Happy New Year's Eve!
In the spirit of documenting this journey called life, Mom's posted her Christmas letter for ease of access -- and for the enjoyment of those who may not have received a paper copy.
Cheers to 2014, and happy new year!
Ken
Christmas preparation has taken an online flavor this year as we
balance the not-so-demanding-yet-ever-constant-requirements of Corrigan-Conrad
life. Three cheers for free shipping! I hope this message finds you relaxing
amid a handful of Christmas cards – perhaps sipping your favorite adult beverage
as you read along.
Five-year-old Ken started swimming lessons. Note: He doesn't love swimming. Just the lessons. This week I
watched as Ken and his fellow guppy-level swimmers latched themselves to the
pool wall – birds on a wire – each awaiting a rotating 20 seconds of
away-from-the-wall-teacher time. Smiling and splashing all the way. Ken saw me
watching him and waved wildly – “Hi, Mom!” Beaming. (An aside: When did he get so tall? And, for how much longer
can I watch
with unabashed adoration before he responds instead with a semi-embarrassed
wave and a mumble? I digress.)
His swimming lesson report card reads proficient in all but one
guppy-level activity. “Comfortable with his face in the water” – not yet proficient.
I don’t blame the kid. Who really wants to hold your breath, close your eyes
and listen to the world disappear as you dunk your head underwater? Not unless
my feet touch the floor at all times, thank you very much.
Interestingly enough, our 2014 asked us to put our face in the water a
few more times than we’d planned. And,
when your feet stop touching the floor, it really doesn't matter how deep the
water is. You hold your breath, close your eyes, and learn to swim together.
Four-year-old Sam goes to preschool now. Three mornings per week of
school prove to be just the right recipe for practicing his social skills,
putting on his listening ears, and solidifying his love of reading, writing,
drawing, singing, and talking to anyone who’s ready (or not ready) to listen. His
incessant chatter and ceaseless singing keeps us ever light-of-heart. When
dressing for school one morning, Sam donned his best church pants and his Beatles
t-shirt. Dad, ever the proponent of allowing age-appropriate decisions (and the
Beatles), gently reminded Sam that his church pants should be swapped for a
school pair. “Oh, that’s right,” Sam smiled and said matter-of-factly. “These
are my funeral pants.”
Learning to swim together, we said goodbye to three beloved family
members this year: Adam’s mom and brother, and my grandfather. All three lived
good, full lives and shaped each of us in ways for which we’ll forever be
grateful. Note: Sometimes it’s your children
who prove the strongest of swimmers. Ken regularly reminds us that it’s okay to
be sad, but God wants us back in Heaven with him, so we’ll see them all again
when we get there.
Thirty-something-year-old Adam ended his role as household manager and
launched into a full-time job. Having re-entered the workforce for a full year
now, he’s traded playdates and walks to the park for spreadsheets, conference
calls and a corporate vocabulary. The job is treating him right.
Learning to swim together, I decided to continue working full time,
and we sprang into our first-ever search for child care. Two rock-star
temporary nannies and one not-quite-the-right-fit-nanny later, we’ve welcomed
into our home a full-time, long-term regular Mary Poppins. Ken, Sam and Georgia
adore Stacie, and the household runs in a way that makes her another member of
our family.
Still on the younger side of two, Georgia is our only two year old who
wants to be five. She keeps up with her brothers the best ways she knows how, talks
almost as much as Sam does, and steals your heart on a regular basis. Once,
while settling her in her car seat on our way to the library – me in my winter
hat, tousled hair and yoga pants – Georgia put her hand on my arm, kissed my
cheek and said, “Mom. You beautiful.”
And so it goes. While we may not be proficient at putting our face in
the water, we’re swimming together this year to more than a few valuable
lessons – so grateful for the friends and family with us along the way.
Merry Christmas to you, and may your 2015 be abundantly joyful.
Love, Molly
