For Everyone There is a Season

For everything there is a season. Autumn has its leaves, winter has its snowflakes, spring has its flowers, summer has its sun and its sand. It’s one of God’s many flawless designs. Watching one beautiful season gently ease into another that is as equally beautiful but in a unique style all its own, never ceases to amaze me. I always make a point of enjoying the pleasures that each season brings.

We haven’t had much of a chance to enjoy summer yet this year. Our time and energies have been consumed by all the chores of moving- packing, cleaning, traveling, unpacking, organizing, etc. But with the help of my mom I have finally begun to feel settled and- dare I say it?- at ease. So I wanted to take advantage of this positive feeling and do something seasonably fun to ring in our summer.

It took me two full weeks but late last night I was able to convince my mom to go to the beach with me and the kids. She had a mile long list of excuses: the kids will get sun burnt, it’s too hot and humid, the baby is teething, there’s too much work to do around the house….And when we woke up this morning and saw rain drops drizzling down from the grey sky and forming puddles in the driveway, she thought she would get her way. But I was determined. I lathered everyone in sunscreen and dressed them in their swimsuits, in spite of the looming clouds, and we all loaded in the car and drove towards the beach. The rain had stopped by the time we arrived. We all piled out of the van and headed into the sand.

The kids were jubilant at the mere sight of the water. They ran as quickly as their little legs would carry them, through the sand and towards the waves. Grandma feigned a smile. She insisted that we lay our towels as close to the lifeguard tower as possible. Within minutes Josie and Jamie were running and splashing and screaming in ecstasy.

Johnny, being a baby, instantly began to eat dirt.

Grandma’s smile faded to a grin. She was worried for the kids’ safety. We took turns holding the big kids’ hands so that they wouldn’t get washed away by the rising tide and holding Johnny on our hips so he wouldn’t go home with a stomach full of sand.

Grandma’s grin faded to a grimace. The water rushed higher and splashed up around our knees. Josie laid down and made a sand angel and Jamie attempted to make a sand castle.

We were all covered in salt and sand. Grandma’s grimace faded into a scowl. She was concerned that the kids were getting too much sun and she was running out of energy and patience.

So after only an hour and a half of fun in the sun we packed our bags and headed home. The entire family took a full afternoon nap.

The house began to stir again. Since the rain brought with it a cooler, crisper air we decided it was the perfect day for baking an apple pie. Now, most of you have heard me rave about my mom’s famous apple pies, some of you have tasted them, and a select few of you have actually inherited the recipe. I take great pride in the quality of my family’s homemade pies. So being surrounded in the sights, sounds, and smells of this activity was a welcome treat….especially since it’s something we usually do in the fall. Autumn is typically apple pie season but you’d never known it had you walked into my kitchen this afternoon.

Josie was helping Grandma pinch the edges of the crust into the pan and Jamie, sporting a classic gingham apron, was helping Mommy peel and core the apples.

Then after dinner we all sat down around the table, Josie said a quick preschool prayer, and we all devoured a generous serving of freshly baked apple pie a la mode.

For everyone there is a season. Summer, with its sun and its sand, is for mommies and kids with endless stores of energy and a thirst for adventure.

Autumn, with its apple pies, is for Grandma with her gift of baking.

Fruits of the Family Tree



Me and my siblings, July 2009



My family drives me CRAZY! They are some of the most obnoxious, loud-mouthed, stubborn, opinionated, critical people I know.



My family, July 2008



There are so many of them (I have four siblings, four sibling-in-laws, one niece, one nephew, two grandmothers, twelve aunts and uncles, eighteen cousins, six cousin-in-laws, two parent-in-laws, and more further extended family than I can count) with such differing opinions that it’s impossible to make them all happy. Watching us attempt to orchestrate a simple family get-together, you’d think we stepped out of a poor weekday afternoon television show. The drama never ends. (Heck, we don’t even have to be together in person for the excitement to start; Facebook is a great forum for family drama!) We fuss, we fight, we cuss, we cry.



Families are complicated things. We all agree that we only want what’s best for one another, but we all disagree on what “best” is. Some people think that “best” is being a stay-at-home mom while others think it’s having a professional career. Some people think that “best” is living on the West coast while others think it’s living on the East coast. Some people think that “best” is playing soccer, others think it’s basketball, and yet others insist that it’s tennis. At least, that’s the way it is in my family. We take such an active interest in each other’s lives that we often cross the line into wanting to control each other’s lives. What it all seems to boil down to is the fact that everyone loves each other so much that they can’t stand each other. So spending time with my family can be, to put it gently, a struggle.

But for every sour grape that falls from the family tree, there is a basketful of succulent fruit.

A week and a half ago my mom flew in from Southern California to stay with me and the kids and help us get settled into our new house in Virginia. She has been the primary caregiver in our household for the past twelve days- not only taking care of Josie, Jamie, and Johnny while I diligently unpack boxes, arrange furniture, and organize cupboards, but also nursing me and my fragile emotional health. Oh ya, and she’s been attempting to tame the dogs as well (although I think she feels that she’s fighting a losing battle with Beast). She’s been shouldering the weight of the parenting responsibilities around here, but in a loving manner that only a grandmother can.

Grandma bought the kids their first ice creams from an ice cream truck.

To watch them now, you would never know that my mom and my kids only see each other once or twice a year. While Grandma works in the kitchen washing dishes, Josie has been coloring countless pictures for her to take home and conversing endlessly about every subject that pops into her sweet little scattered 5-year-old brain.

Things are a little less civil with Jamie. As James would say, Grandma has had to be on him “like white on rice.” She has especially been trying to teach him to get a tissue to clean his nose instead of picking his bugars and eating them. My mom took Josie, Jamie, and their cousin Angie on a cute little train ride this weekend and since a tissue was nowhere nearby Jamie instead picked a bugar out of his nose and politely handed it to Grandma. She couldn’t help but thank him and laugh.

Johnny and Grandma have been having tons of fun too. She’s his favorite play mate now. In fact, I had to swallow some pride last night when he fussed and whined in my arms, wriggling with outstretched arms to free himself in order to get to Grandma. Once the initial shock of rejection had worn off, I was overcome with emotion at how special the moment was.

This weekend we all drove 167 miles Northwest to visit my sister Joanie, her husband Daniel, my sister Julie, her husband Patrick, and their kids Angie and Conner.

Julie, my oldest sister, has an uncanny, natural talent for hostessing. We were welcomed to her house with freshly cleaned sheets, fluffed and folded towels at the end of our beds, and travel sized toiletries arranged specifically for our arrival. On Saturday we drove to Joanie’s house, where she had prepared a surprise birthday party for Josie.

When we entered the room and Josie saw the cake sitting in the middle of the table she turned to me and asked quietly, who would get to blow out the candles? I told her that she would because the party was for her. “For me?” she exclaimed, jumping up and down and clapping her hands, “I’m so ‘cited!”

But even more exciting than blowing out her candles on the homebaked birthday cake was opening her favorite birthday present, which was a Pillow Pet from Aunt Joanie. Joanie told us later that she had to drive to five different stores to find the unicorn character that Josie asked for. Now that’s love. On Sunday morning Julie woke up early to cook us all a pancake and bacon (my favorite!) breakfast. Gestures like these mean the world to a family that has displaced- living out of suitcases and eating off of paper plates- for three weeks. Family has the amazing ability to make you feel at home even when you’re far from home.

My family may drive me crazy, but I love them. Spending time with them is endlessly fruitful. Thank you, Lord for the family tree and the nourishment that flowers from it.

The Silly Side of Stupid

When we were young we did things that were so stupid they were silly. As teenagers, especially, we thrived on absurdity. We did dumb things for the sole purpose of laughing at our own immaturity. But now we’re adults. We’ve exchanged our stupidity for reason. We do things because they’re logical and calculated. Our days are much too busy, our time is much too valuable, our lives are far too important…..for the most part.

Every once in a while we throw off the bonds of adulthood and allow our inner youth to rule. Yes, even adults do things that are so stupid they’re silly.

My friend Kristen told me a story today that serves as a perfect example. Keep in mind that Kristen is a fully grown adult woman in her early 30s, well-mannered, composed, and refined. On most days, and to the untrained eye, she is the perfect picture of maturity. She’s the type of woman that every mother hopes their daughter will grow into. She just returned from a vacation with her family in Key West and was describing her trip to me in detail when she delved into this story: Her father rented a “bicycle built for two” so one day Kristen and her sister Kendra (also a grown woman) decided they’d take the tandem for a ride. Kristen and Kendra were swaying and swerving all over the streets, collecting sideways glances as they went. At one point Kristen lost her shoe and began screaming at Kendra, who was so focused on steering the foot-powered machine that she’d failed to notice her sister’s fallen footwear. From what Kristen said, they even attracted more than a couple shouts from the sidewalk crowd, including one comment from a local street performer who couldn’t help but notice their spectacle.

This story made me laugh for two reasons. First, because I know Kristen so well and it’s hilarious to think of her in such an out-of-control situation and second, because I once found myself in a very similar situation with my own little sister, Joanie. Soon after I first moved to San Diego to attend college my sister came down for a weekend to visit. Wanting to show her the sights, I took her to Coronado island and we rented a tandem bicycle to ride around and enjoy the beautiful bay atmosphere. Let me tell you, riding a tandem isn’t as easy as it looks. The hem of Joanie’s pants kept getting caught in the chain of the bicycle (that was in the early 2000s when very wide flare legs were fashionable). It seemed that after every rotation of the wheels the chain would come loose and we would have to dismount the bike, again and again and again. Being stubborn and stupid, we refused several offers from sympathetic passerbys who offered to help, until our two-hour rental time elapsed and we became desperate to return the contraption and get our deposit money back. We did eventually accept a kind gentleman’s assistance and laughed at ourselves all the way home. Even now, after Kristen’s story brought the memory back to life, I find the visual image of two grown women tearing up the streets on a tandem bicycle completely absurd.

I had that visual image of a tandem bicycle in the back of my mind this afternoon while I was dodging tricycles.

My mom and my sister and I took Josie, Jamie, Johnny, and my sister’s kids, Angie and Connor, to a little local 4^th of July parade. It was like no other parade I’d ever seen. Hundreds of local parents had dressed their kids in patriotic attire and adorned their strollers, wagons, and bicycles in all sorts of red, white, and blue decorations.

 Then this huge crowd of parents and children walked down the main street of a quiet residential neighborhood. There were no floats, no fire trucks, no bands. There wasn’t even a crowd to watch the so called “parade.” It was completely ridiculous! Just a bunch of people in matching clothes walking down a street, bumping into each other and tripping over one another, for no apparent good reason. By far, the stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time. I came home with blisters on both my feet and a back ache from carrying the boys on top of my shoulders block after block and Josie ended up with a scraped hand and bruised knees from tripping along the route and in the end it was all for nothing. It wasn’t a learning experience for the kids and by no means was it a particularly fun activity for the adults. But it was silly. I giggled as I marched down that street at how completely absurd we all were.

Today I did something that was so stupid it was silly. “Silly” hasn’t been a word I could use to describe myself in a very long time but boy, does it feel good. No matter how grown up and refined we are, no matter how busy and important we think our lives are, we have to keep in mind that its okay to take time to be stupid. I hope that every mature adult out there uses this reminder to live a little on the silly side of stupid.

If you can’t find a local parade to march in, then I highly recommend renting a tandem bicycle.