memorial day

Today we attended the Memorial Day ceremony at Fort Logan Cemetery where over 92,000 have been laid to rest. It was a moving and sobering reminder of the reality of war and the true cost of our freedom. Once again I had a renewed appreciation for those who gave their lives during the course of many wars. There were few dry eyes in the large crowd as they played Taps, sang the National Anthem and had a fly over. The Governor of Colorado said a few words and it was concluded with bagpipes playing Amazing Grace.

It was the first time the boys had been to a cemetery like that and they couldn't really grasp the concept that there was a person buried at each marker. It still blows my mind every time I see the rows upon rows of white stones.

All I can say is 'Thank You' to the ones who have served and to their families. You are not forgotten.



IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.


















We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.




















Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us, who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

~Col. John McCrae

childhood dreams

I'm in the middle of reading a book called, The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch. It's about a man in his mid-forties who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given just months to live. As a college professor, he decided to give a "Last Lecture" as a gift to his children whom he'd not live to see grow up. It's a summary of his life and the wisdom he wanted to pass along. His courage and optimistic outlook, even in the face of death, is inspirational. He makes me want to follow his advice and consciously choose to savor each moment and every day.

One of the main lessons he imparts is how important it is to hold onto your childhood dreams as you become an adult. He was fortunate enough to live out most of his, from working with Disney as an Imagineer, to winning the biggest stuffed animal at the carnival. His stories are humorous and heartfelt.

My childhood dreams were simple. I wanted to become an artist and I wanted to fly. I used to duct-tape huge cardboard wings on my arms and run down the hills by our house on the Army base and I swear my feet actually left the ground at least once. But that wasn't the end of my flying experience. Years later, my husband and I were driving along a back road one day and saw some aerolight planes circling above us. We decided to find out where they were coming from and found a small, make-shift airport nearby. The people hanging out there looked more like members of a motorcycle gang than bonafide pilots, but they were very friendly. After trying to sell us some "classes" and having us decline, one guy offered to take me up for free. I shrugged and said sure.

It was awesome. Because it was so light, it felt like riding on a flying bicycle or a kite. The plane consisted of a simple frame, a couple seats, a small engine and of course, wings. The air rushed past and as far as I can remember there was no windshield or any thing between myself and the air. He circled us around the airport and I could see my tiny husband waving from below. I had butterflies the entire time. I didn't even consider how bad it would have been if we'd crashed. That was before children so I didn't think about those kind of things back then. A few years later when we signed up for life insurance, it actually asked on the application if I'd ever flown in an aerolight plane. I guess it can be the indicator of a propensity toward risky behavior. I think I kept it to myself.

As for becoming an artist, that road has been long and windy. As a child, I spent hours in my room gluing, cutting and drawing. My favorite subject in school was always art and I looked forward to class every time. When I chose a college, I was the only one in my family to buck tradition and not go to Texas A&M. They didn't 'do much art' there, so instead I headed to SWT in San Marcos as an art major. During the first semester I was not quite the star I had been in high school. There were multitudes of talented students and I was discouraged by how lacking I seemed to be. If I'd had more confidence I would have stuck it out and tried another semester of art classes, but instead I changed my major to elementary education. Big mistake. It was the first of a couple changes that ultimately led me to burn-out and drop-out of school. If I'd only had more faith in my artistic abilities to start with it could have saved me a lot of frustration (and my parents, too).

Years later, after a few babies, I missed creating (art, not babies). I began to dabble in paint and clay again and it felt great. It was the outlet I needed to keep sane with three little boys under the age of five. Problem was, there was no real time to invest. I remember painting at the kitchen table as I nursed Cooper, his little arm reaching out to swipe at my brush every now and then. But I didn't give up. Every free moment I got, I grabbed my brushes and paint. It was amazing how short nap-times seemed to be when I was in the middle of a project.

After selling a couple of things and getting positive feedback from family and friends, my confidence grew and I realized, hey, I don't have to have an official degree to do what I want to do. My validation doesn't have to come from a university. I love to create and I'm pretty good at it! Heck, I'm really good. It's my thing. Not everyone has boxes of paint, beads, clay, ribbon and tools in their basement. And not everyone get breathless when they walk into Hobby Lobby. But I do.

At our new house, I'll have a 400 square foot basement to turn into my very own studio. It'll be my own little slice of heaven and the fulfillment of a childhood dream. To top it off, after months of searching and waiting, I found an electric potter's wheel on craigslist for a fraction of the cost of a new one. They are high in demand, believe me. I'm also doing my first craft-show next month in Colorado Springs to sell my glass and clay pendants. It should be an educational experience and maybe the beginning of "expanding" things. Things are moving right along.

Recently, while ordering some business cards for my home-based business, I had to fill in the field for job title. I thought about it a minute and then typed in "artist". Hell yeah.

Childhood dreams rock.

who knew?

Last fall I walked into a conference with my kindergartner's teacher and walked out feeling like I'd had the wind sucked out of me. For the first time as a parent, I had been told that my son was struggling and behind where he should be in class. At first, I was just in shock. How could he be in trouble with reading? We are a family of readers. We read to our kids, we read in front of our kids, we love to read! The advice she gave me, to read to him and show him reading videos, were things we already did.

After thinking about it for a few days, I calmed down and remembered that my first son had not really, truly gotten "into" reading until first grade. I could still remember his teacher saying that first grade is where the magic really happens. He said we would not believe how much they grew that year. And he was right. My oldest son blossomed last year and this year he's one of the best readers in his class. He loves to read and write. So what about his little brother? Could they be that different?

I decided right away that I was not going to be one of those moms whose identity is so wrapped up in their children's accomplishments that they make them feel like they have to perform. I did not want to pressure him or send him the message that there was a problem. The more I thought about it, the more resentful I felt. I mean, his teacher was awesome and meant well, but I just knew there was nothing wrong with Clayton. I didn't read until first grade and I turned out okay! In fact, when I was in kinder, we took naps and finger painted all day. What is the big hurry these days? It seems like schools think that kids have to learn everything earlier, faster, sooner. Why???

So the Spring-time conference came and the teacher had the same kind of feedback. She said he was still behind and just so I knew, they did have a "reading-recovery" group he could join in first grade if it came to that. Reading recovery??? Seriously? I wanted to say, "Lady, this is kinder ****ing garten. Chill out!" He's one of the youngest in his class and he'll get there!

Boys' brains develop more slowly than girls so that might have been another factor, but I knew him and I knew that he was a brilliant child. He said and did things all the time that surprised us. Anyway, long story short, I felt more and more convinced that all he needed was time.

Then, yesterday, as I dropped him off at school, his teacher stopped me. She said that she had just done end-of-year assessments and he completed them all with flying colors. He was exactly where he should be! Well surprise, surprise, I wanted to say. Who knew?

This little exercise has taught me to trust my maternal instincts even more. As a mom I am constantly second-guessing my choices and judgement but this time I was right. I knew my boy better than anyone.

trees, trees, trees! continued

On Saturday we headed out to our "new place" for the inspection. Halfway there, our realtor called to say the inspector was going to be a little late so we decided to stop by the lake to wait. It was a beautiful day and the boys were so excited to see the place they'd be living in for the next few years. They played by the lake while my husband struck up a conversation with an older man and his son who were there. After discussing Jeeps, fishing, children and a few other topics, the man asked why we were hanging out there. My husband told him we were waiting to get a house inspected and the man said, "Oh, I know who you are!" Turns out he was the seller of the house we are buying. Small world. We figured we weren't supposed to be consorting since we were still in "negotiations" so we went our separate ways and headed to the house. It was nice to meet the people we were working with, though. They seemed very nice and reasonable.



Once we got to the house the boys did a whirlwind tour and made a beeline to the backyard. I could hear Clayton giggling giddily as he headed out into the open space.



I started to think that letting a seven, five and three year-old roam free on thirty-five unfamiliar acres might not be such a good idea so I took them for a walk to explore together. We came over a hill and found a gaggle of little boys dragging branches and making a pile. They seemed surprised to see a woman in what was clearly little boy domain but they were very gracious and offered to show us some of the forts they had made. After following a small trail that was probably made by animals, we came to something out of the Blair Witch Project. They had stacked branches upon branches against the trunk of a huge pine tree. Our escort scurried up the pile and into the tree with the agility of a cat. Cole looked worried and said, "He's a better climber that me." I reassured him that in no time he would be as fast. He'd just never had the chance to climb a real tree in our old neighborhood!



Before long, he was also in the tree and it took some serious threats to get him down. As we headed back to the house I could see and hear a couple more groups of small boys in different corners of the open space. It was a wonderland for children, ripe with possibility for adventures and projects.



But the boy's domain isn't the only part of our new home with fabulous trees. One of my favorite things about the house is the huge Ponderosa right outside the kitchen window. It seems to be standing guard, protecting the house.





Things are moving along in the process and if all goes well, we'll be in our new place in a month. It really seems like a dream come true.

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

-- Joyce Kilmer