Lunar eclipse of the heart

First day of school!

I know ... I'm overdue for any sort of update on summer, much less any sort of musings about fall. I know. Forgive me dear reader. I have much on my mind. Much on my mind. And sometimes, the way to work through the mind-much-ness is to simply stay present -- to be where your feet are -- until the time is right for reflection. Ah, it's nice to be back in the blog seat.

Molly here. (Yes, Ken's more light-hearted stories will make a thundering return -- soon.) A writing professor once advised to always write what's on your mind. Because if you're thinking of and feeling something authentically, often, your story will write itself. And so, I offer you, dear reader, a story of authentic thoughts. Grab an adult beverage, a comfy chair, and watch as this story writes (rights?) itself.

A Sam note

Almost five-year-old-Sam is practicing his penmanship. His R's are crooked; his S's backward. His word love is lopsided, and the dot of his exclamation point consistently bleeds into the bottom part of the exclamation stick. I'm regularly greeted with hand-crafted notes and pictures -- some taped right to the closet door, others propped up against anything that stands still. Messages of care, curiosity and unabashed love shout from his pages, and I can't help but smile. "I love you too, Sam," I say. "To the moon and back. Thank you for your great note!" He grins, proud of himself.

And I can't help but think: Wouldn't it be so easy if love were as simple as Sam's V and inverted 3? If love were as straightforward as the rush of his embrace and the ease of his smile? When we're young, we hear "I love you," and we readily love back. As a christian, we hear, "...the greatest of these is love," and "...love the Lord your God with all your heart." We hear this, we see this, we learn this, and we think, OK -- I got this. Here we go. Loving.

Sam: Age 4

And it is good. We learn how to love and be loved. We feel love as bright, strong, full and pure as the moon. To the moon and back.

We grow up. We discover. We experience. Things happen. And for one reason or another, love doesn't feel as bright, strong, pure as the moon. In fact, to the moon and back is far too long of a journey, and there's a shadow to our moon that makes loving really ... hard. We try, to readily love back,  but quite frankly, someone or something has let us down. A broken friendship. An unexpected death. An admired leader admitting alcoholism. A job offer unexpectedly withdrawn. An abusive, controlling ex-husband refusing to move on. A mentor admitting an affair. A mass layoff event. We're angry, disappointed. We want to believe in more. Our moon is eclipsed; our spirit feels dark. It's difficult to love.

Lunar Eclipse

What once was easy and pure and strong is suddenly not, and we're looking for a new way to  love. A new way to feel our fullness. I contend that as a kid, we love by learning to love back. And as we grow up, we love by learning to forgive. Not that profound, really -- and sounding downright church-y, I know. And it's hard. Who wants to forgive? Forgiveness involves relaxing one's emotion, letting the offender off the hook, and in some cases letting go of what once was, and may still be, of value to you. Forgiveness is especially difficult when an apology doesn't exist. I'll take the simplicity of Sam's love instead, thank you very much.

Mom and Sam

And yet, realization strikes. If I don't let go of my resentment, or invest my energy in learning to forgive, then I'll be anchored to an endless cycle of restlessness and cynicism. Who wants to be that crabby? That disconnected? That dark? Not I. And so, I look for examples, role models, good forgivers. And I think to myself, how best do I authentically emulate this forgiveness? What mantras or techniques may help me to let go, to open my heart, to out-run my lunar eclipse? Let me start today. Because life is not meant for shadowed living.

And so, dear reader, here's to the journey of loving and being loved. Here's to the hard work of forgiving and being forgiven. Let us always remember that life is not for shadowed living, and that what connects us all is strong, simple, bright and pure. Here's to loving to the moon and back.

Until next time,
Molly

Jump for joy juice

Ken (5) Sam (4) Georgia (3)

We're jumping to the tune of summer these days -- amid really green grass, thunderstorms, neighborhood friends, and four new trees in our backyard. Ken here -- to report that life is a-okay. (An aside: I love summer. Days are longer, sun is sunnier, birds are bird-ier. I do think this month is the reason most people decide to stay living in Minnesota.)

Georgia scored herself a birthday last week. She's three big ones --

Georgia: Cake batter!

although, when you ask her, she'll tell you that she's five. She positively owned that chocolate batter in the mixing bowl, and when it came time to choose her cupcake, she (wisely) selected the one with the most rainbow sprinkles. Promptly after unwrapping a yarn-haired, ever-smiling rag doll, she embraced its cotton-filled person and aptly named it Joy. Happy birthday, Georgia!

Mom and I are biking together as of late. She on her low cross-bar-basket-sporting-blue-streak, and I on my super-awesome-kid-bike-with-no-training-wheels. We pedal along at a whopping 5 mph and typically cover about four miles with each ride. I'm getting better at the hills; now I simply need a way to go faster.

Sam and G: Finding bugs

Sam's leading the charge on the bug hunts this summer. Spiders don't frighten him the same way they do me [insert high-pitched scream here], and Sam has a knack for finding caterpillars. At first we tried to keep the caterpillars in a bug-friendly mason jar, but after three attempts at storing these furry friends for easy viewing and conversation -- alas -- none survived. Instead, we discovered a local nature center: one that houses all sorts of bugs for our temporary capture-and-chat-pleasure. Totally. Awesome.

Catching bugs

Occasionally, we'll score an evening movie night with Mom and Dad. One rainy week in June, Mom allowed each of us to choose one movie-to-borrow from the library. (Sweet!) I chose Sleeping Beauty. Georgia chose 101 Dalmatians. Sam chose a documentary on birds.

Dad's home-brew season is in full swing. His slightly upgraded brewing equipment is wheeled to the center of the backyard for each 4-6 hour brew session. After it sits for a select number of weeks to properly ferment, the barley pop is kegged at the basement bar (dubbed Conrad's Tavern), and ready for consumption. Currently on tap: A light-hopped session ale, and a summer saison. Yum. (Says Mom), and come on over! (says I).

Dress up!

As the moments are rarely dull around here, Mom asked me to share a few memorable dialogues.

Georgia: Mom, Mom, Mom.
Mom: What, Georgia?
Georgia: I put my nightmare in my PJ drawer.
Mom: Your nightmare? Did you have a bad dream?
Georgia: No, I put my nightmare in my PJ drawer.
Mom: Oh, yes. Your nightgown. That's a smart place for it.

Dad: Yes,when ice gets warm, it turns to water.
Ken: I know. And when water gets warm, it turns to air.
Dad: Um, you're right.
Ken: And that means the whole world is wet.

Georgia & Joy

Georgia: (At the close of meal-time prayer) Scoop in!
Sam: Do you mean dig in?
Georgia: Yep! Scoop in!

Ken: (with Georgia) Mom, mom, mom. I'm good at catching!
Mom: Really? What are you catching?
Ken: I'm catching Joy!

Godspeed, dear reader! And may you also find yourself good at catching joy as we jump into these early days of summer. Until next time --
Ken

Staying a-float up in the air

Ken: Growing sunflowers

Greetings, my fine readers!

Ken here -- assuming my proper penning post as the eldest cherub of the Corrigan Conrad household. I'm feeling like a bit of a shirker in my blog duties, for the pace of this springtime has been one unmatched in recent years. That is to say, we're not overly busy. We're simply working through more than a few transitions as of late. And transitions, I'm told, can leave a body up in the air: lifted a few inches of the ground, searching for the swiftest way to rid the mind and heart of the beat of the unknown, the rhythm of a holding pattern and wait-and-see circumstance.

Bikes!

Allow me to share a few of the more interesting transitions as of late. Some have raced themselves to resolution, others are still floating those precious inches, looking for a landing one step at a time.

The bike: I acquired a pedal bike from the Easter Bunny. Dad acquiesced to the need for training wheels while I learned the finer points of actually pedaling while balancing on a bike. (For, when a guy grows up on a Strider bike, this concept of balance-while-pedal can be a trifle overwhelming.) I'm proud to say that I shed those training wheels faster than a winter coat in July, and the ride's never been more fun.

The book:I can read! The narration is a bit choppy, varies in volume, and sometimes trips over those tricky silent letters, but bit by bit, I'm the master of my own adventure, flipping from page one to page last with ease and confidence. Some favorites: Go Dog, Go, The B Book, Hop on Pop and The Berenstain Bears Tell the Truth. Any other recommendations for me, dear reader? Wait and see: I plan to be a regular at the local library this summer.

L to R: Sam, Ken, Georgia

The nanny: Bria hung with us for 21 weeks and 6 days -- just missing our average nanny tenure of 22 weeks. We just like her. We're transitioning now to new-nanny-Sarah, who seems to fit the bill nicely. Note: The common denominator in almost all nannies hired by mom and dad these last two years: They're rock stars. I know this because -- after a few months on board -- each of the rock stars falls in love with us and then lands smack dab at the start of a dream job. Do you know anyone in search of a dream job? Send them my way! I'll teach 'em how to be my nanny, after-which, all of said nanny's career aspirations will begin falling into place.

Ken & Sam: Swimming

The pool: I'm so proud of Sam. In six short weeks, he's transitioned from a primal fear of water to a regular tadpole. We've been hanging out at the YMCA one night per week in order to improve our aquatic skill, and I do believe we're both fully ready for the water holes of Minnesota this summer. Bring on the sunscreen and the life jackets! We're ready.

Georgia: Age 2

The toilet: The sibling pride extends to my kid sister. Gone are the days of diaper bags and wet wipes, for it's Georgia's grim determination that's transitioned her from the blue potty chair to the porcelain god of body waste. Georgia's the only almost-three-year-old who thinks she's five, and if you tell her she's too little to do what Sam and I are doing, you'd better duck. Far be it for Georgia to be left behind. Buckle up. She's a woman who knows what she wants.

The place-of-employment:These are turbulent times at Mom's place place of employment, and while Mom's still gainfully employed there, she says that it's by far one of the most intriguing experiences in her professional career. While the pundits claim the company's transformation will set a new pace for this almost-international retailer, the current transition leaves those still employed feeling a bit up in the air, wondering just what's around the next corner, and attempting to land one step at a time. 

Sam: Finding caterpillars

And...the season:One full day of school remains, then we'll launch into three glorious months of schedule-free days full of outdoor extravaganzas like picnics in the park, dips in the local pool, and regular searches for caterpillars, lightening bugs and mosquito spray. We'll fill our evenings with new-found bike paths and chocolate dipped ice cream cones; perhaps an outdoor movie or two. Mom says we might even try camping this summer.

Until next time, dear reader, may this note find you working through your own transitions with a skip in your step and a prayer in your heart. And if you're feeling a bit up in the air, a-floating through your own holding pattern, know that you're not alone. What challenges you changes you, and change is the stuff of life. Keep growing, keep going, and know that you'll land on your feet, one step at a time.
 -- Ken

Fast-forward, march!

(L to R: Ken 5,
Georgia 2
Sam 4)

“Mom-mom-mom.” My name has become three syllables. “Mom-mom-mom, did you know? Did you know that the calendar says March?” And, as he stomps rhythmically in place, “Mom-mom-mom, did you know that this is a march, too? Look, I’m marching, and it’s March! Isn’t that cool?”

In all of his four years, Sam continues to march to the beat of his own drum, and regularly makes connections that keep me smiling to myself. Yes, we’re marching – marching through 2015 with eyes wide open: striving to keep the balance of time, health and fun. (Anyone else meet a late March deadline for both their new year’s resolutions and their taxes?) Not pulling any punches here – the last three months have been a healthy challenge. Nothing wrong with a good, healthy challenge. (As long as there’s ice cream.)

Here’s a smattering of lessons learned:

• Lesson one: Nannies can quit with two-day’s notice, pending a decision of a nanny’s fiance to

  

  Sam, Ken, Georgia &
  Class Pet, Fluffy

  move out-of-state.
• Lesson two: Head lice is contagious. The Lice Lady is your friend.
• Lesson three: The faithfully departed are with us always. I miss my mother-in-law. She always said, “Time marches on, and people grow up. And that’s okay.” But watching my husband and sisters and brothers-in-law prepare their childhood home for sale, and care for my father-in-law is not easy on the heart.
• Lesson four: Your place of employment is not a loyal relationship. Always build your network. And update your resume.
• Lesson five: Waiting in the license renewal line at the DMV on a Saturday is more fun when you bring your three toddlers and the class pet, Fluffy (stuffed).
• Lesson six: Spring arrives early, sometimes.
• Lesson seven: A few good friends, a loyal spouse, three hilarious children, and quality ice-cream (Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia or Haagen Daz Dulce de Leche, please) is all that’s needed to make you know that life is good – and it’s best to soldier on -- keep marching.

L to R: Sam, Ken, Georgia

And so, we soldier on -- my hubby, three cherubs and me -- marching forward, heads high, ready for

 what's just around the bend. And in our quest to keep the balance of time, health and fun, we declare our blessings, attempt to slow the pace of each day, and keep each other from taking life all too seriously. For, as any good soldier knows, it's the healthy challenges that make life worth living. Best to keep the wind at your back, an angel on your shoulder, and a swift sense of humor at the ready.

And so, loyal reader, as you march around the next corner, here are a few toddler sayings to keep you ever-light-of heart. 

On sharing:

• New nanny Bria: Today we're going to learn about states! And Georgia, did you know that you have your very own state?
• Ken: Um... Bria, it's not Georgia's state. It's all of our's state. In this house, we share.

On memory:

• Sam: Bria, what's your favorite vegetable?
• Bria: I told you yesterday. Do you remember?
• Sam: No.
• Ken: He's actually so smart that there isn't any more room in his head to remember.

On spooky movies:

• Georgia: The ghost movie is scoopy.
• Dad: Spooky movies are no good. Which other movie should we watch?
• Georgia: Let's watch the boom-pas.
• Dad: Right. The umpa-lumpas.

Until next time,

Molly