Do-Over No. 6: Booking a Flight

When you know someone with a daughter the same age as your son, and that daughter has cancer, and you have a make-nice from Southwest and almost enough points to fund a flight to New York for treatment, you use up your points and buy some more. And then you get them there.

And then you cry at how full and heavy and hurt your heart feels all at the same time.

And then you remind yourself that work deadlines and childcare issues really aren’t that big of a deal.

And then you pray … for healing, for strength, for grace, for thanks.

That is all.

 

Do-Over No. 5: The Nanny’s Farewell

We were lucky enough to snag ourselves an amazing nanny this summer. She was out of our league and out of our budget, but by some stroke of kindness, she accepted our offer. The best selling point I could give her was, “He’s just one kid, and he really is a good boy.” That he is.

Thankfully, she accepted, and she and the Little Guy had an unforgettable summer.

What was special about this girl is that she was able to break through to him in a way that I just can’t. Little Guy and I are so much alike that we often butt heads. It’s best illustrated in all my failed attempts at trying to teach him how to ride a trike and training wheels. They always ended with him screaming … me yelling … him crying … me saying, “Never again.”

Then one day the nanny decided to get into Hubs’ toolbox and take those training wheels off herself. And by god, they nailed it!

Little stuff like that happened all summer.

When her last day came, we did the typical childcare farewell gifts, but then I gave her a little something extra — a letter from me. It started with “My easiest gifts to give are  words…” and then I explained what a miracle the LG is and how he was, out of many attempts, the only baby who could survive my body. And how his determination and self-doubt come right from me, which tends to put him and me a little at odds. And how her kindness and patience taught me how to go at my son in a more compassionate and productive way.

It went on for two hand-written pages, and honestly, I don’t really remember much more than that. It just kept pouring out of the pen.

On her last day, she texted that had to finish reading my letter in the bathroom so the LG didn’t see her crying. I saw her over the weekend, and after a huge hug, she said, “I can’t talk about that letter because it still makes me cry.”

Teachers and childcare providers do what they do for the gratification that comes from the very act of, well, doing what they do.

It’s important to offer them proof of how important they truly are.

D0-Over No. 1: The Places You’ll Go

I have a close friend and coworker who is expecting her first baby. She’s one who was born for this. She’s designed to be a working mom. And let me tell you, she wears pregnancy well. Her hair loves to be pregnant. She fits her clothes perfectly. She’s only gained the weight of the baby. She wears high heels. Yep, she’s one of those bitches.

I kid.

But seriously, all you parents out there, did you ever meet someone that you just knew should be parents? She and her husband are those.

This one is also a lesson in those times where you wish a people could see in themselves the things you see in them. The husband of this particular friend is just that. I guess he entered into the pregnancy plan with a bit of trepidation. Some nonsense about wondering if he’s cut out to be a dad. That’s just silly to me because when I look at him, it’s pretty obvious that he, like his wife, was born for this.

Fast forward through conception and nearly two trimesters: The plot continues with the hubs fully on board. Yep, he’s got this. But now he suffers the plight of every other dad-to-be…he gets left out. She gets to carry the baby, feel him kick, do all the things. And it makes a lot of dads feel left out.

I figured he’d feel that way, at least to an extent. So I wanted to get him a little something. I’d been putting it off…until I made the decision to recommit to kindness. Remember Dr. Suess’ book Oh the place you’ll go? There’s one for in utero that’s meant for parents-to-be to read to their unborn children.

I picked up a copy for the coworker hubs and dropped him a note to remind him that he’s got this. I wanted to do that for him for a while now. Just some reassurance and an opportunity for him to feel a part of the pregnancy, too. I’ve been saying, “When I get time” on this one for too long, and the commitment to kindness was just the incentive I needed.

I sent the book and note home with the coworker. I sure hope baby enjoyed story time, and I hope the dad-to-be enjoyed his new role as medium and audio book narrator!

The Do-Over

Almost two years ago, my pastor challenged our congregation to commit 100 acts of kindness in one year. I took the challenge and started this blog. Then, I got a promotion at work, and my kid started school, and the hubs started traveling more for work, and blahblahblah. Of course, life got in the way.

And then one day last week, I found myself standing in front of the TV shielding my kid from the carnage of the Dallas shooting. And I wept. I don’t usually get emotional at the news; I’m a journalist, and I tend to consume news as such. But on that day, I was a mother. I asked myself, “How am I going to explain this to my kid?”

My son is growing up in a world where the concept of “good guys and bad guys” is a complicated subject. I can’t put him in a bubble, and I can’t stop the violence.

But I can get back to kindness.

I’m back.

The best thing I can do for the Little Guy is commit to kindness. I can be a more patient mother. A more tolerant wife. An more understanding boss. A friendlier co-worker. A better friend. A kinder person.

I know some people feel that publicizing acts of kindness is self-indulgent and defeats the purpose. But I’m not doing this to brag; I’m doing it to set an example. Committing 100 acts of kindness — real acts of kindness that require thought and effort — is hard. Trust me, I tried. But if I do it and talk about it and share my experiences, perhaps someone will read about it and think, “I could do that,” and pay it forward.

And someday perhaps my son will read these and have a clearer understanding of what the good guys look like. Don’t get me wrong…I’m no good guy. I’m human and my virtue is as flawed as the next guy’s. But maybe he’ll see these as case studies in kindness and realize a framework for being his own version of a good guy.

That’s my hope, anyway. But in the short-term, in the simplest form, this world needs good now more than ever, and I’m choosing to see all the turbulence in the world as an invitation back into this project.

The first Do-Over starts tomorrow, and I know just the thing. Stay tuned!

No. 26: Planting Seeds

I’ve mentioned before that I try to instill giving in the Little Guy. It’s a relatively easy task because he’s clearly wired with a generous spirit. But still, he’s 5, so it’s often a work in progress.

Last year, we started the strategy of asking his friends for donations at his birthday party and leaving the presents to his family. He was on board — at 4, he was still pretty open to suggestion. This year we weren’t sure, though, because he’d had a few more birthday parties under his belt. But the kid was on board, especially when he knew he was getting presents from his family, and he loved the idea of asking his friends to help him be a hero for his birthday.

We decided to go with Harvesters and ask his friends to bring food donations instead of presents. It had so many benefits — we could invite as many kids as we wanted, and parents didn’t have to stress over what to get him … and I didn’t have to stress over where we were going to put all the stuff. And because the “actual” gifts were coming from the people who know him best, the gifts were going to be things that meant the most to him. I even invited some kids I might not have otherwise, because it was only about coming to play with the Little Guy and eat cake — no pressure, no reciprocity.

Of course there’s the basic lesson we are teaching him about generosity and the expectations of gifts, which was the reason we wanted to do this in the first place.

But then at the party, something happened. A mom showed up with her daughter and a gift bag. I started to scold the mom for bringing a gift, and she said, “No, no! It’s just the food. It’s still a gift; why not wrap it?” This was a kid who was at his party last year, too, and the mom said, “I love that your son does this. So does she. In fact, on our way here, she said, ‘Mommy, on my next birthday, I want to do what Little Guy does. I don’t want presents; I want my friends to help me collect food, too!'”

I was taken aback for a second. Here I was, instilling a lesson in my son and feeling so proud of him for feeding his community, and I never though about the ripple effect it could have in other directions. The Little Guy was planting seeds of generosity with his friends, too. That means that our one act of kindness had the potential to double!

We’ll see how long we can sustain this tradition. It could be something that just becomes a part of him, or he could decide one year that he’s over it and wants to have a “traditional” birthday party. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But this year, I’m proud to include my kid on this list once again. I’m proud to see him take joy in being a hero with his friends and not cry for more gifts. I’m proud that his willingness to do so had a positive effect on his friend. I’m proud of him for choosing to make the world a little better.

And, perhaps a bit selfishly, I’m proud that Hubs and I had the courage to plant this seed and watch it spread.

No. 23: F Those Balloons

I realize that this list is essentially a church project, so I must warn that the language in this one will get a little salty.

So my dear friend Mari and I had dinner recently. I never would have thought to count this story on the list, but after our visit, she brought to my attention that I have a tendency to be kind even when I’m not trying to be.

Let me tell you a little bit about her. Every mom needs to have friends to compare notes with. People who bring you to the crossroads of motherhood and friendship and create a safe place where you can confess your biggest fails, and you know they’ll laugh because they’ve been there too.

After freelancing at home for quite some time, Mari recently went back  to working full-time, and when we met for dinner, she was describing the transition back into the grind and the “mom guilt” that comes along with it (she has twin girls in elementary school).

She told me that the girls had a terrible birthday in January. See, she’s had a tradition of making them signs and balloons for their bedroom doors for their birthday each year. But, as every working mom knows, something often has to go, and this year, it was the birthday bling on the bedroom door.

During dinner she was telling me how she’d shorted her girls on their birthday, and she kept saying — as if to grant herself reconciliation through punishment — “It’s true, I didn’t give them a very good birthday.”

Suddenly, I blurted out, “I think I want take you to a shelter and show you a mom who had to take her children in the night to save her life and theirs, or a mom who’s trying to get off drugs, a mom who is sharing the floor with her kids because it’s all they have, and see those moms apologize to their kids not giving them a better birthday. You did not give them a bad birthday. You are a good mom. You love them unconditionally and protect them every day. You are married to a good man who is a good dad. You live in a good home, and you are raising girls who are smart, creative and independent. You didn’t give them balloons on their birthday? Fuck those balloons. You are a good mom and they’re good girls. And trust me…you’ll have tons of opportunities for them to have bad birthdays. If I remember right, I think that’s what high school is for. Fuck those balloons.”

She just looked at me. And then I sort of felt bad because I realized I was about to make my friend cry. But then…no. I didn’t feel bad. Sharing mom fails is one thing, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for us to beat ourselves up because we don’t make life perfect for our kids. A wise friend once told me that the little voice you hear in your head tells lies. That is the truth, and sometimes I wish I had a magic mirror that could show my friends what I see when I look at them. In fact, that might be my next big project. Hashtag #mymagicmirror.

This particular night, I showed Mari the good mom that I see in my magic mirror and that balloons on the door are not the baseline for her ability as a mother — especially a working mother.

Fuck those balloons, I say.  It’s my new credo. Well, not at church, of course.

No. 14: Play Dates

The last leg on the week we gave Erin was a girls night out. And of course, it wasn’t without it’s moments.

The plan was for my Hubs and Tammy’s Hubs to take all the kids (Little Guy, Little Erin, Little Tammy and her Little Brother) on a play date to allow  us a girls’ night and Erin’s Hubs a night off, as well. He could hang with friends, walk the dog, or sit on a park bench and enjoy the silence for a minute. And truth be told, Tammy and I have been trying to trick our hubs into friendship for some time now, so it was also a play date disguised as a man date (shh, don’t tell).

We had the plan in motion. I had taken the day off work for Christmas Cookie Day with Little Guy, and Tammy had the afternoon off for the kids’ visit with Santa. Hubs was to meet me at Erins for a Little-Guy-Little=Erin pass-off, and he’d meet Mr. Tammy at the designated spot.

But just as I was leaving the house, the group text came through that Little Brother had projectile vomited all over the Christmas Village at Bass Pro, and Mr. Tammy was taking the brood home for cleanup and damage control. They were out. Man Date cancelled.

Selfishly, after about 8 straight hours of cookie making with Little Guy, if I didn’t get my margarita and hour of girl time, I might’ve gone into preschool-grade meltdown mode (Let’s be honest — Cookie Day starts out with excitement and wonder, but it ends with pasty, flour-filled tears…and that just makes the kid start crying, too). And realistically, I feared what horrors faced Erin if she had to tell Little Erin — and Mr. Erin — their play dates were also off. Surely, we were facing heartbreak and meltdowns all around.

Have no fear. My Hubs was here. I swear the man might actually have walked into Erin’s house in a cape. Well, at least he did in my eyes. He took Little Guy and Little Erin to the play date and allowed the girls to go out and Mr. Erin to drink beers with his brother in peace.

We loaded Erin into the back seat of her car and rolled — quite literally — into the Mexican restaurant up the street. Let me tell you, after a full day of cookie baking, carefully maneuvering through a crowded restaurant a wheelchair that holds a shattered knee  is like playing a grownup version of “Operation,” only instead of a buzzer, you’ll hear your dear friend shriek if you bump the sides.

We escaped dinner and the restaurant unscathed, but the parking lot was a whole new challenge. Tammy and I realized that we  hadn’t paid enough attention to Mr. Erin when he broke down the wheelchair and loaded it into the car. Erin, a woman used to running the show, had to suffer talking us through how to remove the leg rest attachment while we looked like a couple of monkeys pawing at a new toy from the zookeeper. After six or so tries, we finally got it, ended by a cry of, “It’s not our fault! It was locked!” from me.

Meanwhile, Hubs sat and watched the kiddos play and enjoyed not having to talk to any other grownups, Mr. Tammy successfully got the Little Tammies to bed without incident, and it was Miller Time in a stress-free house for Mr. Erin.

The stars lined up, and everyone went to bed happy and exhausted…Erin, of course, looking at her Christmas lights.

Bonus Track

My bestie had a birthday a few weeks ago.

She and I have been besties for more than 25 years, and we’ve had a “thing” about birthdays for as long as I can remember. In fact, I actually can remember. She forgot my birthday in 1999 (other life circumstances created a context that burns this particular year in my memory). I came home from a weekend trip about a week after my birthday, and I heard this on my answering machine:

“Hey, it’s me. Listen. If we aren’t best friends anymore, I completely understand. Call me back…if you want to.”

Of course, I called her back, and after her profuse apologies for forgetting my birthday, I couldn’t help but laugh when I replied with this:

“Well, it wasn’t so much that you forgot my birthday as it was that you yelled at me on my birthday about not returning your lawnmower.”

We had a good laugh at the absurdity, and all was forgiven and right with the world.

Until six months later…when I forgot her birthday. After the profuse apologies came from end of the line, her only reply was, “Yesssss.” Redemption, in her opinion, could finally be granted. And from that point on, forgetting our birthdays has been our thing. Sure, we call or text — sometimes on the day, sometimes around the day. Once she called on my actual birthday to say she knew it wasn’t my birthday yet but didn’t want it to slip off her mind. Another year, she called two days before, just to say she was thinking of me but couldn’t think of why. There have been years where I have forgotten altogether, and once I tried to give her an actual gift, but it took me a full calendar year to deliver it.

Facebook puts a damper on the joke these days, but it’s still so wonderful to have a bestie whose only expectation is for you to fall short. This, ladies and gentlemen, is friendship at its finest. Love meets realism.

A few weeks ago, she invited me to get breakfast, and I wasn’t even thinking about the fact that her birthday was three days before — I’d already sent her a text and Facebook message (probably a day late). But when I walked into the restaurant, the light bulb went off. I can buy her lunch and give her a proper birthday! Ta-da! One for the list!

So when the server asked if we would be on one ticket or two, we both said — simultaneously — “One, please. I’m buying.”

Wait. What?

Apparently, her mom (who is known for being both kind and generous) paid her a hundred bucks to come over and feed the cat. She didn’t feel like she’d earned it, so she wanted to drop some kindness in my direction.

We must have argued for three-and-a-half minutes before our poor server said, “Wow. I really only needed to know if I was putting the orders on one ticket, so when I bring the check, I’ll just throw it in the middle and watch you fight for it.”

In the end, I let her pick up the tab. The kindest thing I could do wasn’t buying her a birthday breakfast. It was being open to receive her act of kindness. We had a wonderful meal and lots of chatter and laughter. She reminded me that we are not so much going on a path, but floating out at sea, doing our best to navigate when the winds unexpectedly turn.

I’m not counting this as an act of kindness. It’s just a bonus track and a reminder that sometimes it’s okay to take what you are dishing out. A lesson best administered by a bestie.

No. 11: The Care Package

As I mentioned, my injured friend will have a lot of prominence on this list. Poor Erin…I’m sure there a million other things she’d rather be than fodder for my 100 acts of kindness. Oh well, as long as she needs it, I’ve got it to give.

I need to mention that my sweet friend Tammy is in on these next few, too. Their Little Girls make up half of the Little Guy’s crew, and we’ve all grown pretty close.

Earlier this week, I got to see Erin, and she pretty much burst into tears immediately. The site of a friend — and the first opportunity to be out of the house in weeks — was more than she could bear. Can you imagine? Just seeing a friendly face bringing you to tears.

So Tammy and I went into cahoots, but this thing ended up with more moving parts than this morning’s stalled Orion launch.

Tonight, Erin will get a “laid up in bed with nothing to do” care package that includes Chex mix, chocolate, Pepperidge Farm cookies, some chick flicks, a little science experiment that involves candy (to do with her daughter) and a couple cute little books. Hubs is taking Little Guy and Little Erin to choir practice tonight, so he’ll pass the gift on to Erin’s Hubs.

Thanks to a holiday happy hour that ran long (don’t judge me), I wasn’t able to pick up Tammy’s contribution, so this morning she left it in Little Guy’s daycare cubby for Hubs to pick up before delivering it to Erin’s hubs who will then deliver it to Erin (I’m out of breath).

I got this note from Tammy this morning:

“Little Tammy was proud to have the responsibility of taking a bag of books to Little Guy’s cubby for his dad to take to Little Erin’s dad to give to Little Erin’s mom to make her leg feel better.”

Sometimes kindness is a comedy of errors, but we’re getting it done. I love friendship!