, so it’ll have to go through its own 10-minute magic-wand screening. I’m just sayin’.

10. K, my last tip doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with babies, but if you’re visiting the Big Apple, do yourself a favor and stay on the Newark side. Our hotel was across the street from Penn Station (Newark), so we took the 11-minute train over in the morning and evening, and subsequently saved a bundle.

…and finally, 10.5: have fun. You’re amazing – so believe it and own it. You got this.*

What would you add? What would you change?

* = I hereby own the right to retract this statement and completely change my mind on all of the above matters as soon as another “on traveling with babies” update arrives or another child comes along.

xo, c.

paint a chair (please and thank you).

Posted on June 12, 2013 by caramac54

I’ve had a couple of high pub chairs for a number of years now, back when I purchased MFT (My First Table), along with MFB (My First Bed) and all the other accoutrements that adorned MFA (My First Apartment).

Originally a set of four chairs with matching table, the set was hauled from Washington to California, and then moved in and out of no less than three living spaces, along with a garage and a storage unit to boot. Needless to say, it’d seen better days, so when the opportunity came to pass along two of the chairs and the table to a local ministry, I kissed my MFT good-bye but kept the other two for our bar area.

Here we are now, another move later, bar-less, but still with two of the chairs that have sat in the basement collecting dust. Finally, I moved them up to the dining room, no sooner realizing these well-worn Fred Meyer steal-of-a-deal finds aren’t adding anything to the space.

But that’s all going to change.

And that’s where you come in: much to the chagrin of the HBH, I’m bringing a bit of sunshine into our corner of San Francisco. We’re going yellow, folks.

The vision started with my friend T-Mar’s chairs…

T-Mar’s dining room chairs.

See how they’re just a little bit weathered, mostly around the edges and such? You can still see the paint stripes, and I love the high-gloss finish (as do I love the seats, though I doubt I’ll be able to replicate that).

So, studio audience, how many coats of paint do my chairs need to still have that slightly weathered look?

Pic 1.

I sanded the chairs, particularly the edges, before painting them, but how many coats do you think I should do?

Pic 2.

Should I just apply a high-gloss finishing coat now?

Pic 3.

Or is quasi-shabby chic so 2012, and I just ignore the weathered look all together, and really scare the begeebers out of the HBH with the yellowest of yellow chairs?

Thank you for being my painting consultants.

Yours truly,

Painty McPainterson

on cookbooks and not shoulding myself.

Posted on June 11, 2013 by caramac54

Photo cred: NYU Wasserman.

Summer has seemingly arrived – at least in every sense of what it means to me in this season of life (which includes but is not limited to reruns of Grey’s Anatomy, foggy San Francisco mornings and upcoming “just because” trips and visits, to be precise).

With it comes the freedom of burden, which for me mostly pertains to the books I choose to read after Canon’s been put to sleep, with a glass of cold Chardonnay to my right, and the television off for the evening. And lately, with the sun warming my bare feet through the front bay windows, I’ve found myself cozying up with – you guessed it – a cookbook.

Hear me out: I feel like I’m totally cheating, in even calling a cookbook a real to-be-read book. I mean, shouldn’t I be laboriously flipping through pages of – at least – brainless fiction, and for the love of all that is holy finally finishing Les Mes (which I’m still only 42% of the way through – Bueller? Bueller?).

But lately I’ve been working on not shoulding myself: I should lose the remaining baby weight. I should clean my closet and scrub the floors and have you glanced at the dust boards lately, self? I should market myself and promote the blog and find my audience (exclamation point). I should, I should, I should …ever striving towards an unattainable list of expectations that, frankly, I’m never going to fully meet or ever achieve.

So for me, even when it comes to the seemingly silly, non-shoulding task of book-reading, I’m in. I’m saying yes to being in the moment, and to reading what I want to read and to flinging the shoulds out the window.

And then maybe – just maybe – I’ll be exactly where I’m supposed to be.

ii.

In case you’re wondering, I’ve read The Pioneer Woman Cooks and weelicious this past week, and am now thoroughly engrossed in Gas Grill Cookbook from Better Homes and Gardens (grunt grunt). If one were to summarize the three, the following subtitle might be produced: “Butter-dripping, bacon-induced, HMO-free, organically-produced, family-friendly bites, any cowboy can cook on the backyard grill!”

You’re welcome.

iii.

And in case you’re now really, really wondering what books I might, no-shoulding-allowed attempt to read this summer, here’s my current stack:

Brainless fiction: Where’d You Go, Bernadette? (Semple), Dark Places (Flynn) and maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally start reading the Harry Potter series.

Think-worthy fiction: White Tiger (Adiga).

YA fiction: Looking for Alaska (Green).

Christian/Inspirational: Circle of Quiet (as I am most decidedly now obsessed with Madeleine L’Engle) and Paul Through Mediterranean Eyes (Bailey).

Food-related non-cookbooks: French Women Don’t Get Fat (Guiliano) and Celebrating the Pleasures of the Table (Fisher, Child & Waters).

Parenting: Momma Zen (Miller)

Writing: On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft (King)

…and then, of course, whatever cookbooks I fancy I should take a peek at.

—

What’s on your summer reading list? How do you need to stop shoulding yourself?

one shoe, glittering images, & aslan.

Posted on June 10, 2013 by caramac54

This utterly first-world problem happened while we were in Boston:

where ya at, mate?

I treated myself to a new pair of walking shoes the day before we left for our trip – wore them on Sunday and Monday, and then forgot the left mate, likely leaving it under a curtain or beneath the bed at Hotel #1. And after several attempts at kindly talking to Housekeeping (aren’t you proud?), we came up with our own conspiracy theory of sorts: it’d gone straight to the garbage can. Boo!

I now have the right mate sitting by its lonesome in my closet, hoping that the Doubletree will kindly send me a check for $84, or that Born will somehow mercifully happen to have one lefty sitting in the rejects bin, awaiting shipment to me.

I told you it was a first-world problem.

But here’s the deal: I know this really isn’t a problem, neither in the larger picture of life, in the near-distant future, nor in the big scheme of things. I know that full well. And I’m not trying to pretend like it is – but humorously, I suppose, this is what I choose to portray as problematic to the world via the portals of Facebook and Instagram and the like.

I don’t choose to post pictures of the HBH hooked up to an IV drip in an emergency room.

I don’t choose to post status updates about my terribly horrible most heinous day.

I don’t choose to even display pictures of Cancan’s pre-nap, Crabby McCrabberson, cranky, tearful little self.

But that doesn’t mean that life isn’t hard – or that hard things aren’t going on in life right that very moment, even if those who don’t know me very well think this true. And whether this is right or wrong, I think many of us do the same, choosing to portray a view of ourselves – and our lives – to the rest of the world we think they want to see.

Maybe we’re scared. Maybe it’s not yet time to go this public. Maybe there’s an anti-technology private part of ourselves that we’d like to remain sacred, when most everything else seems so public.

And this is okay.

I choose to use this platform as an act of bravery in the midst of truth-telling – but even so, this is just a nugget of the bigger picture of our lives. Instead, a whole lot of unanswered questions stream through my mind, begging for resolution, though none is found. And like Lucy in Prince Caspian, I beg Aslan for answers:

Why didn’t you come roaring in and save us like last time?

And it’s in the midst of sitting in the gray, in not understanding, as I try to wear my Big Girl Brave Face even when I just don’t get it, that He answers:

Things never happen the same way twice, dear one.

So I sit and I rest in this truth today …even if, by all outward appearances, I post shiny, glittery status updates and bubbly, perky pictures of the baby for the greater world to see.

—

What about you? Do you portray an online Glittering Image to the outside world?

taking off our capes.

Posted on June 7, 2013 by caramac54

If you haven’t already, puh-lease do yourself a favor and watch this video as you head into the weekend:

http://youtu.be/NHHPNMIK-fY

I’m taking off my cape. I’m telling the truth of my insides through writing* and I’m being brave in conversation and I’m choosing to just show up.

Will you do the same?

*Like this morning’s post on my lack of mercy in the midst of an ever-growing, sicky-sick husband…

be, mama. be.

Finding Beauty in the most unlikely of places.