Top 11 Things I'm Thankful for this Thanksgiving Day

In no particular order:

1. A multitude of angels in my life, freakin' and otherwise.
   
2. A teenage son who treats his wonderful girlfriend like a princess, demonstrating what a kind, thoughtful, loving and mature young man he has become.
   
3. Radio City's Christmas Spectacular for actually leaving the Christ in Christmas. It's nearly impossible to see Christianity on display in a secular environment these days. So nice to see they didn't sanitize it to avoid offending anyone.
   
4. A fulfilling career in which I get to share the stories of those who are truly making the world a better place.
   
5. Those who help others--around the corner and around the world--not for recognition or reward, but because it's the right thing to do.
   
6. Books, so many wonderful books!
   
7. A teenage daughter who will hold my hand walking through NYC, and ask me to lie down with her on a rare night when she can't fall asleep.
   
8. The opportunity to pursue a lifelong dream and the friends and family who encourage and support me.
   
9. A teacher whose childlike joy and passion for his craft make being in school again an amazing experience.
   
10. Puppy love.
    
11. Being married to my best friend--a man who makes me laugh, think and look to our future as empty nesters with anticipation instead of sadness.

Finally, thank you for your friendship. I can't imagine walking through this life without one another to lean on!

Reflecting on the "F" Word

It's been a particularly emotional couple of weeks for me and that's saying something given that I'm always emotional. I think it's fair to say the "F" word was the source of my emotion overload. Yes, family has a way of affecting us like nothing else can. It can bring out the best in us and the worst. It can be a source of great joy and utter misery. We may relish the laughter of shared memories, and at the same time struggle with the disappointment of unmet expectations. We can take comfort in the power of forgiveness, or live with the bitterness of unresolved issues. Family is a big bundle of crazy that we can't imagine (though sometimes we wish we were) living without.

My family has tapped into my every emotion in the past two weeks. It started with Rob and Ian traveling to Mexico City on a week long church mission trip. I was concerned for their safety, proud of their willingness to serve, and a bit envious that the two of them were spending that special time together. I also was lonely. With communications limited to three brief text messages, for the first time in my marriage I acutely felt Rob's absence.
I discovered I missed my husband. While it sounds terrible, I confess that I'm not someone who pines for my spouse when we're apart. With phone calls and email and Facebook updates, it's hard to feel truly separated. But when Rob wasn't here and I couldn't call him and didn't know how he and Ian were, and there was no opportunity to share and take comfort in the mere the presence of the person with whom I share my life, my heart hurt. I was reminded of how much I love him and how blessed I am. Missing him was good for me.

Two days after Ian and Rob returned home, I left for three days, thereby maintaining the warm fuzzies that came from missing them. I headed to the mecca of Waretown, NJ along Barnegat Bay for a getaway with my parents and sister, brother-in-law and nephew who were home from Colorado for their semiannual visit. Time with my sister Dawn was spent laughing at painful memories of falling off my bike, competing in plank challenges (which I won both times), swatting green head flies on the boat while crabbing, and playing numerous games of Bananagrams (of which I am the champion). Unfortunately, on the first night of our visit, my mom learned that her sister Janet had died, nearly two years to the day that her sister Glenna passed away. My mom was one of five girls in her family. There are only two of them left, and this causes my mom considerable grief and pain.

When Irving Berlin wrote "Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters" he clearly had my mom and my aunts in mind. There existed a bond between those women that I've never seen before and likely never will experience personally. Interestingly, the closeness they shared is is in sharp contrast to the relationships my aunts often had with others, whether it be their husbands or their own children. In fact, in my Aunt Janet's obituary, there was no mention of her oldest son. They stopped talking decades ago, evidence of how easily relationships can be destroyed by an unwillingness to forgive and forget.

Last summer's photo.
We forgot to take one this year.

Irving Berlin did not write a song about my sister and me. While there is no bitterness or underlying root cause for the distance between us (literally and figuratively), I must confess to a level of disappointment with the way things are versus the way I'd like them to be. I would like Dawn to move home (or within reasonable driving distance). I would like Dawn to at least want to move home. I would like her to be sad when it's time to say goodbye. I would like it if we would start telling each other "I love you." While I don't expect to achieve the level of closeness my mom had with her sisters, I know Dawn and I could have more, but I don't know how to get us there.

Dawn's visit home coincided with my church's annual mission trip to western North Carolina. A truly family affair, this trip brings together all ages for a week of work and fellowship that has to be experienced because no description can do it justice. Obviously I did not go on the trip this year because I wanted to spend time with my sister. Abby, however, more than adequately represented the MacShimer family.

Abby on the roofing site with her MPC family.

Since she returned home on Saturday evening, I've lost count of the number of times Abby wished she were back in Banner Elk. For the first time in her life, Abby, who thinks a 30 minute car ride is torture, was sad to see a nine-hour car ride end (she had traveled with friends). Despite the fact that she was leaving for Avalon on Sunday to spend time with three girls from school, Abby actually seemed weepy when she repeated for the umpteenth time that she "didn't want to be home," but wished she could return to NC (which makes me sad, though I'm trying not to take it personally).

Car ride buddies (plus the Hicks girls)

The Sunday church service following Banner Elk is always wonderful. Those who went on the trip wear their matching t-shirts. We watch a slide show of photos from the week. The praise band (which for the first time included Abby on guitar!) plays the same music, and a few individuals on the trip share their experience in place of a traditional sermon. Naturally, I cried during several parts of the service, partly because I was disappointed to have missed being there, and partly because I was overwhelmed with love for my church family. While the church, like our flesh and blood family, has its own issues, the grace and forgiveness that we extend to one another provides a foundation for the strongest relationships I've ever known. And I don't know if it's a "Christian thing" or if we're just lucky, but my MPC brothers and sisters so openly share their love. There's no awkwardness in a hug. There's no discomfort in saying "I love you." What a gift!

As I reflect on the experiences of the past two weeks, I realize how blessed I am to have more than one family who loves me. If you've been separated from a loved one, I pray for reconciliation and healing. The bonds of family should not be so easily broken.

Has Anyone Seen My Mind? It Seems to Be Missing.

Have you ever wondered if you're losing your mind? I certainly have, and on more than one occasion. Last night being one of them. As I seriously consider the possibilities that this is happening to me, I find myself wondering if people who lose their minds actually realize it, or, does the fact that I'm asking mean that I'm not. And what does it mean to lose ones mind anyway?

On one hand I have real concerns that I'm headed for early onset dementia. Sure, everyone forgets what they walked into a certain room for, and forgotten names of folks you don't see that often is normal, but it's worse than that for me. I will completely blank on the names of people I'm close to. I  can't recall the title of that book, movie, or TV show to save my life (there goes my trivia game show dream). I remember dates and times wrong. My "brain farts" happen so frequently that I'm getting used to the smell.

Then there's the "crazy" side of losing ones mind. While I feel like my depression symptoms are, for the most part, under control, lately I'm wondering if I'm bipolar or just ridiculously moody. It's like my teenage and young adult years all over again. Come to think of it, I should call my college roommates to apologize. Anyway, last night I went from having a grand ole time with friends to walking a mile home at 11 p.m. because I was angry for no particularly good reason. (Though you'd think by now that husbands would know not to ask their wives, "What's your problem?" in that tone of voice. At least when the kids ask why I'm in a bad mood it's an innocent, albeit foolish, mistake.)

So what is my problem exactly? Well, that's the thing. Looking at the big picture, I have no problems. I have a job, a home, my health, my parents' health, my kids' health, a good great husband, and food for the table (when I actually go grocery shopping). But close up, everything is a problem. I have moments (they last no more than an hour, tops) where I try to be adult and not complain about life to my friends (whom I will be lucky to still call "friends" after my increasingly bad behavior), but ultimately I succumb to all the sh*t that's dragging me down:

Missed deadlines
Divorce news
Diagnoses
Family obligations
To do lists
Job searches
Aging
Cancer treatments
Parenting

Some of that has nothing to do with me personally. But it's affecting people I care about and that affects me. I'm well aware that this is the same sh*t that's dragging down nearly everyone I know, but it's just that I feel everything so much more acutely. I recently asked Rob if he thinks everyone experiences the world like I do (albeit without talking/blogging about it), and his immediate answer was "No." No thoughtful consideration required before responding. Isn't he the lucky one to have married me!

You're probably (hopefully) thinking that I'm normal and that this is life. You might say that every mom of a teenager goes through this crap, but I think it'd be so much easier if I didn't jump on the roller coaster with them. I can literally go from happy to bitch in 3.5 seconds. One minute I'll be dreaming of the day when the kids are out of the house and Rob and I can downsize and move somewhere warm and live happily ever after. The next minute I'm seriously doubting that I can stand even one more day together, listening to him pass gas breathe. The poor guy never knows who he's coming home to and a spouse can only be patient for so long. Hence, my walk home last night.

I realize that this post is probably better suited for my personal journal (yes, can you believe there are things I actually keep personal!), but these worries kept me tossing and turning last night and I guess I'm hoping someone will say that they get it, that they've been there, too.

That I'm not losing my mind.

So, this is how it's going to be

The summer of 2014 will be remembered as the season in which I lost my children. I think in my very last post, just two short weeks ago, I said something about really liking my kids, and as a result missing them when they're gone, which was the case for the first half of the summer. Well, Ian returned home on Saturday night and I spent a week on a mission trip with Abby, and I can now say that I don't like them nearly as much. Okay, that was a little harsh. Perhaps I should put it this way -- they both turned into teenagers this summer. Just putting that in writing makes my skin crawl.

Perhaps you think I'm lucky that Ian didn't hit this evil stage until now, but maybe in some ways that makes it harder to accept. I really thought that if my 16-year-old was still fairly likable that I was in the clear, that I'd made it past go and could collect $200. I had been patting myself on the back for being such an exceptional parent, having raised a kid who never rolled his eyes or gave me major attitude. Oh, how very foolish I've been.

When picking him up at the airport, after being gone for two weeks, my son's reaction to seeing me was "Hey." And no, it wasn't an upbeat, happy, let-me-give-you-a-hug "Hey!" In his first 24-hours at home I spent maybe three hours with him (he ran off to a friend's house), and in that short amount of time he gave me "the look" and the attitude to go with it. He actually had the cojones to attempt to "decline" a volunteer assignment for the following day that benefited an organization of which he's a member. He seriously thought that by stating, "I don't want to," he would get out of doing the job at hand. I don't know what kinds of kids he spent the past two weeks with, but I'm holding them responsible for this metamorphosis.

And then there's my daughter. Abby also deserted me, physically and emotionally, for most of July. The good news is that I know she felt some degree of guilt because of it. Case in point: Last week, Abby and I worked on Habitat for Humanity houses that were just a few hundred yards apart. During a lull in my work, I walked down to check on my girl (who, by the way, won the tool belt award for hardest worker on the first day of our trip). While visiting, I expressed concern for her safety with regard to something she was doing. She scolded me, in essence telling me to return to my own job site. I realized she was right and so I sulked and with my tail between my legs made my way back. Feeling melancholy over the distinct lack of interaction I'd had with Abby since the trip began, I sat myself down in a quiet place outside and contemplated the increasing gulf between me and my children. And I ate some Swedish Fish. And while I was wallowing in self pity and trying to get the candy out of my teeth, Abby came up to me and expressed concern for my well-being. She asked whether she'd done something wrong and apologized for upsetting me. I got teary-eyed telling her everything was fine and sent her on her way. Guilt is an invaluable tool.

Three days after returning home, Ian is ignoring my repeated requests to put away his clothing, groans when asked to do most any household chore, and feigns illness when he doesn't want to do something. In other words, things have somewhat returned to normal. At least he has stopped rolling his eyes and seems to like me a bit more. Of course, that could be because he again relies on me for food and lodging.

Abby, too, seems to have rediscovered me. When she was away on Monday, she texted to say goodnight and tell me she loves me. It was like the good ole days.

Today, Ian woke early to tell me he was heading to the shore with Noah for the day, asking if that was okay at the same time that Noah's dad was pulling into the driveway to pick him up. Sure, it's okay. Thanks for asking. Maybe 10 minutes notice next time instead of five? I believe that, starting tomorrow, Ian and Abby will both be home, together, for the rest of the summer. Which makes me think it's an excellent time for Rob and me to get out town.

My New Reality: A Preview

It's been a strange summer thus far and it's going to remain strange right up until the first of August. It began in June with Ian heading off to a church youth group retreat in the Poconos the Monday after school let out. He returned home on a Friday afternoon and declined to join his family at the Phillies game and fireworks that evening. The next morning, Rob took Ian and his friend Keaton to the airport at 4:15 a.m. for a flight to Atlanta, where Keaton's parents would pick the boys up and take them to Lake Burton, Georgia. Their stay in Georgia lasted 10 days. On the day they returned, we dropped Abby and her friend Maddie off at Immaculata University for soccer camp. They spent four days there. Three days later Abby left for the Poconos for the middle schoolers' week-long church youth group retreat. That same day Rob and I flew to Minneapolis for the All Star Game. We left Ian home alone, paying one of Rob's coworkers to spend the nights with him.

Rob and I returned from Minnesota last Wednesday afternoon; Abby got home on Thursday. On Saturday, Rob and Ian headed out on their road trip to Oxford, Ohio where Ian is spending two weeks in Miami University's Summer Scholars program.

At the parent meeting for Abby's soccer camp, the leaders told us this would be a good first step toward college for the girls. They were responsible for getting themselves where they needed to be, when they needed to be there. They had to remember their gear and their water, and be sure to change their socks and clothes frequently enough that they didn't develop any strange rashes. They ate in the dining hall and slept in the dormitory and if they had lost their keys it would have cost us them $75. Naturally, Abby and Maddie were just fine. Those two could run the camp.

Ian's two week experience at Miami will be an even greater pre-college test. The question is, who will perform better, him or me?

While I usually welcome the opportunity to have a few days away from my children, I have to confess that this June-July anomaly has me a bit freaked out. Let's face it, these exoduses away from home are just harbingers of things to come. And those things to come will be here before I know it. And quite frankly, I'm not sure I'm ready. Me. The one who started counting down the days till they left for college when they were three. Me. The one who thought this motherhood thing might have been a poor (and irreversible) job choice. Me. The one with the 10-year plan that includes no one except me and Rob on a beach somewhere. How has this happened? How is it that I actually have a small ache in my heart?

I think what happened is that I've grown to really like my kids. Loving your children is pretty much a given, but liking them? Not always. As they've gotten older, we actually have meaningful conversations (as long as Ian's not sitting in front of a screen of some sort), and I find I truly enjoy their company. Ian's bright, quick wit never fails to amuse and impress, and Abby's observations, intelligence and competitive spirit provide a challenge.

I'm amazed at the way they've both changed in the past year or so; Ian, in particular. Last summer he couldn't wait to come home from two camp experiences right here at Villanova, 15 minutes from home. He was miserable. This year he's nine hours away for two weeks, spending his days with complete strangers. And he loves it. He's made friends, enjoys his classes (The Business of Sports), and finds the whole experience "great." "Great" is high praise indeed from a 16-year-old boy. On day one it was only "good."

Knowing that Ian's doing well has eased that small ache, but I do miss his sense of humor. I suppose I better get used to it.

This Saturday, while Ian's still in Ohio, Rob, Abby, my mom and I will drive 10 hours to Banner Elk, NC for our church mission trip. We'll leave a day early, Friday, August 1, in order to pick up Ian at the Baltimore airport where he'll fly in from Cincinnati at the conclusion of his Miami U. experience. We'll return home that night where we will begin the month of August with nothing more than Vacation Bible School on the calendar.

It'll be weird, being together like that. I just hope the kids don't get on my nerves.

Well that's Depressing: A Checklist for Parents of Teens

Last week was back-to-school night at Ian's high school (they have block scheduling, which means classes change halfway through the year). Back-to-school night is like a high school flashback for the parents. Well, for me, anyway. I check out the cute guys what the other girls are wearing and regret my choice. I go to classes and wonder if that mom would get a better grade than me. Sometimes I have the classic anxiety dream the night before. The one where I have an exam and haven't been to class for months. Sometimes I show up naked.

This particular back-to-school night was made that much more upsetting interesting by the presence of a helpful handout. In addition to the schedule for the evening, this brochure included guilt inducing parenting mandates advice. Along with "Tips for Healthy Teens" there were "Keys to Being a Hands-On Parent," published by the National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse. In neither category did I score my usual an A. I don't think I even pulled out a B. Under tips for healthy teens:

• Enough sleep? No. 
• Breakfast? Abby, occasionally. Ian, rarely. 
• Hand washing to kill germs? Um. Well. I think one of them does that. Not coincidentally, it's the child who doesn't get sick as often.

As depressing as my results were in the health category, I felt even worse about my parenting skills when I got to the anti-addiction/substance abuse guidelines. Based on my score, it seems my kids are destined for "at-risk behaviors." My failures lie in:

• Not monitoring what they watch on television.
• Not monitoring what they do on the internet.
• Not putting restrictions on the music they buy.
• Not having an adult present when they arrive home from school.
• Not eating dinner with them (that would require feeding them - see #7 below)

On the positive side, I'm relatively sure:

• I know where they are after school and on weekends. And I think they're telling me the truth about their whereabouts.
• I'm aware of their academic performance. Yes, I definitely have that under control.
• I'm making my values clear to them. They just have to remember to do as I say, not as I do.
• There's no television watching during dinner. That's the only advantage of having just one TV in the house.
• I've assigned them regular chores. I know that I've asked. Whether they do them when I ask is a whole other thing. 

Did this helpful brochure end on an up note? Did it soften the blow with an amusing or empathetic quote that reminded me how none of us is perfect, and that it takes a village, yada, yada, yada? No. What followed was a list of upcoming school events. None of which I was aware of and none that I'm interested in attending or volunteering for. I'm feeling really good about myself right now.

Since I'm already raw and exposed, I may as well add these 10 confessions, addressed to my wonderful teenagers:

1. When you're helpful, pleasant, and nice to your sibling, I can't help but wonder what you want or what you've done.
2. There are times I look forward to the day you leave for college, just so I can clean your room and it will stay that way for more than 24-hours.
3. I have no idea which parts of your life I'm still supposed to be actively involved in. Should I be nagging you about your school work, or save my breath for the bigger stuff? 
4. Speaking of the big stuff, I have a lot riding on your ability to drive. That's the day I will be free to fulfill my dreams of community theater stardom, attend best-selling author book readings, and take a class. I probably won't do any of that, but I won't have you as an excuse if I don't.
5. I'm scared to death at the thought of you driving. You know it's not like Grand Theft Auto, right?
6. Someone should invent an app that senses your mood (a modern day mood ring) and communicates those findings electronically so I know what to expect before I get home from work.
7. I live in a constant state of uncertainty as to how much to provide for you. You demand regular feedings and clean clothes, which is a drag, but do you really need a Spanish class trip to Costa Rica?
8. I haven't known the names of your teachers since you left elementary school. I just feel good when I know what classes you're taking. I hate back-to-school night when they imply I should know about your big writing assignment or end-of-the-semester project. Not sure who's to blame. You for not telling me anything, or me for failing to ask.
9. Speaking of your classwork, I know that you know that I haven't known how to help you with your math homework since 2nd grade. So stop asking. 
10. While I will enjoy your room being free of dirty dishes, dirty clothes, and toxic spills, I won't enjoy not having you here (that's a double negative, isn't it?). To be honest, as far as teenagers go, you're pretty awesome. 

Do you have your own confessions to share? Poor parenting loves company!

Not So Cruel to Be Kind

One of the gifts I requested and received for Christmas was a magnifying/make-up mirror. As I grow older and face the distinct possibility probability that it's time to start applying spackle and paint on a regular basis, I thought it important that I had an accurate view of my true self. When I saw the price tag on this fancy mirror, however, I decided it wasn't worth that kind of money to see myself in what is never a flattering light. Therefore, over the weekend, I returned the high-end mirror and picked up a cheap plastic one. It requires me to squint to avoid a distorted view, but shows my flaws just the same. Let me tell you, examining your face magnified 10x is no way to spend a weekend. I nearly rushed out to the Vietnamese nail salon and apologized for assuming they were scamming me when they recommended a whole-face wax.

While self deprecation is always good for a laugh, as a rule, I'm not terribly hard on myself, though I know my blog would lead you to believe otherwise. I'd say I'm more "self-aware" than "self-critical." I'm pretty good at acknowledging my flaws and weaknesses and accepting myself for who I am. That's one of the few benefits of age. What I still haven't figured out, however, is to how to deal with the criticism of others.

The old Kim would have criticized
his misspelling of Critisize.

Criticism can take a variety of forms, from the obvious "you are so stupid," to the thinly veiled, "I wish you would think before you speak." Criticism can be blunt: "I love you, but you're really not a very nice person;" or couched in concern, "I'm worried about your children growing up without discipline." Criticism can even be communicated with nothing more than a tone of voice or the curtness of a reply. Regardless of how it's delivered, it hurts, and over time those hurts begin to scar both our sense of self and our relationships.

I doubt there's a single one of us who can claim to have never criticized another, even someone we love. But, I'm becoming more aware of its effects. Though I don't usually bother with New Year resolutions, this year I decided that I need to be kinder to others, especially those I care about. I have to decide if I'm truly offering what I like to call "constructive criticism," or if I'm finding fault "just because." I also have to consider how I'm delivering the message, based on the person on the receiving end. One of my children, for example, reacts with strong emotion to what they perceive to be criticism or "being yelled at." Being yelled at, by the way, almost never involves actual yelling or raising my voice, but that's the way it's perceived. Their reaction is usually anger, followed by profound hurt. It can be a challenge to not react in the moment so that both parties aren't frustrated and saddened by the exchange.

Our relationships might be overwhelming positive and full of love, but memories of being judged or scolded leave a definite mark. For example, I remember being criticized for things as unimportant as the cleanliness of my car or the clothes I chose to wear for Ian's baptism. And criticism (whether delivered or perceived) of the big things, like our parenting skills, cut particularly deep. To be criticized or seemingly disrespected by the people we love most leaves an ugly mark on what may otherwise be a wonderful relationship.

I think I take criticism so hard because I want nothing more than to please those who are important to me: my children, husband, parents, friends, boss, etc. I take great joy in those rare occasions when I clearly impress my spouse by adding something valuable to a conversation or managing a challenging situation all by myself (I'm such a big girl!). I still tell my parents about any success I have at work or something I manage to fix at home without my dad's help. This need for approval might be a Shimer girl thing. Even my sister -- who is considerably thicker-skinned than I am -- calls home after every performance evaluation (of course her evaluations result in bonuses worth more than half my salary). Just picking a good movie provides me with a sense of fulfillment.

Two of my favorite critics.

I might be am most likely more sensitive than the average person, but the hurt I feel when on the receiving end of criticism has opened my eyes to the negative, lasting effect I can have when I am the one dishing it out. Hence, my vow to be kinder and gentler in the year to come so that no one ever tells me I'm "not a very nice person."

The Top 10 Things I Love about My Best Friend

This is a special edition post in honor of my best friend's birthday. He hates when I blog about him, but why stop now?

Here, in no particular order, are the top 10 things I love about my husband:

1. He's really good at small talk - whether it's the guys at the parking garage or the president of a company. And it's genuine; never sleazy sales guy banter.
   
2. Speaking of sales, years ago someone told me that, in media ad sales circles, she'd never met anyone who didn't have good things to say about Rob. And in ad sales, that's saying something!
   
3. My parents, my sister and more than a couple of my friends enjoy talking to Rob more than as much as they enjoy talking to me.
   
4. My man can dance! Just come watch him in the kitchen.
   
5. He doesn't whine, blame, or make excuses, ever. You I might want to take a lesson or two from him.
   
6. Rob doesn't mind running errands with the kids, packing lunches, or changing the bed sheets. Three of my least favorite things to do.
   
7. He bought me Swedish fish and licorice for our anniversary, which in my mind means I don't need to worry about my weight.
   
8. His first impulse is to help someone in need, be it a stranger or a friend.
   
9. Years ago, when I still had stuffed animals lying around, he'd make them "talk" to me. I have fond memories of the duck banter.
   
10. His faith is quiet, but he lives it better than most "vocal" Christians I know. 

Of course, he's also an awesome dad, a reasonably good listener, makes an excellent spaghetti sauce, and can get me pretty great seats at Phillies games. 

Happy Birthday, Rob!
I may not be "the prettiest girl in the whole wide world" anymore,
but I'm still the luckiest.

Making Christmas Merry in Mexco

Over the Christmas holiday, I had the good fortune to be in Riviera Maya, Mexico with my family -- Rob, the kids, my sister, her husband and son, and my parents. While my sister has been taking these Christmas vacations for years (she doesn't love us enough to come home from Denver for the holidays), this was a first for me and my clan. We left on Christmas morning, having opened what was supposed to be a very small number of gifts the night before. (Rob has trouble following directions and had way too many presents for me -- granted, I had asked suggested casually mentioned each item in the weeks leading up to the big day.) Despite having worshiped at church (those of you who did not witness MPC's 5 p.m. children's service missed out on an Oscar-worthy freakin' angel performance), gathered with friends for a couple hours of merriment, and exchanged gifts at home on Christmas Eve, it stopped feeling like Christmas the minute we reached Philly's airport. Arriving in Mexico did nothing to add to the spirit of the season. Maybe it was the signs that read "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Gift." I guess you have to give them credit for openly stating what is the true meaning of the holiday for many people.

Photos by Abby MacPherson

Once at the Riu Palace resort, my spirits were slightly buoyed by the Christmas tree and the manger scene in the lobby (and the Corona I had on the ride there probably helped, too), but as the day progressed I had serious doubts as to whether I would again take a trip over the holiday. The palm trees, clear blue water and 80 degree temperatures just didn't feel right. However, by the time my sister and her family arrived the next day, I had settled in quite nicely. It's amazing what you can deal with when you're forced to adjust to new surroundings. I know; you hate me right now.

Lest you think it was all sunshine and rainbows, I should tell you that it rained for most of one afternoon and a couple of evenings. Plus, Rob and I ended up sharing a bed with a teenager. Fortunately, we knew him or that would have been extra awkward. (The resort's definition of a suite differed from mine.) But besides that, there was no little family drama. The kids didn't rarely got on my nerves. I didn't fight with my sister at all. And having given up dairy products on the advice of my physician, I didn't even find myself doubled over in the bathroom at any point in the trip! The wine was lousy, but the pina coladas were drinkable, and I even discovered a new, more adult beverage -- the Caipirinha.

Other highlights of the trip included amazing sugar donuts at the buffet, surprisingly good pancakes, and mimosas every morning at breakfast. Oh, and the warm, magnificent water of the Caribbean Sea, a snorkeling expedition complete with sea turtles and a large stingray, and colorful sunrises and sunsets weren't too shabby either. As for entertainment, well, we brought along our gift for words, with the youngest family members delivering the biggest zingers. Here, in no particular order, are the most memorable lines from Viva la Vida 2013:

Nana, your arms are squishy; you need to work out. -- William, age 5

Ian, you can come to the pool with me because you're my friend and my cousin. -- William

I play the pan flute. -- Ian

It's like shooting fish in a barrel. -- A nationally competitive rifleman who then proceeded to miss his first three target shots with a BB gun during the resort's daily competition. (Side note: Ian turned out to be quite the marksman! He won the competition on our last day there, making Pop Pop very proud.)

Is B-E, "beh," a word? -- Ian, while playing Bananagrams

I'm not tired, just resting here on Pop Pop

I'm not tired, I'm just rubbing my eyes -- an exhausted William

They're in case I need to climb over something. -- Abby, in response to why she was wearing gym shorts under her dress

I don't like Abby so much anymore. -- William, after he and Abby had a "disagreement" over sand castle building.

Ten years ago I would have had that. -- My dad, upon missing yet another beach volleyball strike

I was looking for olives. -- William, when asked why he took so long at the buffet and came back with an empty plate

Fun Kim is coming out tonight! -- Brother-in-law Rob in response to Kim ordering a second drink

There's a fun Kim? -- Abby, in response to Uncle Rob

Ah yes, good stuff.

I told Rob that this whole Christmas vacation thing may prove to have been a bad idea, because I just know I'll the kids will expect to go somewhere every year. He said we'll just have to tell them that that's not going to be the case. And boy, was I were they bummed to hear that.

The trip concluded with a lovely six-hour stay in the Cancun airport when our flight was delayed, but we still made it home in time to bring in the New Year with friends. Happy New Year to you and yours!

Toes selfie

Of Vitamins and Tutus and Notebook Dividers

You might be kind enough to think that I'm not nearly as a bad a mom as I say I am, but I'm serious when I tell you that I was born without a mothering/nurturing gene. This week offered ample proof, starting with those damn concussions. The fact that I refer to them as "damn concussions" is case in point. I went from being appropriately concerned about the kids and cognizant of the danger of these injuries, to being annoyed. Here's the deal: I become irritable when things inconvenience me, whether it's Congress or my children.

On Tuesday, both Ian and Abby saw concussion specialists at the Rothman Institute. Abby was found to be in relatively good shape. Some balance issues, but hell, I have balance issues every day, and not just from the drinking. She should be cleared to play sports again this week, right after the season ends. Ian's diagnosis was significantly worse than Abby's. From the tests they gave him to eye tracking and dizziness, the kid's a mess. He will be reevaluated this coming week, but personally I'm not seeing any improvement. In fact, I think the symptoms have worsened since the doctor told him how severe the concussion is. Read into that what you will.

The diagnoses did not in themselves inconvenience me. I didn't even go to the appointments; Rob took care of that (he has the nurturing gene). It's the recommended care that's bugging me. Namely, vitamins. Apparently concussion docs have come up with a cocktail of four vitamins that should relieve headaches and promote healing. Of the four, we had one in the medicine cabinet - fish oil capsules. This meant a run to the store to hunt down the other three, in the correct dosages. Have you ever tried to find vitamins on the shelves at a supermarket? There is no logical organization behind their placement. And did I mention neither of my kids can swallow a pill? The only scenario in which this is a good thing is at high school parties where prescription drugs are being traded like baseball cards. The rest of the time, it's a major pain in the ass. While manufacturers are offering increasing numbers of chewables, they aren't available for every vitamin, and those that are available are in such low doses that you'd have to eat a bunch to get the right amount. I think Ian is eating 8 fish oil gummys twice a day. The rest of the pills are being crushed and added to sandwiches and cupcakes and smoothies. It's like a pharmacy in our kitchen with powdery residue on everything. I'm just waiting for the feds to show up. All of this inconveniences me; therefore, rather than being worried sick about my kids' brains, I'm annoyed. I'm also more than a little stressed at the amount of work Ian is missing in school.

So that was Tuesday, and the week went downhill from there. On Wednesday, Abby had to have a red tutu for her devil costume for Halloween. I'm pretty sure I've never seen a picture of the devil wearing a red tutu, but whatever. Running errands after I've come home from work is right up there on my list of most inconvenient and annoying things ever.

While in shopping hell (appropriate, given the devil costume), Ian called to say he needed me to stop at an office supply store on the way home to pick up "professional notebook dividers." It seems that the dividers with the plastic tabs that we all grew up with - and used in the office, for cryin' out loud - are not considered professional. He needs these professional dividers for health class. For the notebook check. Seriously. At this point my head is about to explode, but mercifully God intervenes, arranging for Rob to call while I'm on the phone with Ian. He senses my madness, probably because I told him I was going mad. He offers to take Ian to Staples while I wrap up my expedition with Abby. Crisis averted.

Throw into the vitamin-tutu-notebook dividers-mix a minivan that's three months overdue for an inspection and oil change. Then add a kid who mopes around the house like a dictionary illustration for "pathetic." And there's no relief in sight for this weekend. Rob leaves tomorrow morning for Vegas and will be gone until Tuesday night, and I'll be spending the entirety of Sunday at church for various commitments. And my house is a mess.

But then it happens. It almost always happens. I'm given some much needed perspective. We're having dinner (out) when I check my email and see there has been a flurry of exchanges between the angels. This January is the official opening of the Dr. Ann Bates Memorial Children's Hospital in Ghana, named in honor of our dear friend who lost her battle with cancer a few years ago. Freakin Angel Theresa will be there, putting her new nursing skills to the test on a service trip with others from our church. The email exchange begins with FA Kim G. suggesting that we have a plaque made with this photo (Ann's in the baseball hat, in the center), dedicating it to Ann, and hanging it somewhere in the hospital. Theresa responds that she has already ordered the photo, having had the very same idea. Gotta love those God moments.

Well, I burst into tears at that point. Overwhelmed by the love I feel for the angels in my life. Overwhelmed by the loss of Ann. Overwhelmed by the needs of those in place like Ghana. Overwhelmingly embarrassed by my childish, over-exaggerated complaints about my comfortable, secure and basically awesome everyday life. It occurs to me that, even though it doesn't make for humorous blog posts, perhaps I should practice gratitude and appreciation rather than give in to annoyance and irritation. It took me about 30 seconds to come up with this list of blessings:

• Access to top quality health care to diagnosis my children
• Access to vitamins and medicine and medical treatment
• Life in a community where it's safe to send my daughter out for Halloween dressed as the devil
• Excellent schools that want what's best for my kids, even if that extends to professional notebook dividers
• Being able to afford a car and the maintenance that goes with it
• A church that means enough to me to make it worth spending a whole day there
• Food, and not having to cook it
• The ability to communicate with my friends with the click of a button
• A husband who knows when to step in before I check out

Finally, I leave you with this thought: Whomever creates a chewable/gummy that combines all four concussion-related vitamins, will be a very wealthy man or woman. And I want half for giving you the idea. 

Great Expectations

Earlier this year I became aware of a tween and teenage issue affecting families in what I naively thought was my perfectly insulated and innocent community. It seems "sexting" hit close to home in the families of more than one personal friend. The shock and disappointment was profound and ultimately led to our church organizing a parents' night on the topic of teens and sexuality. And yes, if you know what my church has been going through, you're seeing some irony in this. But that's beside the point.

As my friends and I discussed this disturbing trend in teen behavior, someone mentioned having read about the affects of technology on a teen's desires and proclivities. She reported that the graphic and "advanced" nature of their early exposure to sexuality results in many teens needing "more" in the way of stimulation as they grow toward adulthood. The effects of peeking at Playboy magazine or reading a young adult romance pales in comparison to what our kids are finding online and sharing with one another on their cell phones.  

I'm finding this desire for "more" to be an ongoing theme in this world in which my children live. It may be a byproduct of living in a community where most families have what they need and then some, but it's disturbingly prevalent. No longer is a cell phone acceptable; a smart phone is required (and they still don't answer when you call). A vacation to Colorado is unappreciated because "we've been to that state before." A plain old birthday party at home doesn't suffice when everyone else does something way cooler and more expensive.

Sweet 16 parties and bar/bat mitzvahs are often examples of "more." In many cases, these rite of passage events resemble mini-proms or a wedding reception. I can't speak to the bar/bat mitzvahs of my day because I never attended one until recently, but I did turn 16 a couple nearly three decades ago and these grand affairs were not the norm. I find myself wondering what happened to the good old slumber party. But then again, it's probably safer to gather all of your kids friends in a supervised location where they're less likely to be drinking and photographing their private parts to text to a friend (who then sends it to his friend, and so on). I guess my biggest concern with these first class affairs is that they're setting our kids up for disappointment years from now. What if on their 21st, 30th, and 50th birthdays there's no one to throw them a lavish private party? How can your wedding reception top your bar/bat mitzvah when twenty years earlier it was the talk of the town? If you set the standard so high so early in their lives, can we exceed those expectations for the special moments later in life?

A couple years ago I heard stories of prom date invitations that both amused and concerned me. Boys were arranging elaborate scenarios in which to pop the question, "Will you go to prom with me?" Proposals were staged involving teachers and principals. Banners were hung on the bridge that links the middle and high schools. And a member of the track team recruited his friends to run in sequence wearing specially made t-shirts that read WILL - YOU - GO - TO - PROM, followed by Romeo wearing "WITH ME?" Awe! As in awesome, right? Absolutely. I would have loved to have been proposed to that way. Oops. That's what I was afraid of. To be on the receiving end of that level of sweetness and creativity as a high school senior only sets you up for disappointment when your adult boyfriend proposes marriage by leaning across the couch during a timeout in the football game and opening a little black box. And, he probably belched at some point in this transaction. Trust me, guys get lazy once you've been together awhile. You're rarely going to find romance delivered high school style. (Side note: Rob did not propose to me on the couch during a football game. It was a baseball game. No, but seriously, he proposed to me on the side of the road. It was more romantic than it sounds.)

Lest you think I'm presenting myself as above all this excess, I can assure you that I'm not immune to the temptation to fulfill my kids' desire for more. This Christmas we're heading to Mexico for the week. Unlike Colorado, Ian and Abby haven't been there yet, so they're looking forward to it. (Just hope we can get Abby a passport in time. Damn government shutdown.) And in lieu of a Sweet 16 party, a friend and I made our daughters a deal a year ago, promising them a trip to France instead, assuming they keep up their French studies. I'm sure the party would be much less expensive, but this way I get something out of it, too.

The reality is that many parents, myself included, want to give their children more than they had. Or they want to express their love and pride in their child, regardless of the cost. Sometimes, we go overboard trying to make up for the lack of time we spend together as a family. Our hearts are in the right place when we decide to go big for our kids, I just sometimes wonder whether our heads are in on it too.

Your thoughts?

Hop On! We're Taking a Tour of Changeland

The Funkapotomus has been away on an extended vacation. I always feel better when he heads out of town (obviously). Unfortunately, the big guy's back and settled in quite nicely, occasionally hugging me so tightly I can barely breath or think.

Whenever the Funkapotomus returns I spend a good deal of time trying to figure out exactly why he's here. Rainy day? Wintertime? Fight with Rob, or the kids, or my parents, or my boss or a friend? My monthly hormonal imbalances? If I answer "no" to all of the above I begin my nearly expert process of self-diagnosis. It's better than self-medicating and considerably less expensive than seeing a professional.

I have come to the conclusion that the Funkapotomus came home at this particular time because he's relishing the significant amount of change happening in my life, practically none of which is great or even good. Allow me to take you on a guided tour of Changeland, featuring the Funkapotomus in a starring role.

For our first stop, let's visit Kim's not-so-new-anymore job. I weathered quite well the initial transition in November. Making the move after eleven years at Judson Press was surprisingly painless. But as you know, my dear colleague/boss Burt passed away in January and that saddened me tremendously. I soldiered on and the dean lifted my spirits by taking a minute to say hello to me in the mornings. But now they've gone and replaced Burt. The new gentleman started a couple weeks ago and by all appearances he's a good guy. He says the right things, does the right things, treats his staff the right way. I think it's the staff part that's causing me to be childish bothering me. I'm not used to being "supervised" by someone ten years younger than me. Actually, I'm not accustomed to being supervised at all. And if I am going to work for someone, I want it to be Burt. I miss him. And it doesn't help that the dean stopped saying hello to me. I guess hellos are reserved for his direct reports.

We're now moving out of Career World toward our second stop -- Parenthood. A considerably more complex site on our tour. Simply put, I'm becoming painfully aware that my children don't really want me involved in their lives anymore. They still need me to drive them places, but that's about it. Heck, Abby can make her own meals, go grocery shopping, and do her laundry, rendering me almost completely obsolete. Being sad about this is terribly ironic given that I spent the first ten five few years of their lives wishing they didn't need me so damn much. It's not that I've had a change of heart and really want to do stuff for my kids, it's more that I want to be needed and loved and then free to decline all demands and requests they make of me. Kinda the way I want to be invited to parties, but don't actually want to go.

Now, let's pay a visit to Friendville. This year I watched as my childrens' relationships evolved and in some cases dissolved. Over the past year I too have seen a number of my friendships change. Some have become stronger and more fulfilling, while others have faded or been strained by forces left unspoken. Never an easy thing, no matter how old you are.

And speaking of age, like it or not, we have to take a moment for Grown Up Stuff. My parents, my friends' parents, and my aunts and uncles are all getting older (as if the rest of us are standing still). This means we're increasingly dealing with loss. My Aunt Faify passed last month. My friend Amy's father died in June. And my Aunt Glenna only has a short time left.as she battles leukemia. In the years ahead loss is going to become way too familiar. I know it's inevitable, but it still weighs on me. I'm not in the slightest bit prepared to lose my parents.

Let's make Media Presbyterian Church the fifth and final stop on our tour. Formerly a place of comfort, fellowship and strength, my church has become a source of division, stress and disappointment. For those of you who aren't experiencing hell's arrival in your place of worship, let me tell you it sucks. Our senior pastor resigned after it was discovered he had been (and is still) in a relationship with a former coworker while she was employed by the church. (And no, it's not our awesome former children's director, Cara.) His behavior is in direct violation of the Presbyterian Church's Book of Order. And yes, I've only shared the Reader's Digest condensed version with you, partly because it's not proper to air what is actually years worth of dirty laundry, but mostly because I don't want to be sued for libel. Let's just say I feel like Dorothy, seeing the great and powerful Oz behind the curtain. It's been heartbreaking and emotionally and physically exhausting, and I've been bitterly disappointed not only in my pastor but in those whose responsibility it is (as church elders) to make important decisions related to this difficult situation. Even though I'm certain we'll survive this turbulent time, a strong, loving church -- your place of refuge -- is last place you want to see change.

This concludes our tour of Changeland.  I hope you've enjoyed the whine. Please watch the tram car and carefully exit through the gift shop. Come back soon!

Awakening to Goodness at a Time of Loss

It's been a rough couple of weeks. On the morning of Friday, April 19, my Aunt Faify (Faith) was admitted to the hospital in critical condition after suffering what doctors assumed was a heart attack. That same day, my Aunt Glenna, who is battling leukemia, was told that chemotherapy wasn't working and doctors recommended hospice care. And then, that evening, when coming to the hospital with us to visit his wife, my Uncle Richie took one step into the lobby and collapsed, code blue. A dozen medical workers pounded on his chest, shocked his heart, and miraculously brought him back. If he hadn't been in a hospital when this happened, he would have died.

Two weeks later, Uncle Richie has had a pacemaker put in and was moved to a rehabilitation facility. My Aunt Glenna is holding on as best she can. And my Aunt Faify has found a new home in heaven.

I haven't known what to blog about during this difficult time. A comedic post seemed inappropriate (though laughter is exactly what we need now). A detailed post about the range of emotions we experienced felt too heavy. On Sunday during church, however, I got an idea from Pastor Nikki's sermon when she remarked that "the pools of kindness are drying up." You'll be glad to know I didn't shout it out loud, but my immediate reaction was "Nah ah!"

There's been a whole lot of tragedy in the world and a great deal of loss that I've experienced personally in recent years. And though my "Why, God?" has gone unanswered, I have found Jesus' words in Matthew 5:4 to be true: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted…" I can also relate to Psalms 94:19: "When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul." My comfort and consolation are coming from those pools of kindness, and I see them everywhere I look. I wish it didn't require grief and loss to awaken us to the goodness in the world.

In the past couple weeks I have seen love and kindness in action, some of it in direct response to my personal situation, some of it just there waiting to be noticed:

• The "newlywed" couple at church still holding hands after 50+ years of marriage.
• The simple gesture of a husband putting an arm around his wife's waist, symbolically saying "I'm always by your side."
• An adult son bringing his cancer stricken mother to church in a wheelchair and throughout the service rubbing her back, adjusting the scarf on her head and smiling because being there with her and for her was bringing him joy.
• The unexpected kindness of a Villanova student worker wrapping his arms around my shoulders and hugging me when I received the call that Aunt Faify had passed.
• The love of friends who bring food, offer prayers and provide support in times of need.
• A four-year-old walking into a room to give his PopPop a hug and a kiss -- just because -- and then walking out again to return to his toys. 
• The kindness and care of a neighbor whose love sustains my parents through good times and bad.
• The commitment and love that brings a daughter home from Denver, twice in two weeks, to be there to support her mom and to say goodbye to a beloved aunt.
• The constant presence of a husband who let go of old resentments and is providing the unwavering support his wife needs during one of the most difficult times of her life.

Freakin' Angels, indeed.

And then there's my Mom. For the past several months she's been a source of strength for my Aunt Glenna. Taking her for chemo and blood and platelets. Letting her cry. Talking and laughing. Reminiscing. Just sitting together. My Aunt Faith and Aunt Glenna have been my mom's best friends throughout her entire life. Out of five sisters, they were the inseparable three.To say this is a difficult time for my mom, would be a major understatement. She had to plan her sister's memorial service because Uncle Richie was in no condition to do so. She has had to care for him as well. And despite being emotionally and physically drained, she never lost sight of the needs of her sister Glenna. Through it all, my mom has displayed incredible strength, resilience and unwavering faith. She has mourned and will continue to mourn her loss, but the love she feels for her sisters keeps her going.

Having never known three women with bigger hearts who give (and gave) of themselves so selflessly, I'm certain that this awakening to the love and kindness all around us is exactly what my aunts, and my mom, would want. The perfect tribute to each of these wonderful women.

A Love Story

I recall a conversation with a friend on the topic of greeting cards. More specifically, cards for her husband. Her husband is the demonstrative, lavish-shows-of-affection type and she's just about the complete opposite. Sometimes she feels guilty about this and on the rare occasion that the mood strikes, she'll pick up one of those warm and fuzzy, lovey-dovey cards for her man. Unfortunately, he often doesn't see them.

"I have good intentions, but by the time I planned to give it to him he's somehow irritated me again and the mood is lost." 

This leads me to the purpose for this post. A declaration of my love for my husband. I know this is not typical Kim territory. Positive, loving, and kind are generally not words associated with this freakin' angel, but the spirit is moving me today. I did consider waiting to share this on our anniversary (Jan. 7) or his birthday (Jan. 8), but there's the distinct possibility that he will tick me off by then. So here it is.

My husband Rob. A love story. Quit rolling your eyes and go with it.

Like every married couple, Rob and I have had (and will continue to have) our ups and downs. Our arguments are generally short-lived, but there are stretches of time when they seem to come more often than either of us would like. Some years overall seem tougher than others in every way, not just for our relationship. I recall 2011 being pretty crappy, but as we wind down 2012, I find myself smiling. Me, smiling? Weird, huh?

So what's made this a year worth smiling about? I think it was the way all the forces combined to remind, reassure, and reinforce what an amazing gift the love is between a husband and wife. More than a year ago Rob was suffering with extreme back problems that resulted in ER visits and ultimately surgery. I held his hand and tried to comfort him, but was otherwise helpless while he dealt with pain that actually made childbirth seem like a walk in the park. While my heart broke to see him in such agony, I think the brokenness, when healed, made my heart--and my love for him--even stronger. And this year when my depression brought me lower than I'd been in a decade, Rob took care of me. Never losing patience or avoiding the problem despite not truly understanding what I was experiencing because he hasn't been there himself. He simply loved me when I most needed loving.

Somewhere along the line Rob also started making a visible effort to be more involved on the home front with everything from housework and the kids to my ever-growing to do list. He knows my least favorite chores and takes them upon himself. He knows I hate running errands so he does the running. And he started doing whatever he could to deal with sick kids or their appointments so I wasn't always sacrificing my career to handle everything that came along. At the same Rob started pitching in, he became more attentive and affectionate. I used to tell him I always knew when he wanted something because his level of helpful activity and romantic gestures were blatantly obvious took a marked turn. Now I never know when he wants something because his good deeds are such a regular part of how he treats me. I'm never sure now when it's time for sex.This new approach to marriage was very disorienting for a while, but trust me, I've gotten used to it.

Don't get me wrong. Rob was never a lousy husband (I know a few of those). I never questioned his love for me. But like many women, there were times I felt like my biggest job as a wife and mother was making sure everything didn't fall down around us. We were in that rut that is so easy to fall into after 15+ years of marriage, two full time jobs and full-time kids and incredibly full lives. I truly believe having cared for each other through some difficult times and actually listening to each other's needs has brought us to this much better place. I don't know if it's Rob, the new job, or the correct combination of meds (probably all three), but I haven't felt this content, this thankful, or this light in a very long time.

Rob, I know you don't appreciate being the subject of my blog posts, but I hope you know this one was written in love to thank you for all you've done, all you're doing, and all you are to me. Now don't screw it up.

A Thanksgiving Ode to Facebook

Today, among other things, I'm giving thanks for Facebook. While there are those who express concern or outright disdain for the King of Social Media, I would like to propose that it's done a remarkable job of bringing people together, at least for me personally. And when I'm in touch with people I care about, I am thankful.

I'm thankful that through Facebook I'm closer than ever to a few of my relatives and my relatives-in-law. Take my Aunt Joan and my cousin Linda. I haven't actually seen them in years, but now we correspond (and play addictive online word games) on a regular basis. Rob's cousin Anthony and I have likewise bonded. And I connect often with Rob's aunt Jeanie who happens to be one of my favorite people. Facebook even allows me to know something about my sister's life. She doesn't personally post anything, but her husband does, and hey, it's better than nothing.

Facebook has also reconnected me with friends whom I would otherwise likely have never seen nor heard from again: prolific blogger Jim whom I barely knew in high school, my grad school friend Susanne, my former classmate Karen whose writing reflects the beauty of life, and my Freakin' Angel critic (in a nice way) Bryce. And there's Maureen, a college friend and fierce TV-Radio competitor (she won); and Jon, also from IUP Radio-TV who made it big (as in working for Oprah big); there's Tim, one of the many guys I liked in high school who never noticed; and Jen, our high school's most beautiful singing voice. My friends across the pond in Northern Ireland are also within reach compliments of Facebook.

Then there are my best friends from college, the women who knew me before medication and loved me anyway. Though they live too far away to visit even occasionally, I'm blessed to keep up with Kathie and Amy, and occasionally see an update from Lisa and Sue.

Saying goodbye to former coworkers has been made easier thanks to Facebook. I've been reunited with Shannon, Karen, Tony, and Eric from Adams Outdoor. I've reconnected with Diana, the woman who predicted I'd marry Rob the first day we met when I started working at Hot 99.9 radio. Because of Facebook, I know I can count on "seeing" my Judson/ABHMS friends Gale, Lisa, Jen, Aidsand, MaryAnn, Tammy, Joe, and Rebecca. Former coworkers like Michelle, Rick, Sandy, and Obed are also just a click away. I can even enjoy updates from my favorite Judson Press authors, including Alicia, Janet, Bill, Scott, Marvin, Kirk, Susan, Dale, and others.

And Facebook has been about so much more than the number of friends on my list or even the occasional "like" or status update. Facebook has actually enabled and encouraged expressions of love, concern, compassion, gratitude, celebration, and sympathy. While not everyone is comfortable sharing their pain or even their joy, there are others with whom we form an emotional bond in a time of need. My high school friend Beth has endured some of life's greatest challenges, including the very recent death of her five-year old daughter Emma whose life was cut short by Rett Syndrome. Beth provided regular updates throughout her life, and requested prayers when needed for Emma or her other daughter Molly. The prayers and well wishes from dozens of friends near and far provided Beth with some small measure of comfort. And Beth is just one of many who choose to share their pain and sorrow, allowing those who love them from a distance to "be there" during difficult times. Similarly, on Facebook we celebrate the happy things in our lives, marriages, births, healing, accomplishments, and more. And be honest, who doesn't absolutely love seeing dozens of birthday wishes on their special day? That alone is worth the price of Facebook, if Facebook had a price.

As for me, well you know my life's an open book, and Facebook has served as my primary means for sharing these all-revealing blog posts. Through my blog I've learned that I sometimes say what's on others' minds, and by sharing what is private and painful for many I'm able to reach someone who similarly struggles. The greatest gift I get from my writing is hearing from another who has the same doubts, insecurities, parenting dilemmas, faith issues, and visits from the Funkapotomus. It always helps to know we're not alone in this big, sometimes bad, world.

To my Facebook friends near and far, past and present, Happy Thanksgiving. I'm grateful for having you in my life!

But it looked so nice in the pictures!

Just returned from a week on Long Beach Island with my parents, my sister, her husband and son, and my family. It's the first time we've vacationed together since my nephew William was born three and half years ago, and the first time we've rented a vacation home together since my sister got married.

Freakin' Sister

Having spent 144 hours, 13 minutes, and 27 seconds together, I could dish about family dynamics but they all read my blog in the interest of family harmony, allow me to instead share a little bit about how things looked:

Abby and William

• As always, my nephew looked freakin' adorable.
• My freakin' sister looked great. I've been working out for two years and she looks better than me after exercising for two months. And she had a different bikini for each day. And matching cover-up. And her fancy hat.
• My brother-in-law looked (and ran) like a poster boy for Men's Health.
• My kids looked happy, except when they were fighting. But after Ian left for a different vacation (seriously, he flew to GA to be with friends), Abby looked bored.
• My husband looked content and carefree (understandable since he's not related to any of us).
• My parents looked pleased to have us all together.
• My dad's boat looked clean. It always looks clean. Dad is rather committed to cleanliness, yet even he can't compare to my brother-in-law in that regard. But that's a different post.

And then there was the house...

I searched on-line for a rental with very specific requirements:

1. Minimum of four bedrooms
2. Boat dock
3. Cheap

I think "cheap" is where I went wrong. Wouldn't be the first time. Probably won't be the last. I also went wrong when I signed a contract and paid for the house without seeing it first. Hey, it looked good in the pictures! But then "looks can be deceiving." Yes indeed, they can.

My third mistake? Asking my parents to check out the house during one of their springtime visits to the shore. They reassured my sister and me and said it was nice (or maybe the word was "fine"). But here's the thing:

My parents aren't hard to please snobs.

My sister is. Okay, maybe she's not a snob, but she's definitely hard to please. She's been known to bring hotel managers to tears and has even found fault with the Four Seasons. I won't invite Dawn to my house because I can't possibly live up to her high standards.

To be fair though, this place had even me whining and complaining and you know I rarely whine and complain. My sister was trying to be nice for maybe the first time in our relationship by staying pretty quiet on the subject so I figured I should bitch on her behalf. 

So what was wrong with this lagoon front property that looked "nice" in the pictures?

Television #2 in the dungeon downstairs.

• It was missing a bed. And AC vents in two bedrooms. And one of the stove burners. And an iron. And a working DVD player.
• One of the home's two televisions turned out to be from the 1970s. Seriously. Does anyone even remember how to get up and change a channel manually?
• It wasn't until Friday evening that we figured out how to maintain a reasonable indoor temperature. Most mornings we woke up freezing after having sweated our cajones off all day.
• The carpets were filthy.
• The leather furniture was dirty (we know because my sister actually wiped them down; she shares her husband's obsessive-compulsive commitment to cleanliness)
• The artwork was disturbing.
• The bottom floor, where three of the four bedrooms were located, smelled musty and moldy.
• All the bed mattresses rested on plywood. Nary a box spring to be found.

I realize all this is "First World Problem" stuff and I should quit my bitchin'. The thing is, we've been spoiled. But honestly, we weren't always like this.

Twenty years ago I was renting a shore house with Rob and friends where the three inch deep purple shag carpeting was harboring a host of mystery tenants. And people were sleeping on it. And on the nasty couches (the fabric kind that you couldn't wipe down with an anti-bacterial wipe, even if we had antibacterial wipes back then).  Kitchen surfaces were covered with a variety of sticky substances. Bathrooms were growing things more commonly found in science labs.  No problem. You drink enough and you don't notice.

But fast forward to spring break 2011 and where are we? Beachfront, multi-million dollar property in Pine Island on the Outer Banks. Clean floors. Working appliances. Real beds. Classy decor. Up-to-date technology. An in-ground pool, a hot tub, and an elevator for cryin' out loud. Once you go big, you can never go back.

The good news is that despite our less than swanky accommodations, we really did enjoy each other's company last week. And should we decide to do it again, I'll be sure to let my sister pick the house. I'll start socking away the money now, just in case.



If the World was About to End

In three weeks a giant asteroid is going to strike Earth, wiping out the entire planet.

Whatcha gonna do now?

How about Seeking A Friend for the End of the World?
That's the premise of the new movie starring Steve Carell and Keira Knightley.

Is it a drama? Is it a comedy? Is it a romance? Yes, but this isn't really a review of the movie, which I loved, by the way. It's more a reflection, or contemplation. After all, a movie about your (and everyone else's) last three weeks on earth is bound to raise some questions. For example, would you:

• Go back to your job for even a day?
• Keep exercising?
• Floss?
• Have a yard sale?
• Mow your grass?
• Spend it in a drug-induced haze?
• Leave your spouse immediately?
• Sleep with anyone whom you were attracted to?
• Drive across country to find the love of your life?
• Fly across the ocean to be with your family?
• Get married?
• Be baptized?
• Find God?
• Lose God?
• Hire a hit man to take you out before the asteroid hits?
• Destroy everything in your path, just for the fun of it?
• Make peace and forgive everyone who ever wronged you?
• Say your peace or take revenge on everyone who has ever wronged you?
• Recognize that regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, or sexuality, we're all one?

While many movies have considered life from the perspective of an individual who knows he/she doesn't have long to live, I can't think of another that considers life in the context of the end of the world. It's a shockingly difficult thing to wrap your head around, but one that deserves reflection. Not because the world is likely to end tomorrow, or in three weeks, but because you have to wonder why we don't live all of our days as if they were the last. Not only our last, but mankind's last. I imagine we could let go of our bitterness and anger, our judgements and condemnation.

Although Seeking a Friend for the End of the World was a sucker punch to the gut emotionally (with some good laughs thrown in to ease the pain), it left me with one comforting thought.

I'm already with the people I'd want to spend my last days with. I imagine I'd take my husband and my children and as many friends and family members as I could gather, and head to the ocean to finish out my time in a place I love, with the people I love.

What about you?