Ah, Life

    It's been a few simple days here at home. It's been crazy for many people. That glorious right of voting has once again brought anguish and vitriol from ruthless campaigning. While this is not a post for political leanings or my two cents worth on who, what, where, when, or even why, here's a simple reminder that this is by far not the first election to divide a nation (pretty sure historically, that happens every four years) and each election season people fly off the handle and turn on everyone who disagrees. I've watched and loathed it all for months, maybe even years. Because good grief, everyone can do their part, but in the end, it comes down to me and what I put on my ballot. My opinions are not bandied about and I'm not about to put down someone for disagreeing with me. I've not walked in their shoes. They haven't walked in mine. End of story.
    While I've watched the crazy, my thoughts have turned more home. I've been in a strange place in recent days. I have come face to face with the grief that comes from cancer. My aunt (if you've read my last post) has her ups and downs. A very dear friend is walking the same path of chemotherapy and radiation. And yet another beautiful soul who touched my family's life in the sweetest way passed away from her own multi-year fight with cancer a couple of weeks ago. On Saturday, I had several phone calls with the news that my great-aunt, after a long, fulfilling life, passed away. It seems like so much to take in. It's an ending. Tomorrow, I will be traveling to Texas to be with my family celebrating the life of the sweetest, gentlest woman I know and was blessed to be related to. While it's an end to the physical life, it's just not the end.
    Sunday night, I had a text from my brother and his wife. I'm the proud auntie of yet another nephew. Life is beautiful. Where one life ends, there is always another set to continue a legacy of living. There is no real ending. It's life, a continuation (I'm not about to start singing the "Circle of Life" for you). I want to hold all of those sick and dying and living close to my heart. So the world goes crazy. America loses her sight for a while. And life goes on. I'm more than aware that life can change from the political landscape. I'd be a fool to ignore it or discredit current issues, but I have the opportunity to appreciate the simplicity of life. I have the choice to not be swept up into the emotion that came from this campaign season. I've allowed myself to not fall to its intensity. I've been overwhelmed at times with the anger, the fear, the smugness that have possessed so many of my friends and family. That can't be healthy. Be concerned. Have your opinions. Do your part. But seriously, get a grip, take a step back, and think about the things that are far more precious to your life.
    Another thing about Sunday, my beautiful Evelynn decided she wanted to be baptized. There was a fantastic analogy in a sermon we heard Sunday morning. About peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You can't have that sandwich if you leave out the peanut butter or if you leave out the jelly. It's not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A simple analogy on sandwiches helped Evelynn along in her thinking. Believe and be baptized. Not just believe but be baptized. We got in the car and she tells me "You know, I believe, but if I don't follow through and get baptized like we're told to do, it's not going to count. Just like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." After talking, and Keith's long drive home yesterday from Texas and a return trip for him tomorrow, our girl is getting baptized this evening. "It's one of the most important decisions I will ever make," she told me.
    Sickness, death, new life, a new spiritual life-- there's a beautiful simplicity in ignoring the crazy. I've thought it somehow ironic that on the few days leading up to election day, that my thoughts are more concerned with my family, of just doing the small daily things and thinking of my loved ones, and that on election day, when it seems people are losing their minds, my girl is making a decision to change her life. We have the choice to be calm, to make decisions free from anyone else's opinions or tantrums. It's quite American, really, to have all these choices. So keep calm and carry on. (And yes-- it's a British saying-- I don't care. It's my motto in life and I'm not rehashing the Revolution on election day.) You've done what you need to do. Let it go. There's too much living to do.

My Name is McKenna!

    October is my second favorite month of the year (because anyone knows that the best month is always the month of your birthday) for its color, its weather, its spice-- it's just lovely. It's that first glimpse of summer reprieve, at least here in the south. It's the month where I step outside, take a deep breath, and enjoy a day for its perfection. On Saturday, I took the girls out for some fall fun out in the country. We went horseback riding, something I grew up with and is almost second nature for me, but something my children are not familiar with. They each had their own horse and could not wait to get started. It was a calm, walking ride through trees and fields, nothing strenuous or requiring too much thought as the horses followed each other with our guide up ahead at the front.
    Caelan lucked out form the beginning and her horse was lead by the guide. In hindsight, it should have been McKenna's horse, who was a couple horses back from the guide and directly in front of me. Evelynn rode along behind me and was overjoyed, as per her usual. McKenna was completely out of her element. I'm never quite sure how she will handle any given situation. Sometimes she approaches life with such ferocity and other times it's with shaking timidity.
    In the case of her relationship with this horse, it bordered on timidity. She had absolutely no idea what was necessary to sit atop a horse and make sure it moved. She held the reins far too slack and could not quite understand the terminology of "hold the reins closer to his neck" or "hold the reins tighter or his head will get away from you." The guide was absolutely no help. I helped as much as I could but the guide was quite displeased when I got out of line to show McKenna how to hold the reins. This guide lady had obviously had a long, trying day. She was vocal about how long she had been astride her horse and with only two breaks in six hours. Having a whole lineup of little girls on horses with little horse knowledge must have been her undoing.
     This ride lasted about twenty minutes and every few minutes, the guide lady would turn around and yell at McKenna "Hey, girl in the black shirt!!!" and then proceed to ineffectually criticize her handling of the horse. I'm not sure the guide new how to instruct a seven year old constructively on horsemanship other than to continually yell at the "girl in the black shirt." McKenna was never flustered much, but I was not impressed with constant yelling and the guide's tone of voice was creeping up to down right rude. The ride was lovely; the girls were elated, even McKenna despite the guide's less than pleasant communication.
    Near the end of the ride, Ms. Guide Lady had had enough. She stopped the horses and turned to repeat all criticisms of the last twenty minutes, beginning with "Hey, girl in the black shirt!!!" McKenna listened quietly and I helped her readjust the reins. Just as we were about to set off again, McKenna yells "HEY, LADY IN THE FRONT!! MY NAME IS MCKENNA!!!" The guide turned around and looked at McKenna, "I guess I've been very rude to you this whole time. I'm sorry. You'll get the hang of the reins someday. I was just worried the horse would get away from you. It's nice to meet you, McKenna." We finished the ride without any more yelling and McKenna hopped off her horse, delighted with the experience. So, for future reference, she may start out timid, but she won't put up with verbal abuse for too long. It was all so... McKenna.

life, love, adventure

    I received some news recently that hit me in a way that was unexpected and yet expected. We all expect that some day those that are close to us will have their phone call from a doctor that rocks their world. We all expect the devastation at the simple thought of that person leaving us to this world. We expect the depredation of sickness (in this case, cancer). But no matter how much we expect, we are thrust into the cliched realization that life is short, and it's never the right moment to stare at its starkness, that sucker punch. When it's a person dear to your life, it's hard to imagine living here on earth without them, and you want them to know what they have meant to you. In this specific case, I have spent a good bit of time reflecting on the life of my beautiful Aunt Cindy and her influence on my life. She is facing the monster of cancer, and this is my moment to express to her how great of an impact she has had on my life. If you know her, you know she is amazing. If you don't, let me tell you about her.
    There are people in this life we are blessed to call family. Some members of our families influence us by their strictness, or their quirkiness, or their simplicity, or any other number of ways. Aunt Cindy gently influences by just living and doing her best to live well. She leads a creative life; searching for meaning, adventuring, and loving those around her. Everything I know about my creative life came from her, seeing beauty in the small, aesthetic things... flowers and floral arrangements, flowing design for parties or weddings, that masterful meringue on her chocolate pie that no one in this world can even hope to duplicate, that small, elegant stitch of embroidery on a pillow, the preparation and presentation of delectable Chinese food, that teapot of Earl Grey with the accompanying conversation... her life is a work of art. I have in my pinky what that woman is capable of creating. I watch, marvel, and do my best to duplicate, but she is unmatched. All those floral arrangements, weddings, embroideries, and baking I have done are simply my attempt at reflecting what she has taught me. And dang it, if I could make a pot of Earl Grey the way she does, I would have reached heaven. She makes it with magic. She has to.
    My Aunt Cindy loves well. She loves completely. She has taught me so much about love. I have learned that some people are so very easy to love and then there are those that are exceptionally difficult to love. For those that take effort to love, we tend to expect them to love us the way we love them; some kind of skewed version of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." We want to love the way we choose to love. And in the grand scheme of life, that's just not going to happen. There is so much mercy and grace missing from our relationships these days; a lost idea that humanity is full of mistakes, bitterness, and unforgiven acts. Not everyone in our lives can love us the way we want and that can't always be remedied. It's learning to accept the love they are capable of giving and being content with it. Bitterness is a revolting emotion that creeps up when we feel that we are loving on a level that is not being reciprocated. That's not to say there are no boundaries, and boy, have I learned the importance of boundaries from that woman. Love carefully, accept what is given, don't fixate on the love you think is missing from some of your relationships. It may be all the love those relationships can spare as those people battle their own demons and muddle through their own lives.
    Change is a "yea or nay" thing for most people. I know my Aunt Cindy's life. I know the changes she has gone through, whether by her choice or what was thrust upon her unwillingly. Either way, I've always seen a grace in how she chose to move through change. Life is carnage and bitter tears, but it's also of joy, hope, and the knowledge that we don't trudge our way through it by ourselves. I know this because I have seen it in my Aunt Cindy. She knows the ugly side of life. She reflects the simple joys of it in the face of heartache. Her hope is found in setting her sights on heaven. She and life run to adventure, which to me is the idea that we take advantage of what ever opportunities arise. I know change. I know what it's like to grapple with the unknown. Change, for all its scariness can bring about the greatest blessings. It's living a life that doesn't follow the parameters or expectations of society, our friends, or sometimes even our family. It's a daring life... infinitely difficult for my and my Aunt Cindy's people pleasing ways.  If I can get to the end of my life and know that I have encouraged others to refuse mundanity and embrace the adventure we've been given, I will have lived well.
    No matter what the next few weeks, months, or years bring to the life of my Aunt Cindy, she will continue her graceful, gentle way of living and loving. She continues to impress me with her spirit and her faith. She cultivates positivity... even though life has been unpleasant. It's one of the greatest honors and pleasures of my life to know her and to learn from her. From a quick, stressed phone call begging for creative genius in making a floral arrangement to the long, midnight conversations over our Earl Grey, I relish every moment with my Aunt Cindy. My life would not be what it is without her inspiration, wisdom, knowledge, encouragement, and love. I'm not going to wait to let her know that.

36

    The obligatory after birthday reflection post is here. Another year. Thirty-six. 36. Last year, at 35, my only complaint was how unappealing the look of 35 had. This year, I've no complaints, 36 is such a round looking number much more aesthetically pleasing than 35. Needless to say, age rarely bothers me. The husband glibly reminded me that I'm closer to forty, but then 40 looks pretty, too. I must have a thing for even numbers, which will work out quite well in the long run.
    The greatest upsets of my life happened at thirty-four and thirty-five; the changes were enormous, the stresses left me gasping for breath, and more tears have flowed from the events of those years than ever before. It's not a comforting existence spending months waiting for the other shoe to drop, that next bad thing to happen. I've a whole list of bad things that paced themselves every couple of weeks to every month for roughly sixteen months. These months had their joys, but the hard things were glaring and quick as a stab to the heart. For the first time in my life I became intimately acquainted with panic attacks, specifically with the fiasco of a frozen house and the dealings with an insurance company, the move to Arkansas, the vandalism to the PA house, the financial insecurity of two mortgages, and a buyer/renter who turned out to be the wicked step sister of Cruella DeVille. I'm fond of saying "I live a fabulous life" and that "It makes for a good story." This is the Reader's Digest Version, the unabridged version will appear someday in an autobiography of how life was calling the shots faster than I could comprehend and react. It's a strange sense of being drug along, helpless, somewhat like drowning, everything completely out of your hands and relentless.
    Life has always been a simple matter of dealing with the next thing for me. It worked well for a good portion of those sixteen months, but the next thing started coming in multiples and very little was done to keep up with the emotions of all the chaos. I hit the wall too many times. It's taken a while to ease back into a sense of normalcy (for me, because you know I'm as unorthodox as they come). I feel the stress finally got to my overall health, which I hate using that card, but some trips to the doctor, a trip to the ER a few months ago, and a surgery later, I can't ignore it. I donated an organ to stress (or multiple pregnancies-- they could be related). My uterus turned on me, the ingrate... so it's been chucked and despite the long healing process, I have felt more myself in the last few weeks than I have for the better part of two years (or more-- apparently Paxton was a big reason, the organ took up hating me). All other details aside (because 1: you don't want to know and 2: specific details freak me out), I have found my emotional range is a nice plateau, the roller coaster disappeared. I have not had one migraine since the surgery in June (which is gargantuan in my books because I've had them since I was seventeen), and I feel more like me.
    Thirty-six is promising. It's a bit more settled. It's adventurous. It's creative. It's motivated. It's snarky. It's not dreading the days. It's welcoming. It's laughter, uncontrolled. It's the smug reality that I'm skipping course, gray hair for smooth, white strands. It's twisting the realities of negativity back to the positive where I've always been more comfortable. It's remembering that I have this blog with the cute subtitle I gave it years ago of "accentuating the positive and eliminating the negative." Which also means I'm back to blogging about this life, one moment at a time (because you really didn't want my blog posts a year ago). Yep, I think thirty-six and I will get along just fine. Cheers.
   

Grape Juice

    In the grand scheme of life that is parenting, I'd like to think that Brannon children are the zest of life and do what they can to fill it beautifully with laughter, tears, knowledge and the occasional splat into embarrassment. As the parent of such children, it can be a fabulous life (mostly) and sometimes the blush rushes to my face over escapades I would have never considered as a child. Several weeks ago I was in the middle of school with McKenna when the husband called to tell me a story and to question the Brannon children on their roles in said story. Long story quite short, the grape juice in the communion trays at church went missing from all the little cups. My chest tightened some and my stomach dropped. I knew some Brannons were involved. They had to be.
    Sitting across the desk from me was McKenna, deep into her grammar work. I asked her if she knew anything about the AWOL grape juice. Her body slid down into her chair and her eyes were huge, peering up from the edge of the desk. "Yes," she whispered. Fantastic. "But Caelan did it, too." Of course, she did. I called her in. "Caelan, do you know anything about the missing grape juice from the communion cups at church. And think carefully before answering because I'm aware of the truth." She ducked her head "Yes, we drank it." Brilliant. Now in typical me behavior I stalled. Where to even begin. I watched my two daughters who refused to make eye contact with me. Somewhere in my mind I'm evilly rubbing my hands together with the "Gotcha" train of thought.
    Evelynn had walked in about the time I confronted Caelan and she heard enough of the conversation. As I paused to consider my options, the drama that is Evelynn and her overwhelming need to set things straight took over. To put it kindly, she flipped out, wildly waving her hands, gesturing grandly and with many words. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! Do you have any idea how bad this is? That's for communion. It's SACRED. That is for people who have been baptized. And you are NOT baptized. And it was all gone for those who are baptized. You need to have a long conversation with God about this. Communion has a purpose. It's not for you to drink. You need to pray to God and make it right with him. I can't believe you did that. You need to go to your room and think about this. It's terrible. Pray about it, repent, and then move on with your life (she gestures widely with her arms). That's all you can do at this point. AND NEVER DO IT AGAIN."
    Caelan was sobbing, tears pouring down her face, about halfway trough the tirade. She left for her room. And I was still sitting there. It was brilliant. It ranks up there with the greatest parenting moments, and it's also on the list of moments that I could hardly keep it together from laughing. So not the moment for giggles. Evelynn huffed from the room and about fifteen minutes later Caelan retuned with red eyes and puffy, wet cheeks. "I am so sorry, Mom. It was wrong. But now I've prayed about it, I'm good and now I just need to move on with my life." I told her "That's great, but there's a little more to it than that. You have inconvenienced those who prepared the trays and now you will tell them what you have done and apologize. " Caelan and McKenna stared at me. "But that's embarrassing!" they informed me. "Tell me about it. I'm the mother of two children who drank the grape juice out of the communion trays. Don't you think I'm aware of the embarrassment involved?" They've since apologized. I'm fairly certain there will be no repeat offenses. Such a great moment and I'm amused frequently by it.

Parenting with a McKenna

    Parenting is a beast. Sometimes it seems to work, but most times you kind of skid through the moment and hope something sticks. It's a beautiful, treacherous business. It pushes you to the edge of insanity and then smiles at you, laughing at what you got yourself into. We got ourselves into four little beings for this parenting journey. The greatest struggles of my parenting life are convincing myself that it will all be okay in the long run and not flat out laughing at my children. It's incredibly difficult for me not to crack a smile and then laugh. It's why I have four children apparently.

    Today's parenting moment involved Caelan and McKenna, that lovely mix of daughters, close in age, closer in size, and sharing a bedroom. Their space in this new house has been taxed by their explosions of things and attitudes. It's a back and forth of insanity. It works and then it doesn't. Today was a doesn't work day. Sparing you the details out of respect for children who may one day read this, I will tell you it began as that parenting moment filled with calmness and wisdom. I was hitting the points home. The come to Jesus meeting was real. The tears were fat and many upon their cheeks. It felt amazing. Yes! The hearts were pricked, reason was established, and the importance of respect and responsibility was accepted with the promise of change. I may have inwardly praised myself at how well this one was going, because I have enough insecurities as a parent. But gloating is short-lived because I have a McKenna, that precious bundle of strange weirdness.

    The issue at hand was primarily the fault of Caelan, who received the brunt of the words directed at her heart over actions that were less than pleasing. I asked the questions that directed her to consider how her actions affected others and how she was ultimately responsible for her choices and who gets hurt or doesn't. Que McKenna getting caught up in the tears and the ridiculous amount of tears pouring out of her eye sockets, streaming down her nose, her cheeks, her neck, dripping onto her shirt and pants, and soaking her shirt sleeves as she rubbed her face with the back of her wrists. Mind you, this talk had very little to do with her. The conversation continued with Caelan. McKenna interrupted, sobbing, "Mom, I hated going to the hospital when I fell out of that tree last summer and had to get stitches in my chin." She steals fire, people. Uh, okay... and back to Caelan. 

    The talk continues. We are back on track. We've figured out where she went wrong and why it matters. A lull in the conversation and McKenna, eyes now bloodshot, said "I really miss Chaucer and our old house." Oh, sweetheart. Why? Why this now? "Because when I got in trouble at the old house, I had Chaucer to love me." I accepted that. She is six. She's a work in process. Back to Caelan, who was drying up and she had that determined look on her face when she's ready to do something. She apologized to McKenna for the wrong committed and cried a bit more. McKenna sobbed again, more tears because I swear she has a gallon of them stored up in her little body. She killed my vibe. "Mom, you know Caelan and Evelynn get me in trouble A LOT." Ah, yes, the someone is in trouble, let's add to the pot. I don't accept that. This was not a grand re-hash of any prior offenses. Caelan was ready to move on, and now that the spotlight was on McKenna, she was, too. A few more tears, some pats from Caelan and McKenna deflects this new direction in conversation with "You know, I really, really want a trampoline." And I can't handle it any more. I laugh and laugh. This kid. These kids. I hope it sticks. I pray it sticks.