Birthday wishes

I've been having trouble falling asleep lately. My husband suggests that I turn off the artificial light sources a few hours before bed -- you know, the computer screens and my telephone, as well as the overhead lights. But how exactly am I supposed to check my Facebook without all of that? Plus, we like to play video games to relax. Can't exactly slay dragons without a computer monitor.

But this is sleep  -- probably the best thing in the world that I do on a daily basis. Sleep is bliss. Sleep is restorative. Sleep is just yum.

Been running on tired for a couple of days. Went camping this past weekend and stayed up too late each night and got up too early each morning. Plus, I woke up several times in the middle of the night. Here in my own home, usually the sleep is better but there is always somebody to interfere with my sleep.

So I took a midday nap.

Climbed up on my bed, wrapped myself up in my favorite blanket (because my bed was already made and I didn't want to have to make it again) and fell asleep. This is going to sound like a crazy dream but I was on a phone call with a woman I had done some work for in the past. She was trying to give me more money for the work I had done because she was convinced that I hadn't been paid. But I was feeling pretty good in the conversation because I was engaging and funny and was certain that she was going to hire me to do more work.

I was sitting on my sofa and I turned to my left to see my Uncle Nofre walking towards me in his bathrobe carrying his overnight bag. He looked like he had freshly showered and finished blowdrying his hair. He told me, "Come on, make ready. We have to go soon."

I was caught up in his voice, I hadn't heard it in so long. There was always something playful and joyous in it. There was a touch of brass, caramel, and melody in how he spoke.

He sat down beside me and smiled at me and I stared at his hair -- kind of auburn. He was always trying on new hair colors to hide his gray. My grandfather's hair was all white. My uncle was headed that way too. His skin was dark brown, like he'd been sitting in the Hawaiian sun a little too much. Eh, clouds are closer to the sun so the better tan, I'm sure.

And I started crying.

When you start crying in your sleep, it is always a surprise. You don't see it coming towards you like you do when you're awake. When you're awake, your eyes start to pool with tears and if you're lucky, you can tamp that down so that you can regain your composure. But instead, I started crying right in the middle of it -- the big gasping sobs in the middle of the sea of grief. No time to regain composure, no time to prepare. Just one big tsunami.

And I woke up gasping for air, wailing for my uncle, and my face wet with tears.

My birthday is coming up shortly. I want to believe that my uncle was just coming by to wish me a happy birthday, just like the last time he made an appearance in my dreams right before his birthday. He was always amazing about that. Never, ever forgot a birthday. So that's what I'm going to believe. I know it's magical thinking and I'm a grown up. I shouldn't embrace such childish things. But I'm going to believe that he was here for my birthday.

I really miss him.

This is going to land me in hot water

I already voted. I did so before the 3rd debate. But the truth is, there was no way I was going to change my vote. Which probably makes me one of those ideologues that are so far left or so far right they can't change, one of Romney's 47 percent. In case you're wondering, I'm left leaning. I am not insulted by being called a tax and spend democrat.

But what I am is a liberal Catholic.

A couple of days ago, I posted on my Facebook that I voted for the marriage equality law to go into effect. Almost immediately I got a long and heartfelt missive from a dear friend who is a conservative Catholic. He's also incidentally my confirmation counselor. It was an almost painful letter to read because it was so obviously written with love and caring. He told me how he was praying for me and that he felt like he had been derelict in his duties. As you could likely predict, there were arguments against homosexuality and how we cannot allow marriage equality.

And it pained me to read because I already knew that I wouldn't change my mind. That his position and by extension the church's position was dissonant with what I knew was true.

I really think that if you lead with compassion, you are rarely wrong. So while the thing my loving and compassionate faith wants me to do is to enforce religious beliefs on the population at large, I know in my heart that in this they're not leading with compassion. If they were they would be teaching reconciliation and love. They would remember that God is infallible and doesn't make mistakes. They would remember that they should not judge lest they be judged. Painting people into a corner by instilling self loathing unless they conform is as far from compassion as you can wander.

Truth is, if God's chosen people are the ones most tested, most tried, have the heaviest crosses, then maybe the lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgendered are God's chosen. In nearly every culture and religion, the LGBT people have been persecuted -- in some cases executed or chemically castrated by their governments. And I'm not talking about remote corners of the world. I'm talking the western world in recent history.

I've realized also that I've been reticent to put my views on the subject out there only because I know that people who love me, people who conform to the conservative Christian point of view and are social conservatives but still love me, may read this post. They may see what I really think. And I think that a lot of prayers are going to be sent up to change my mind and my heart on this.

But it is my hope that those prayers get deflected. It is my hope that they'll get turned around and if you ask to change my heart, the prayer will boomerang, hit you instead, and change your heart.

Just lead with compassion. It's an easy litmus test.

Bridges

Today was the Girl Scout Service Unit wide Bridging Ceremony. Just like any other long running organization, Girl Scouts have ceremonies. I think they're important ways to punctuate your membership and experience with that organization. And just like every high school has their own graduation ceremony -- Girl Scouts have their own way to run bridging.

There is always an element of chaos because the ceremonies are "girl led." This is a cornerstone of the Girl Scout philosophy. The girls run the program. As they get older, the leaders become adult advisors/drivers/chaperones and less of "leaders." So the chaos.

You must also know that I have a limited attention span and memory skills.

So when our Service Unit manager, whose girls were running the event, announced that my troop would be performing the flag ceremony, four sets of terrified girl eyes turned towards me. I quoted the internet meme and said, "Keep Calm, and Carry On." I waved them to the back of the room where the flags were just like we knew exactly what we were doing. The girls all asking me, "did you know?" I hurriedly told them that I didn't but we'll be fine. We'd done this dozens of times. At the back of the room, I quickly asked them who wanted to be caller to which they all said, "Not me." Ultimately, my own daughter said she would.

They did great!

My girls are trailblazers. I'm so proud of them.

They all hate their new vests. They're awfully big, but they'll be wearing the same vests until they're seniors in high school. 6 years is a lot of growing.

Fieldtrip

Today my 7 year old went on a field trip to a local dance studio with her class. Lucky me, I got to chaperone. As I was the first mom to arrive, I was given the worst and most difficult to assign position -- walking at the end of the line.

It's an important task. You need to be the person who makes sure that the children all are accounted for. No kids are ever behind you or they might just wander off.

The teacher had just a few rules -- hold hands with your buddy, stay on the side walk, we don't stop and pick things up, and feet are for walking, not for kicking or running. She pretty much listed all the behaviors that they wanted to do -- except for the pushing and cutting in line part. So I spent the 10 minute walk, felt a lot longer, repeating the words, "Walk, walk, walk..." and, "Stay on the sidewalk." My big threat was, "if you can't hold on to your buddy, you are welcome to hold my hand." I ended up holding the hands of 2 boys at one point because they could not remember to stay on the sidewalk -- climbing up on the wall and making sure that no mud puddle was left unstepped in.

Eww... boy cooties.

Anyway, those same two boys decided to make their way up the line because they were tired of me reminding them to keep up with the class, walk, and hold on to each other. Unfortunately, they had already told me their names so when I witnessed them push my daughter... They kind of poked the mama bear. I know, I suppose I shouldn't have let my emotions get to me, but I think if I had witnessed them pushing any other student, I would have pulled them back to the end of the line to walk with me anyway.

I called out their names, walked up to both of them and grabbed their shoulders to direct them to the end of the line. I told them that they were not allowed to push other students. And then I closed with a very sexist thing that I'm not sure flies anymore, but I'm still going to use it, "Never, ever push a girl. Ever."

I think I did the right thing there in the sense that they will still grow up to be men and they will still have more body mass and strength than the average woman. So I'm going to stand by the never hit a girl thing, because I think it is a life lesson. Plus, my girls learn martial arts.

My girls push back.

Jonathan

A while ago I was lamenting that I had lost touch with one of my best friends in college. He was a resident advisor with me the first year I did that job. I remember that when I first met him, I was so young and just had no worldly experience. I'm sure part of that was from growing up in parochial school. After all, meeting anybody who wasn't Catholic seemed like a huge deal to me back then. He was friendly and open and yes, I admit, I had a little bit of a school girl crush on him. But that quickly faded when he told me that he was queer. I remember the initial confusion with the word because I hadn't heard it before.

Don't worry, I figured it out.

He was a returning student, had worked as a flight attendant for several years and decided to go back to school to become a school teacher. To me, he was older (maybe by just 6 or 7 years), worldly as he had traveled everywhere as a flight attendant, and just one of the best guy friends I had ever had in my life. We talked to each other about boys and how confusing they were. We talked about our crushes and loves. We were both there for each other when we met our husbands.

When Jonathan met Kevin, they were at the pool on campus. I know, it sounds like a movie. Kevin was coming off a divorce finally accepting that he was a gay man. Jonathan and I processed his worries that maybe Kevin hadn't been in the dating world long enough, that maybe Kevin needed to sow some wild oats before settling down.  They were *so* in love and Kevin was really pushing settling down. This is going to sound corny, but the first time I ever saw them kiss or watched as Kevin nuzzled Jonathan's neck, I remember thinking how I recognized that look. It was just love.

The three of us went to the botanical garden and flower show at the Seattle Convention Center. It's so very stereotypically gay!  Jonathan was a Botany major so it made sense. Afterwards, with my newly minted 21 year old driver's license, they suggested we go for drinks. I thought it was a fabulous idea. I don't know what I was thinking or what I should have expected. For me, I had just spent the day with two guy friends. I didn't think at all about what kind of bar they were going to take me to.

Right outside the door, as Kevin held the door open for me he said, "This might be a culture shock for you." And there it was, I walked in and it was all guys. I was the only woman there flanked by two good looking guys. In hindsight, all the eyes turning looking at us were probably checking out Kevin and Jonathan. At the time, I thought they were looking at me questioning what the hell I was doing there. I felt like a fish out of water.

Wistful this morning, I did a search on Facebook for Jonathan. Came up with a bunch of Jonathans but none that looked like him. Then I Binged Kevin & Jonathan, and the last place I knew that they lived.

And I found Kevin's obituary.

Kevin died in February 2009 of a heart attack at age 46. The obituary said that he would be missed by his parents, grandfather, brothers and his partner in life, Jonathan. I know the news is 3 years old for his loved ones. But this morning I'm grieving for my friend, wishing I could have offered comfort to Jonathan.

And after all of that, I still don't know how to reach him.

But on the off chance that he finds this, or maybe somebody knows how to reach him from our shared circle of friends or alums, let him know that I cried fresh tears for his loss. And that I miss his presence in my life.

H2O Polo

Last night I went to my son's home game. A team from Seattle came and pretty much destroyed our boys. But not initially. No, not at first. The first and last quarters were very good. My boy assisted with a goal -- first goal of the game. Then he got the last goal that their team scored, the last of 4. The middle was a bunch of splashing in which the other team rolled over our boys.

But I'm one of those moms who cheers for everybody. Even the other team. Because that's who I am. Not really loudly for the other team, but I just think that when you don't clap for the efforts of the other guys, or  clap for your own team when they try hard but come up short, you've missed something about youth sports.

I cheered just as loud for each shot on goal whether or not it made it in. I screamed loudly when I saw them block a shot or if my boy defended against his opponent to cause the loss of possession (that was pretty awesome).

So many times lately, I look at my boy and he's not happy. He's so very serious. I'm not sure if it is grades (I wish) or girls or friends. But for me, I think it is probably something I can't fix. So last night when I went to his game and because it was a home game, all his friends could come, I knew I had to rein it in. Loud cheering would likely not be appreciated by the boy. When he saw his friends walk in and they called out to him while he was in the pool, I saw him turn around and his face just lit up.

God, I miss that smile sometimes.

So I made it a point not to be the crazy screaming mom on the sidelines. It doesn't hurt that I don't understand a lot of what is going on despite having read the primer on water polo a bunch of times. Here's what I do know:  (1.) The other players are going to drown my son. I must not panic about that. (2.) My son can give as good as he gets. (3.) I have no idea what it is like in the pool so thankfully, I can make no critiques as I have no frame of reference. (4.) I love what this sport does for my son. I love it.