What I'm Grateful For

It's less often these days when we all want to do the same thing. Each of us is their own unique person with separate interests. And that's okay. 

My wife Amy and I are doing more things together without our kids. Our interests have overlapped for nearly 30 years since we met and we're revisiting some of them now that our kids are older. 

We're not empty nesters yet; our kids are still in high school. It's the precursor to that: they are old enough and responsible enough to stay by themselves for a few days here and there and we can venture out on our own.

Our oldest Beatrice goes to bed earlier like Mom and Dad do, but our youngest Bryce is a night owl. Both are busy with school, choir, theater, volunteering, and babysitting. We're busy with work, Amy with PTA, and me with the school board. They have their friends and we have ours.

However, one very important "same thing" we do together is dinner. With the exceptions of Amy and I having an evening meeting, or if I'm traveling for work, dinner is and has always been a sacred time for us. Sacred because it's an opportunity for all of us to share our day's happenings, the highlights (and sometimes lowlights), to discuss current events, to plan family events, and most importantly, share what each of us are grateful for. 

Ever since they were little, we've been sharing gratitude at dinner. Now that they're teens, sharing gratitude on a feeling-funky-off day isn't easy. Same goes for Mom and Dad. We have our own feeling-funky-off days, too. But it's non-negotiable; each one of us is required to share what they're grateful for, because there's always something to be grateful for. And because there's always something to be grateful for, it grounds us in the happy now, and what to look forward to in the potential of tomorrow. 

There are times when our kids say they have nothing to share. But we're patient and they eventually share. Again, it's non-negotiable for a reason. It's helps us all to reset to the now again, that we're all together sharing a meal, sharing our days, sharing our love, and it makes no never mind on what happens next. 

And what happens next after dinner can vary. After I do the dishes, I usually go play my drums in the garage. Amy and Bryce might what some TV together. Beatrice goes into her room to do homework. 

Occasionally, we all do something together. After dinner last night, Bryce asked us all to go for a walk. We all concurred. It was a warm September late summer night; the kind we get a lot of this time of the year. Not only did all four of us want to go for a walk, our dog Jenny did, too. Dogs are always up for going for a walk. 

Our cat Winston went with us, too. Not by choice, though. Bryce had wanted a cat backpack this year for their birthday and that's what they got. The first time Winston when in the backpack, he peed inside it. We didn't get upset because it was obviously stressful. He's an indoor cat and we rarely let him outside. 

Since that first time, he's gotten used to it, and just sits and smells and looks around at the big outside world he's never really known. So, Bryce loaded him up, I connected the leash to Jenny's collar, and off we went for a post-dinner walk around the block. 

As we walked and talked, the love for my family swelled my heart to the size of the setting sun. The setting sun we walked towards in the warm, pre-dusk evening. I didn't even want to take a picture, which I usually do (instead, I picked another sunset photo I've taken). 

No, I just wanted to stay in this moment with my family. We made these two amazing humans, I thought, and now they're making their own amazing ways. And we all still love doing things together. 

That's why I already know what I'm going to share tonight about what I'm grateful for. 

The Sun's Love

Hearing them sing The Rose made me teary and it had been years since I'd heard it. When the joint choirs sang a mashup of Amanda McBrooms's The Rose with the Praetorius Lo, How a Rose, arranged by Craig Hella Johnson (which I had never heard of), I had forgotten how much I used to love The Rose.

The Rose was the theme song to the 1979 movie by the same name, loosely based on Janis Joplin's life and starring Bette Midler. She also sang the song The Rose. I was in 8th grade at the time, and I remember hanging out at a friend's house with other friends where we practiced singing different songs, one of which was The Rose. I don't remember why we were practicing (maybe for 8th grade choir?), but that song has always made me teary, even before I fully understood the lyrics.

It was such a wonderful way to end the joint community college and our kids' high school choir performance. Both our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, are in choir and theater and loving both. They've found "their tribes" who have embraced them and vice-versa. 

One of my tribes back in the day was also choir. Both in junior high and high school. Music has always been important to me (and my wife Amy and our kids). Music fills me with reverence. Singing elevates my spirit. (And so does drumming!)

We're so very grateful watching our teens grow, thrive, and become who they are. It hasn't all been a bed of roses, though; in their short lives they've had their own share of thorny trials. Each of us has to experience our own journeys, to meet head on our moments of highs and lows, and our children are no exceptions. 

As parents, we are their guardians and their guides, supportive and loving, but we can't live their lives for them. Don't want to live their lives for them. We've already grown up once and that was bittersweet enough. Instead, we continue to impart the wisdom learned from our own lives. Because we're always learning how to keep growing and thriving. Easier in the best of times. Not so much in the worst. But even winter hearts can birth springtime souls. 

"Is Dad crying again?" our kids ask regularly. 

Yes, yes he is. Let's listen to The Rose again, kids. This Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for the sun's love.

"...When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose..."

A Fussy Grateful Hybrid

"Goodness, this car is fussier than anyone in our family," Amy said.

"You mean fussier than Dad?" I said.

Amy laughed. "I didn't say that."

"But it's true," I said. 

Amy laughed again. 

"At least it'll keep us safe with all the warning pings, beeps, and buzzes," I said.

"Sure, but we've got to be able to turn them down," Amy said, fiddling with the new touchscreen dashboard.

Is she talking about the new car or me? I thought.

We hadn't had a new car for nine years. Didn't think we needed a new car after nine years. But our last car of nine years was having transmission issues after hitting over 100K miles. Transmission issues that two dealer trips and three AAMCO trips later gleaned no answers for us. 

It was a 2017 Santa Fe Hyundai. We loved that car. Took our whole family a lot of miles safely for most of those nine years and had really low maintenance overall. At least until the transmission started acting up. For a few years we towed a trailer camper, and while our Santa Fe was technically able to tow the trailer, it probably put excessive strain on the transmission. 

So, it was time to get a new car. After a couple of test drives, we really liked the new Hyundai IONIQ 5 electronic vehicle (EV). The EV hi-tech world we're just now experiencing is a story for another time, and in the meantime, we love it. But it pings, beeps, and buzzes a lot of warnings, all the time.

Watch out for the things in front of you!

Watch out for the things to the sides of you!

Watch out for the things behind you!

Don't forget the passengers in the back seats!

Don't forget the passengers in the front seats!

Don't forget to live your life to the fullest and be grateful for every moment!

Okay, that last one isn't a real car warning, but it is how we roll as the kids say. Not sure the kids say that anymore, though. Our kids don't, but I certainly do.

Amy's fussy new car joke fits me perfectly, however. I'm the "no" dad. The dad who fills up quickly with fussy angst and says:

No, we're not doing that. 

No, I'm not doing that.

No, we aren't going there.

And then more pings, beeps, and buzzes like the new car:

Watch out for the things in front of you!

Watch out for the things to the sides of you!

Watch out for the things behind you!

"Dad's getting fussy again," I can hear my kids say as I write this.

Maybe I am fussier than our new EV. Dang. Well, at least I'm a fussy grateful hybrid. A used one with a lot of miles, but always grateful for every moment. 

The Love Letters That Last

"...Don't you shy away (ah)

Manifest a ceiling when you shy away
Searching for that feeling
Just like an "I love you" (ooh, ooh)
That isn't words (ah, ah, ah)
Like a song he wrote (ah)
That's never heard..."

–Twenty One Pilots, Shy Away

We should all write more love letters and songs. Write them every day. And I'm not just talking about literal love songs to our spouses or lovers. I'm talking about love songs of living. Writing the moments that bring us joy, and even better, making those same moments that bring others joy. These moments are words and actions of an infinite ilk, a positive passion that no one can deny, but everyone can be inspired by. 

There are those of us who write these love songs in our heads, but then they're never shared or heard by others, and that's sad. God knows we really need to hear them today. Need to see them today. Need to feel them today. 

Our oldest Beatrice has worked hard in her latest high school musical based on Disney's High School Musical. It's only her second time participating in the theater program, and this time she's in the ensemble as a cheerleader and a jock. The past two weeks of rehearsals were a lot on top of an already tough class schedule. 

But we were all blown away on opening night. The entire cast was not only amazing, they also riffed love letters of joy one scene after another. You could hear it. You could see it. You could feel it. And of course, every time Beatrice was on stage, I took pictures and videos, and her joy inspired me. All that work channeled into love letters of dancing and singing and acting. And smiles. Lots and lots of smiles.

It's infectious when this happens and is more than simply theater entertainment. The audience had perpetual smiles including our youngest Bryce. That infectious joy spilled over after the musical was over, too. Proud parents, family, and friends talking and waiting for the theater kids to come out from the dressing rooms. Teens running back and forth in the hall outside the theater auditorium talking and laughing. Bryce jumped right in looking forward to high school, theater, and choir next year. 

We all need to embody more joy today and encourage our children to do the same. We all need to write more love letters and songs about living, what we're grateful for, and what brings us joy and joy to others, and to not be afraid to share them, to let them be heard, to let them shine. 

It's not a one and done either. Embodying joy for yourself and others in every action and reaction you experience are the love letters that last. 

A Grateful Dad

My dad was always so kind to everyone. Even after 32 years as a police officer and dealing with criminals and the dark side of life, he was always still a very kind person. We lost him and my mom in 2012, and we miss them both. Our kids were very young when they passed.

When I was a sophomore in high school, we were all watching the varsity football game. Me with my friends, and my parents were watching elsewhere in the stands. They had been there since the junior varsity game to watch me play. 

At some point my parents left the game. Fifteen minutes later, one of my friends rushed to where we sat in the stands to tell me my dad had been stabbed. A high and troubled teenager had been taunting one of the high school administrators working the football game and my dad had tried to talk the teen down. The teen wasn't having it, though, and he lunged at my dad with a knife, stabbing him in the upper thigh. Soon after that, my mom, sister, and I were at the hospital with him. Thankfully he was going to be okay. 

What I didn't know until years later is that my dad kept checking in on the teen and visit him to see how he was doing. First the teen was in juvenile hall for a while, and then after other arrests as an adult, went to prison. My dad had wanted to help him, but sadly, he was killed in prison.

Not only was my dad kind, he was empathic and forgiving. So many of his "clients" as he called them, the people he arrested throughout his police career, really liked my dad. And my dad tried to help people turn their lives around, although he knew first hand in his job just how hard it was for people to do that. 

At home, he was such a great father for my sister and me. He didn't come into our lives until we were 10 and 12, when he and our mom married, but it was as if he was always "dad" to us, which is why just a few years later we took his name. He listened to us, he cared for us, and he loved us no matter what we did or said (and we did and said some wowzers, that's for sure). He was always fair, even when we weren't. And when I was going through some of the most difficult years of my life, he did his best to understand, counsel, and console. He was also a goofball and a master of levity, effortlessly injecting humor and silliness into our daily lives. His infectious laughter brought perpetual smiles to us all. 

Dad, you helped me become a grateful dad. A kind, empathic, loving, and grateful dad. Thank you and blessings to you. You are missed.

Grateful For Being Human

 "...one day I feel I'm on top of the world
And the next it's falling in on me
I can get back on
I can get back on..."

–Rush, Far Cry

Sometimes I wish I was an algorithm. One that would quickly learn from its mistakes, adapt, and improve, all without monsoon emotional swings. Without attaching conspiratorial outcomes to change. Without second-guessing its decisions. Without feeling buried under the weight of circumstance. Without feeling momentarily hopeless because things break. 

But I'm not an artificially intelligent "it". I'm a sometimes intelligent human being whose synapses fire, and misfire, as regularly as the sun and moon rise. One day I feel I'm on top of the world and the next it's falling in on me. 

Everybody can feel that way, I know. But when it's you in that moment, especially when it's falling in on you, you feel like you're the only one in the world, the one you were once on top of. This complicates things being a parent of older kids, teen daughters who are more self-aware than there were as kids. They struggle even more because their brains and bodies are developing rapidly and their synaptic firing is like a rollercoaster ride the dives from the upper atmosphere to the center of the earth, then back again. 

And when things are fairly smooth for us the parents, it's easier to help them with the relationship struggles. their study struggles, their body development struggles (especially being females), and all the other things we remember from our own teen worlds. 

When things aren't very smooth, we still have to figure out how to deal and adapt ourselves in order to help them. We're supposed to be the adults in the room, and when things are seemingly rapid-fire change and circumstance, it can be a momentarily overwhelming ordeal just dealing with the ordinary and things that break. 

Our daughter Bryce's bike broke (which was my wife Amy's), which is a bummer because she's the only one willing to ride her bike to school at least once per week, which helps us with the transportation. It was under warranty and we got most of the money back for it, but now have to find a new bike that will definitely be more expensive. 

We had new flooring put in last year that included our staircase. But the very top one started to break and my wife Amy slipped and fell straight down the second one breaking it. She was bruised and sore but thankfully okay otherwise. That's when I checked the other stairs and noticed a few more were loose. That overwhelmed me as a safety problem for our family, although I know we'll get it all fixed.

Even with my default "no" setting, Amy and I were going to attempt to fix our trailer hitch connection on our SUV, and while we got a better understanding of how things work and connect on our car, with discovered that the main brake lights didn't work. The upper third brake light still worked and all the other lights worked, but not the main brake lights. We had no idea how long they'd been out, and immediately we ruled out the fuses and then narrowed it down to the light bulbs and the brake lock switch. But since the latter was above our pay grade, I was banking on the fact it was the bulbs. It was. Thank goodness.

All of these things – our daughter's bike breaking, the stairs breaking under Amy's poor butt, our car's brake lights breaking – combined with the fact that the work year's been tough and now my business has merged with another company (ultimately a great thing) – and all my synaptic misfiring commenced. "One day I feel I'm on top of the world and the next it's falling in on me. I can get back on, I can get back on."

And I do get back on. In the end, I really don't wish I was an algorithm. I wouldn't trade my ability to feel emotions and experience all that life brings for being artificially intelligent in a million years. No, this Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for being human – a fallible human who can feel buried under the weight of transitory circumstances. I'm grateful for a loving wife and partner, and two amazing daughters. I'm grateful for all my family and friends, my current employees and my new colleagues. I'm grateful for our health and our home. I'm grateful for my community, my state, my country, my world (no matter where it's burning). I'm even grateful that things break (sometimes). 

I'm also grateful for empathy, and this Thanksgiving, blessings to those living in war zones, in poverty, on the streets, with mental illness, with physical illness, with anything that compromises health and safety.

To Understand the Differences

It's not badge of honor, that's for damn sure. No child who becomes an adult looks back fondly on growing up with divisive divorce, or domestic violence, or sexual assault, or abuse, neglect, or violence of any kind. And yet, too many of us have had those traumatic experiences early in our lives (and later, too). And many of us, like my wife and I, have pledged that nothing like that would ever happen to our children. 

Growing up Generation X in the 1970's, it eventually became a social media badge of honor decades later to be proud of the fact that we never wore helmets when riding our bikes. And the fact that we stayed out past dusk without any adult supervision. And the fact that we never talked about something bad that happened to us back in those days. I didn't talk about it until I was in my early 20's. 

Again, we've pledged that nothing like that would ever happen to our children, and while we don't have control over what happens to them outside of our house, we do inside our house. So, it's hard to hear from them when they talk about some of the things some their friends go through inside their own homes. 

We empathize and talk about it with our kids, that we don't always know exactly what's happening with people, but the fact is that divorce is real, and domestic violence is real, and abuse and neglect are real, and how the ensuing stress and mental health issues are quite real.

But when more kids are willing to share the trauma they're experiencing at a much early age, or attempt to share as best they can, the new normal perception is the experienced trauma, even if it's just a subset of friends. Our kids care about their friends, but what we don't want is for them to feel bad because they haven't had the same traumatic experiences. 

In fact, while they should listen and be empathetic with friends who have experienced trauma, or are experiencing it, we encourage them to be grateful for the fact that they are not. To be grateful that they have a supportive and loving family that communicates with each other, free from judgment and shame, which in turn can help them be better friends to those who do struggle.

Even a supportive and loving family won't negate the teen angst, heartbreak, and seemingly traumatic issues our kids have struggled with, and will continue to grapple with, into adulthood. But we do want them to understand the differences we work hard to ensure they do and don't experience, and how they can help others along the way.

A Poetic Place

"Oh, my music makes you dance
And gives your spirit to take a chance
And I wrote some rock 'n' roll so you can move
Music fills your heart, well, that's a real fine place to start
It's from me, it's for you
It's from you, it's from me
It's a worldwide symphony..."

–Barry Manilow, I Write the Songs

26 years later and here we are...

Months earlier, I remember seeing the social media ads and thinking, That's corny.

The service is Songfinch, a platform that allows you to choose a musical artist/songwriter and then provide content and stories for the musician to write you a song and record it for you. The end result is a special song for someone special in your life. 

So cool, I thought. And corny.

I kept kicking that musical idea down the road, thinking about it, and finally realizing it was the perfect anniversary gift from me to my wife, Amy.

Because we like corny love things. Our teen daughters know we like corny love things, too. Painfully so. 

While I've never forgotten our wedding anniversary (or the anniversary of when we met, which happens to be the same date), when I decided to have a song made for Amy, I couldn't help but think about one of favorite holiday movies, The Family Man. 

There's a part where the husband/father (Nicholas Cage), forgets his anniversary with his wife/mother (Téa Leoni), and then their young daughter (Makenzie Vega) commiserates with him.

Daughter: "I should have warned you. Dad always does something really special for the anniversary."            

Dad: "Like what?"

Daughter: "One year he had a star named after her."         

Dad: "He had a star named after her? Well, that's nice, but isn't that a little... corny?"        

Daughter: "Mom liked it."

And I knew Amy would like it, too. Flowers and jewelry haven't been our thing over the years. Instead, music and travel have been. At our wedding we gave away our curated list of songs in a CD we titled "A Lifetime With Happy". It included songs from Ambrosia, Jennifer Lopez, Phoebe Snow, Train, Lionel Richie, Journey, Little River Band, and many others. 

I've written Amy poetry over the years as well, and when I decided to have a song made for her, I compiled romantic highlights, pieces of my poetry, one of my favorite Rush songs called "The Speed of Love", and other life anecdotes. The Songfinch musician I picked is named Tommy P, and within a week he had written and recorded a song for me. After a few edits, it was done. And because I've been drumming now for three years, I wanted to drum to it for Amy. I didn't play the drums on the originally recording of course, but I thought it would be fun to do so. 

It's been 26 years since we met and 20 years of marriage. Early on in our relationship we were clear with each other that either we were all in, or we weren't. All in was our choice. It wasn't without work, though, and we also always knew that sometimes it doesn't work out. We grew up with divorce, I got a divorce myself, and early on with Amy and me, we were never going to put children through that, which was why we weren't going to have them. Until we changed our minds and did.

We've been celebrating our anniversary all week, and we want our daughters to understand that whatever relationships they end up having in their lives, they had to be all in and continuously reinvest in those relationships to make them work. To be all in, you have to be whole, because if it doesn't work, then it's not the end of world (even if it feels like it, which it will). Through it all, it should always be about loving yourself first and keeping your soul whole enough to share with another. That's what we've practiced over the years, a poetic place with spiritual grounding that elevates our love. To be grateful for our love for as long as we have it. 

So, having a song produced for Amy for our anniversary might've been a little corny, but if music fills your heart, well, that's a real fine place to start. (Thank you, Mr. Manilow.)

It's A Win

When our oldest Beatrice pointed out we hadn't shared what we were grateful for the night before, we told her that we had. 

"No, we didn't," she said.

Her mom Amy said, "Yes, we did. We said we were grateful for our family."

"Yes, and I said I was grateful that you and your sister have your own rooms now," I added.

"Oh, okay," Bea said. She looked thoughtful. "What are you grateful for today?"

I smiled because now our kids remind us to share what we're grateful each day, and we don't have to be the ones to always ask, even with the fact that we now have teens. That's a parenting win for us. One that keeps our family grounded in what's good and what we're thankful for. 

We've been sharing what we're grateful for at dinner every night for nearly five years now going back to when we started our weekly family meetings where we share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family, like being brave in everyday situations. 

Sharing what we are grateful for became a nightly ritual that simply adds blessings to our family bond and our love for one another. It really does. Especially when one of has had a bad day and we feel like there's nothing to celebrate, and yet, without having to dig deep, we always find something to be grateful for. 

Because there always is something. There has to be something. There's a continuous greater purpose of positive living, loving, and appreciation that's bigger than any one crappy moment. And I've had a lot of crappy moments this year with work. It's been rough in the recruiting and human resources space I'm in and the small candidate experience research firm I run is struggling. We've had to lay off a team member and it might get worse soon. 

However, as my wife tells me all the time, always be grateful for endless possibilities, because we're not the sum of our crappy moments. We're constantly the culmination of love and possibility, and those times are now again. Always in the now again. It doesn't mean that there won't be obstacles to overcome, but when you're grateful even for those no matter the mirrored contradiction, it's a win. Without those and endless possibilities, what would be the point? Thankfully I don't worry about that question anymore. I'm grateful for where I'm at this very moment with myself and my family. 

The Most Grateful Gift Of All

She stood with some of her classmates at the foot of the stage stairs waiting for her turn. That's when I asked the other school board member on stage to switch with me. This was a proud moment for our family and I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to hand our oldest child her promotion certificate.

No, it wasn't college or high school yet, but it was an important transitional milestone: the 8th grade. After three years of middle school, the first of which was distance learning during the heart of the pandemic, Beatrice finished strong.

We never doubted she would; she worked hard to finish strong and we supported her along the way. It does take a little more hard work for her than her sister Bryce, but regardless, she thrived. She thrived academically and socially. However, emotionally she's now a teen, so there's been some drama the past year that we've all managed to get through. 

Out of everything she experienced during middle school, leadership was and is her thing. She's getting ready to be a junior leader again for a summer day camp; she loves working with kids. She was also her favorite 6th grade teacher's teaching assistant this last semester, which sometimes gave her extra study time when he didn't have anything for her to do. She's always needed a little more support since preschool and we are so grateful for all the classroom support she's received -- from preschool to 8th grade and what will continue through her high school years to come. 

And because of all these experiences and the support she received, she's told us she may just be a teacher someday. That would be fantastic! In fact, she's told us she wants to be a teacher and an artist. 

Public schools get a bad wrap these days about the education they deliver, and funding shortfalls always make it harder for school districts to recruit and retain quality teachers. We've been fortunate to have had some amazing and supportive teachers who have delivered the highest quality education throughout the years for both our daughters. 

Being on our local school board has given me an insight into public education realities, its struggles and successes, for all the students in our district. Which is why I was so grateful and proud to be onstage during Beatrice's 8th grade promotion to congratulate all the students.

Of course, hugging my own daughter and handing her the promotion certificate was the most grateful gift of all. 

Able-Bodied Grateful

He really wanted AirPods. So, I set up an online account for him and pre-ordered them for same-day pickup. Easy peasy. I made myself the pickup person since he wouldn't be able to go get them with me. That's because Robby, my best friend of 45 years, had broken his leg. 

His broken leg was wrapped tightly in padded gauze so it would set and heal properly. It wasn't quite a cast, which I assumed was to still give him some flexibility when transferring from his bed to his wheelchair. A wheelchair he's been bound to since he broke his neck at a swim meet during spring break of our senior year in high school. His paralysis has taken a physical and psychological toll since then, but he lives fairly independently with regular home healthcare visits and a van he can drive. At least, when his leg isn't broken, which has happened multiple times over the years.

Prior to the pandemic, myself and a group of mutual long-time friends would go visit Robby at least one to two times per year since high school. (A big thank you to friends Greg and Rob for going to help Robby right after he broke his leg this time). Although we talk on the phone regularly, I've only seen Robby a couple of times the past few years including this latest visit, the soonest I could get up to see him. 

We had a great time catching up, listening to music, watching movies, and reminiscing about our lives and our friendship. Being a partial quadriplegic, his physical body has atrophied dramatically over the years, his bones brittle and easily broken with any trauma, like falling to the floor trying to transfer to his wheelchair or his bed. 

After picking up his AirPods, I brought them back and showed him how I removed them from their container and then gave him the container to try. For those who don't own a pair, the container magnetically holds the AirPods in place and the lid snaps shut easily to protect its contents. 

I watched him try to open the container. Since his accident in high school, I've known he doesn't have the same dexterity or strength as able-bodied people, and he can't pinch with his fingers like I can. I've watched his physical activity over the years, helping him when needed (or if he wanted it), but this time I just watched him navigate the AirPods. After about 10 minutes, he got them into his ears and we tested them. He loved them. 

And it took 10 minutes. If you think about how long it takes an able-bodied person to remove them and put them into the ears, around 10 seconds, 10 minutes is a long time relatively speaking. But not to my best friend. He's adapted over the years and can manage a lot of activities that able-bodied people take for granted. 

The morning I was to head home, I began to feel nauseous and achy. And unfortunately, my body remembered that feeling all too well -- the stomach flu. Or, more accurately, the norovirus, which isn't a flu at all. You can get the norovirus anywhere and I've had it a few times over the years, and it gets you at both ends, if you know what I mean. Ugh. I still had to drive home four hours, too. 

I made it home without incident, but was then sick with it for two days. Norovirus is highly contagious once you're sick, so then I gave it our oldest Beatrice. Then my wife Amy got it. Then our youngest Bryce got it. I turned my house into a cruise ship for a week (if you don't get that reference, norovirus has infamously infected passengers on cruise ships). 

Throughout the week as my family nursed each other back from norovirus, all I could think about was watching my best friend removing his AirPods from their case and putting them into his ears. Again, it took him 10 minutes when it only takes me 10 seconds (and then imagine those who can't do it at all on their own). Living with a lifetime of paralysis reminds me of how much we can take for granted in our lives; my family could move easily back and forth from the bed to the bathroom when sick. Thank goodness he didn't get the norovirus after I left. I'll always be able-bodied grateful and empathize with those who aren't. Blessings, my dear friend, and rock on. 

One Volley After Another

"Every day we're standing
In a time capsule
Racing down a river from the past
Every day we're standing
In a wind tunnel
Facing down the future coming fast..."

–Rush, Turn the Page

I wasn't surprised that the sight brought a tear. That's not unusual for me, to experience a moving momentary emotional surge. Like, all the time. 

I had been taking our dog Jenny for a walk. It was a beautiful spring day. Cool and sunny. On the cusp of what my wife Amy and I called a hot-cold day; too warm in the sun to wear a sweatshirt and too cold in the shade not to. I was headed to one of two walks we've been doing during the past year of the pandemic. This one would take us through the lower facilities campus of UC Santa Cruz, and then around Antonelli Pond, back along the railroad tracks to home again. 

As I walked through the always empty parking of the lower campus, I looked up and noticed something I hadn't seen for nearly one year: the tennis court nets were back up. Now, that may like seem like much of anything, but to us, it was everything just a year earlier. 

There are two tennis courts on the lower university campus that used to be open to the public. First come, first serve courts, each one self-contained by tall fencing and fenced doors that shut. This is where we found a fun family activity shortly after the lock-down last year, the newest normal for us then. By no means are we tennis players, but it was a physical activity we are really enjoyed together. Otherwise known as chase the balls for those of you, who like us, can't play very well. This included our youngest Bryce whining a little about chasing the balls, even refusing to chase the balls, with an occasional strong volley between us all. Bryce was actually pretty good with her volleys, and her older sister Beatrice is not too far behind. Plus, our dog Jenny could be with us, enclosed in the court with us, and either find a patch of shade to lay down in, or bark at other dogs passing by with their owners. 

But those days were short-lived, when even these courts were locked up due to covid, nets removed. Amy kept telling me that she was going to break into the courts so we could play, which we never did. There were other courts elsewhere near us that were open, but they weren't the same as the self-contained courts where we could hammer the balls back and forth without fear of hitting innocent bystanders. That never prevented our girls from hitting the balls over the tall perimeter fencing into the weeds, some lost forever. 

So, when I saw the tennis court nets up again, and the fenced doors were unlocked with "social distancing" signs on them, I teared up. It wasn't just because we could play again together as a family; it was because the world was finally opening up again. Incrementally and inconsistently, but still opening up. The pandemic isn't over either, and millions and millions more people still need to be vaccinated (and I hope those who refuse to change their minds), while the newest normal continues to evolve. 

The future keeps whacking us away from the past, one volley after another, sending our present time capsules over the fence and into the weeds. I'm just glad we get to keep playing. 

Back To School We Go

It was like the first day of school again. But it wasn't. It was the first day back after a year and change distance learning from home. My wife Amy took our youngest Bryce to school and then our whole family picked her up after. Bryce was nervous going back, and also really looking forward to it. After her second day back, I picked her up after school.

"How did it go today?" I asked her. 

"Good," she said.

"What did you do today?"

"Lots of math."

"Really. Was that a bummer?"

"No, it was fine. Just a lot. I'm glad I'm back in school."

"Us too, Bryce. Us too. Was your teacher glad to see you in person?"

"Yes, she was. I was glad to see her, too."

Us too, Bryce. Bryce remembers all too well that the last day of in-person school last year was March 13. Now we're finally back to hybrid in-person school two days per week for Bryce -- soon to be five days per week even before the end of the school year. Our oldest Beatrice will go back two days per week after spring break. She's missed nearly her entire first year of in-person middle school. 

Yep, it's been a lot for too many of us. Pandemic fatigue is real. As a family, though, we did okay this past year working and schooling from home; we're closer than ever. We helped the girls keep up with the schoolwork and they continue to get it done. We're also grateful that we've been safe and well for the past year. We've had our regular weekly family meetings, we have our safety plans we review, we've worn our masks and social distanced (and continue to), and now the girls have phones since they'll be on their own more and more going forward. And soon Amy and I will be vaccinated for COVID-19 as availability opens up soon.

The parental pressure on our school district to reopen is something that played out repeatedly across America since last fall. Teachers pushed back wanting to be vaccinated with other safety protocols in place. We weren't those parents, and we didn't fault teachers for wanting to be safe, only because we didn't have to work outside the home and/or struggle with balancing our work and helping the girls with school. We all missed school, don't get me wrong, but we were okay. Plus, our girls are older now, and we can't imagine what it was like with kindergartners, 1st, 2nd or even 3rd graders. Too many women left the workforce in the past year due to the impact of coronavirus, various inequities and family caregiving falling to them again and again -- nearly 3 million actually. So, we understand the why of the pressure. 

Amy works, and combined with home and childcare, its more than full-time. I continue to work and run a research firm remotely (which I've been doing for years now, pre-covid and now post). And yes, I help with home and childcare as well. 

We are grateful for so many who have worked so hard to get our children back to school. One year ago the infectious disease and medical communities didn't know a whole heckuva lot about what we were dealing with. Although misinformation abounds, and covid cases are rising again, science and facts are thankfully stubborn things keeping many of us alive and well. 

Thank you to all those who have believed in science, medicine, safety and pandemic facts.

Thank you to the pharmaceutical companies that developed the vaccines so quickly.

Thank you to the CDC and its guidelines and to all the doctors and nurses everywhere.

Thank you to all the first responders who risked their lives to keep us all safe. 

Thank you to all the essential workers who risked their lives to keep food on grocery shelves, to cook and deliver food, and so much more.

Thank you to all the government leaders and public officials who believed in science, medicine, safety and pandemic facts.

Thank you to our county health department and our county board of education and our school district administers .

Thank you to our girls' school leadership and all our wonderful school teachers, librarians and custodians.

Thank you to all the parents who kept their sanity after a year of distance learning (or for any length of time).

Thank you to all the kids whose resiliency was unprecedented and who also kept their sanity after a year of distance learning. 

Thank you to everyone who practiced all the safety protocols all the time.

Blessings to the many adults and kids who will continue to need emotional and psychological support in the months and even years ahead. Blessings to those who are food deprived, who are experiencing homelessness and the glaring inequity gaps that covid has shone new light on. For those who are able, please donate money, time and resources when and where you can. We're not out of the covid woods yet.

And yet, through all these covid woods, back to school we go. Maybe this fall we'll be back full-time, whatever this new normal looks like by then. Back-to-school blessings to us all. 

Our Little BhivePower Bistro

The second time she tried, she nailed it. We told her to lay off the salt and add more marinara sauce this time. She wanted to do it all, too. Make the salad for us, heat up the meatballs, set the table. Everything. 

But it was what she called pizza bowls that were so yummy -- marinara sauce, cheese, cut up meatballs and chunks of sourdough bread mixed together. 

And yes, it was a gut bomb. A super yummy gut bomb. 

Our 12-year-old daughter, Beatrice, has been wanting to learn how to cook for awhile now. Both her and her younger sister, Bryce, have helped us make cookies, muffins and pancakes for a couple of years. More recently though Beatrice has been wanting to cook meals. During the school week sometimes, Bea helps to fix her and Bryce's lunches, especially if Mom and I are on work calls. 

Bea's been wanting to fix us dinner, too, so her mom Amy helped her plan her menu. Then Bea went to the store with Amy for the weekly grocery shopping and to get her ingredients she needed. Once Beatrice started fixing dinner, we told her we were there to help if she needed any, or even if she just had questions. Earlier in the day before she fixed dinner she made what she called peanut butter crumbles -- shortbread-like drop cookies with peanut butter and crumbled chocolate chip cookies. More super yum. 

I don't remember exactly what the first meal was that I fixed growing up (besides bologna boats for lunch with cheese and mustard). However, I do remember attempting to fix my mom sugar cookies for Mother's Day when I was about 9 years old. Because I didn't have all the right ingredients, and couldn't find the rolling pin, what I made turned into some kind of sweet sponge cake. Mom was so grateful and actually ate some of it with me, too. 

I do remember one of the first dinners my sister made when she was around Beatrice's age. She called them vita-burgers. It was supposed to be a healthier alternative (to what I wasn't sure) -- hamburger patties slathered in some kind of thick gravy with other things in the gravy (not sure what the other things were either). Yes, it was a gut bomb. A super yummy gut bomb. 

Beatrice worked hard making her pizza bowls, making the salad and putting everything else together. There were only a couple of times she needed cooking counsel. Otherwise, it was all her. I watched her moved back and forth deftly in the kitchen like a semi-pro in training. 

Then came the moment of truth.

"Come on, everyone. Dinner's ready," she said.

We were so proud. She was so proud. 

"I really wanted fix dinner for you Mom and Dad," Bea said. 

"And we're grateful for that, Beatrice," we said.

Amy and I take turns most nights fixing dinner, so it was a pleasure to have Beatrice want to cook for us. Learning throughout life is important, and the only way to know is to do -- and did she do. Of course, the dishes always fall on Dad most nights, but I'm fine with that (because I get to drum afterwards). Dinnertime is also good family time for us, a time to discuss the day and to share what we're grateful for. 

Now, if we could get Bryce to cook dinner for us someday, we'd be set with our little #BhivePower bistro. 

The GOTG Top 10 2020 Days of Coronavirus Posts

This is the part where we reflect on a year like no other. The part where we're trying to stay safe and healthy. The part where we miss our family and friends. The part where, whomever we're with this holiday season, we hold onto them with all our might. 

The part where we're grateful no matter what's transpired and no matter what's ahead. 

I asked my lovely wife Amy to pick her favorite 2020 "Days of Coronavirus" Get Off The Ground posts. If you've read any of my pieces, and I thank you if you have, then I hope one of the takeaways for you is how we work hard to see everyone and everything through eyes of love.

Especially under the weight of this year, we hope you continue to effect positive change with each other through empathy and eyes of love. 

Because that's the part where we find common ground, where we heal some of our hurts, and where maybe we find a little peace on earth.

Blessings to you all this holiday season.

Here are the top 10 2020 "Days of Coronavirus" posts as chosen by my lovely wife:

10. Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To 

The part where we adopt a dog.

9. When There's Nowhere to Go

The part where we need to take care of each other. 

8. The Newest Normal

The part where we need to check in and support each other.

7. About All The Things

The part where it's okay to grieve.

6. This Bad History

The part where we live good and bad history every day.

5. The Haunted Garden

The part where you want a little normalcy in an abnormal world. 

4. The Teacher Parade

The part where you're grateful for your teachers. 

3. Our Learning Quests

The part where we keep our synapses firing and brains rewiring.

2. A Grateful Tree

The part where you write a poem every once and awhile. 

1. Choose Eyes of Love

The part where, well, you get it. 

A Grateful Tree

 

I want to be a grateful tree

with branches high

that reach skyward

like all arms wide to

welcome the sun and moon 

and heavens above

I want to be a grateful tree

with roots so deep

that reach downward 

like arterial thrive

to feed its heart and soul

and heavens below

I want to be a grateful tree

a home to all

that fly and crawl

and scurry and pounce

in a welcome safe-haven

where no one is without

I want to be a grateful tree

unending love

for all who pass

to stop and smile

and then after awhile

embrace their grace within

--Kevin Grossman, #BhivePower

About All The Things

"The worst loss is always your loss. Only you know your loss and the meaning. Meaning takes time." 

-David Kessler, author, public speaker, and death and grieving expert

I knew it was coming. I told my wife only two weeks that it was coming. First, they blocked off the parking lots along the ocean and all the city and state park parking lots. Then came the county-wide order to shut down all the parks, the beaches, the ocean beyond the beaches that meant no surfing as well, and the walk path along West Cliff Drive that goes from Natural Bridges State Park to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

The order is only in place through the Easter holiday, for about one week, but that could change (and there are rumors that it might be extended). If you violate these orders, including loitering in groups in any public areas, you'll be fined $1,000. Seven people visiting Santa Cruz from another Bay Area city were loitering in a 7-11 parking lot and got just that: seven $1,000 dollar tickets.

All in the wake of preventing the further spread of coronavirus (COVID-19). Limiting where we can go locally over a holiday weekend sucks, so we had to get creative. And bold. And break the rules. Maybe. During the weeks of shelter-in-place orders, we've been going outside daily as a family to get exercise and air and take our dog Jenny for a walk and a run. That's included going to a park or a beach or down the street to play tennis, ensuring our social distancing no matter where we go.

And now it's all locked down. However, no one said we couldn't go play on the playground at our girls' school. Sure, we're taking a chance, but there have only been a rare person or two cruising through. Each time we've gone I sign the Judas Priest song Breaking the Law in my head and out loud. My wife laughed but the girls don't recognize Dad's old school rock. When we go we play games like 2-touch, 4 square, shoot baskets and play the game HORSE. All while letting Jenny run around the open field.

The other day I fixed my gaze upon the playground structures beyond the black top -- the monkey bars, the zip line, the balance beams, the slides and a myriad of other high-energy activity contraptions set safely on a bed of bark. There was no one else around.

Out of all the things we've lost to date -- over 113,000 lives globally and counting and all those lives affected by the lives lost -- and all the personal freedoms, millions of jobs, and the millions of little things we did collectively every day around the world, I continued to stare at the playground and thought, This is the most loss our children have every experienced. Many of the things precious to them are gone. Some for now. Some for good. 

They've never experienced anything like this to date. There won't be any more recesses for the rest of the year, no more kids running and jumping and yelling and laughing. No more band for Bea. No more science camp that she'll never experience now as a 5th grader. No more after school kids in nature program for Bryce. No more sports or run for fun, a weekly running club they were both in. No more after school musical theater that they've both loved so much. No more playdates with friends, except virtually.

There's so much loss everywhere. So many divides have widened. Prior to this, everyone's lost something in their lives, and now it's compounded exponentially by this health care crisis. My wife and I have been listening to Brené Brown's latest podcast called Unlocking Us. We listened to the episode with David Kessler, a death and grieving expert, someone who's lost a child, which I cannot imagine. What struck me during the podcast was when David talked about why we shouldn't be comparing loss because, "The worst loss is always your loss." And that we need to grieve and have our grief acknowledged. Not for problems to be solved or silver linings to be pointed out, just listened to and acknowledged.

I just kept rolling that one around in my head and heart over the past few days, the worst loss is always your loss. And then when we went to play at the girls' school, we just ran around, and played, and laughed, and we were all okay, for those moments. Yes, our kids are grieving the loss of daily friend contact, the loss of school, the loss of nostalgic normal that already feels like decades ago. But we're also grateful that our kids are resilient, and the ultimate meaning of all this may never be needed. God knows us adults may struggle with the meaning of all this for decades to come.

We're all grieving now. We're grieving of a world lost. We're grieving about all the things. It's okay to grieve. Bless you and yours this holiday weekend and beyond.

The Newest Normal

Again, she couldn't fall asleep. Stressed about all the coronavirus disruption and missing school and maybe one of us getting sick, our oldest daughter Beatrice wrestles with her anxious thoughts at night because of all the changes (just like me her father when I was her age into my 20's). We still read with both our girls every night, and that normalcy helps, and if needed my wife Amy, Mom with a capital M, will have us all do relaxation, meditation, breathing exercises, and in case Beatrice needs it, we have a little Melatonin at the ready for her to take to help regulate her sleep-wake cycle. Amy and I take it every night as well to help sleep, because sometimes even our own anxious thoughts wrestle within.

We're now two weeks into virtual school and shelter-in-place and like millions of families everywhere today, it's taking different stressful tolls on our entire family, while at the same time, bonding us all closer than ever before. Yes, we can get on each other's nerves, but for the most part, we're doing really well and all getting along and our family love has never been stronger. We're keeping our minds and bodies active: doing science projects, cooking meals, playing games, reading and drawing, with plenty of downtime and nothing as well, and getting out for walks with our new dog Jenny, all the while ensuring the proper social distance between us and others to keep mitigating the virus spread (although, that's getting more awkward and stressful, not less). Heck, my wife and I are Gen Xers and we're actually okay with the social isolation and the downtime (to other Gen Xers, I recommend you read this great piece titled It Took a Global Pandemic, But Generation X is Finally Getting Love by Courtney Dabney -- it's super funny and true!)

We're also playing tennis, otherwise known as chase the balls for those of you like us who can't play very well. This includes Bryce whining a little about chasing the balls, even refusing to chase the balls, with an occasional strong volley between us all. Amy and I used to play randomly at courts that are down the street from us, which still haven't been locked up like many other similar outdoor venues. There's also a public exercise park next to the tennis courts and others have been using it and playing tennis like us, never with any crowds though, just a handful of people at any given time. Even before the lockdown started we'd take the girls to play tennis, using two tennis rackets and two racquet ball rackets. We just bought two inexpensive tennis rackets for the girls (via online order, not in person), so our game of ball chasing should improve the more we play.

However, both girls really miss school and their friends. They've had a few phone calls and video calls with their friends and also playing interactive multiplayer games like Roblox, something they were doing before the lockdown. But there's no more band for Bea. No more science camp that she'll never experience now. No more after school kids in nature program for Bryce. No more sports or run for fun, a weekly running club they were both in. No more after school musical theater that they've both loved so much. No more playdates with friends, except virtually. We've also been checking in with family too and that helps since we won't see them in person for who knows how long. 

And again, there's no more in-person school. They both really miss it, too. Their teachers having worked hard getting distance learning and video calls off the ground for their classes, to give us as parents some semblance of a structured school day. It helps, but mercy me do we appreciate our teachers more than ever. We've always been invested in helping both girls with their schoolwork, and Amy's done more of the heavy lifting here historically do to my work and travel schedule. But now travel is no more for me, so I can now help more during the school days. It's a lot, it really is, helping them with their work, checking it before they submit it, with both of us still working jobs virtually. My organization Talent Board is doing a lot more virtual events and Amy's organization Kidpower is doing the same. We are thankful we're currently employed as millions of people have already been laid off and many small businesses have closed. 

The Triple P– Positive Parenting Program in Santa Cruz County held a virtual parent check-in this last week and we talked about why it was so important to provide as much consistency and normalcy for our kids (and the parents, too) as possible during these stressful, changing times. To make sure that every family can access the internet and has a computer to access classes and schoolwork, at least for kids in grades 3 and higher, although they're working on plans for even younger kids. Our school district has been providing Chromebooks to families and donated wifi hotspots to those who have limited to no internet access. Plus, those families who depend on school meals for their children will continue to get them during the shelter-in-place while the schools are closed, which now will go through early May, and probably the rest of this school year into June. 

My best friend from college was just diagnosed with coronavirus, and while thankfully he's not in the hospital, he told me on the phone, "We can't live a normal life right now; we have to stay home." He's right. And that sucks. It's hard for our children and for the adults in the room, but again, when there's nowhere to go, the reality is that every day brings the newest normal, one that will never be the same as we pine nostalgic for the old. To continually adapt, we still have our weekly family meetings and we check in with each other and talk about all the things every day. The newest normal is the only life our families will know for now, so keep helping and supporting each other. Be safe and bless you. 

Love Letters

"Hold on, nothing's the same
Tell me why I feel this way
Life wouldn't be worth living without you..."

–Santana, Hold On

I wasn't sure what I did wrong. But I did something, because she was mad.

"Dad, why don't you listen to me the first time!"

That was Beatrice, our oldest daughter.

"Rude, Bea-Bea. Just rude."

That was Bryce, our youngest daughter.

I had picked them both up from school after their musical theater class where they were rehearsing a Frozen Sing-Along for Christmas.

"Dad, didn't you hear me the first time!"

Ah, right. I didn't listen to her. That's what I did wrong. Thinking about work after I had asked her about her day.

"Sorry, Bea. Just tell me again, please."

Silence.

"Come one, Bea. Just tell Dad," said Bryce.

Bryce has become my champion of late, and Beatrice champions Mom.

"I'll just wait and tell Mom," Bea said.

"Beatrice, just tell me again. I'm listening."

Silence. And then:

"Okay. Today I..."

Thinking about work again. So much to do. Big year coming in 2020.

"Dad, did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Say that again."

"Dad! C'mon! You're not listening to me!"

"Dad, you need to listen to Beatrice."

Even Bryce couldn't have my back this time.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Please, tell me again."

Silence. Bea wouldn't talk with me the rest of the way home. Bryce tried to play with her, but got no response.

The ride home was less than 10 minutes, but the last few minutes were forever, because I did feel bad that I had disappointed. I do try to be present for my kids and sometimes it doesn't always work out that way. Sometimes the adulting in progress sweeps you away by worrying about the past and the future. Like driving your kids home, when you have to check the rearview mirror and keep looking forward in order to get everyone home safely. That shouldn't mean you compromise the present by not being present, but until a car is fully robotic and self-driving, then you definitely have to watch the road.

Still, no excuse for not listening to my daughter when I'm thinking about other things as well as driving. Productive multitasking may not be a scientific reality, but the idea of it is still a parental one. We got home and Beatrice fumed for awhile, not willing to talk about much, even with Mom. We all ate dinner together and then shortly after that, when Bryce and Mom went upstairs, Beatrice walked over to me.

"I'm sorry I was mad, Dad," she said. "I'm thankful for you."

She gave me a hug. My heart swelled and lifted me into the air. Sometimes this little human is mature beyond her years with an empathic awareness that so many adults woefully lack today.

"Thank you, Beatrice. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm grateful for you."

In fact, we've all been practicing purposeful thankfulness for well over a year now, where each week we make time to share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family. Where we detach from our egos and empower the now again of mutual respect, love and understanding. We also write them down in a family journal as a remembrance of our gratitude.

Nothing will ever be the same again today or tomorrow or the next day. I will no doubt not listen again to my girls, and we all will have future misunderstandings, and yet, each and every day with my family is a love letter I mail to my heart, open with glee, and read again and again and again. Amen.

I am so grateful for them.

Building Blocks of the Brave

"My true self is always grateful."

-Deepak Chopra, A Centering Thought Meditation

She changed her mind about the trombone. She played it all year in 4th grade beginning band, and although she didn't practice as much as we wanted, she learned to read music and really seemed to enjoy it.

Our oldest daughter, Beatrice, is a creative visual and auditory learner and has an excellent musical ear and mind, and while she's struggled with reading and math, the music has helped her overall well-being and self-confidence (but science is conflicted on this one as it relates to transferable skill across subjects).

She's also been learning how to play the recorder in music class and really enjoys that even more. She's been proud of her recorder progress, getting different color belts (strings) for every song she masters in class and tying them to her recorder. In fact, it's motivated her to want to learn another instrument -- the flute. Both instruments are similar in how they're played with the fingers, yet held differently and how you blow your air to make it play.

And unlike the trombone that plays mostly the back-beat and never the melody, the recorder and flute do play more the melody. We're not sure if that's why she wants to play the flute, but we support it no matter what to keep her in music. However, she's conflicted about having to play in beginning band again.

Her idea is that, if she practices over the summer, she could go into intermediate band in the fall. We encouraged her to ask her music teacher about the process and what it would take. She didn't want to do that initially, feeling anxious about approaching her. Instead, she wanted her mom to send an email. But we kept encouraging her to pitch her music teacher her idea, until she actually did it. Most of it, at least. She didn't ask about if she practiced over the summer, could she play flute. She just asked if she could switch to the flute instead.

The music teacher responded that, if Beatrice passed the beginning flute milestones, she could eventually move to intermediate band. Not exactly what Beatrice wanted to hear, but she asked for part of what she wanted to with a clear idea, and we couldn't have been more proud. She definitely wants to play the flute and will hopefully practice over the summer no matter what happens (as well as take piano lessons -- something else she wants to do).

Our youngest, Bryce, on the other hand, is a doer without a lot of encouragement. We went to a family wedding recently where at the reception there was a table set up with a guest book to sign and a Polaroid camera to take pictures with. The directions were that each of the wedding guests sign the book with a Sharpie pen color of choice, then have someone take a Polaroid picture and paste the picture in the guest book. There were also fun picture accessories to hold up like cute big glasses to use in the picture taking.

At first, Bryce and Beatrice had fun taking a pictures of each other, and then we all sat down at a table next to my sister and her boyfriend to eat. Beatrice joined us, but Bryce did not. I looked up and saw that she had co-opted the guest book / picture table, welcoming guests and explaining to each one what to do.

We got busy talking to one another, and when I looked up again, Bryce was managing the whole welcoming affair. Not only did she explain what guests needed to do, she took the pictures, waited until they developed, and then pasted them in the book. I even saw her direct guests to the remaining empty seats at the tables.

The guests were thanking her, the bride and groom were thanking her, and she while she enjoyed the kudos, she never lost sight of her adopted task. Even after all the guests had arrived and were seated, Bryce continued to hang out at the registration table, tidying up and checking in with passersby if they had signed the guest book and had their picture taken.

In the end, they were both still kids, and as the reception went on, the grown-up stuff got old and the iPads came out. They hung in there, though. We were so proud, not only because of how they handled themselves at the wedding as our children, but because of the confidence we encourage them and empower them to have; to be building blocks of the brave people they'll someday become. To put themselves out there and being vulnerable knowing that expectation doesn't always align with reality (more painful yet powerful positive lessons to come as they traverse adolescence into adulthood). We're so grateful for who they are and their potential true selves they've already started to embody.