Without a doubt, the last few weeks of school are amongst the busiest in the calendar year. Graduations, recitals, concerts, sporting competitions and final exams all exert undue influence over the time and energy of students and parents alike. Most days find me traveling across the county shuffling kids to one event or another; May and June find me barely able to navigate the logistical gymnastics required for all of the above.

This weekend was no different. Batting clinics, lacrosse games and a year-end orchestra concert in which three of our kids played, took up most of our time. Thankfully, a quick visit (and fun May ritual) from my oldest friend from out-of-town provided just the fresh spark I needed to keep my enthusiasm level high throughout. It was a happy, happy weekend, filled with family, friends and fun.

Anecdotes throughout the weekend presented a resounding theme: going the distance is worth it. It’s worth the time. It’s worth the energy. It’s worth the driving around. It’s worth the work.

A visit to an antiques shop in Connecticut—and a wonderfully long chat with the owner—convinced me of the need to counter our “fixed in a flash” modus operandi with a longer term perspective on life. The antiques dealer winced at the notion that young people today desire their homes to be instantly furnished and decorated, using a few clicks of the mouse on eBay to supply them with everything from linens to lamps to dining room tables. Few young people today are willing to take the time and energy to wisely shop for their homes anymore. To scour antiques shops in faraway towns. To put in the time for adventure. To find thrill in “the hunt.” The pursuit, which used to take center stage, has been replaced in these bustling days of ours with “the catch.” We become satisfied with second-rate, because hunting for “wonderful” is just too cumbersome.

Friendships, too, take years and years to develop. They blossom eventually, through years of coffees and lunches, movies and trips, phone calls and postcards. They start as budding relationships, and grow and grow and grow if well-watered. Surviving a few inevitable bumps in the middle, like acne on our teens’ faces, they eventually develop into beautiful models of faith and trust and love. Like our children, friendships require years of nurturing. Of time and energy and good old-fashioned hard work.

Some of the most talented kids in our town performed in the end-of-year concert for the youth orchestra this weekend. My husband and I got lumps in our throats watching our own children play a Beethoven symphony in its entirety. No “fixed in a flash” model there. Obtainable only through years of lessons. Of weekly practices. Of discipline. Persistence. Vision. Determination.
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Family. We love them, but there’s a reason we leave the nest, right? No one knows how to press your hot buttons and make you feel like an awkward kid again, quite the way family does. For some it’s judgmental in-laws, and for others it’s a well-meaning mom telling you how to raise your kids, Aunt Mary letting the skeletons out of the closets, cousin Julie’s horrible children, or the men’s constant game of one-up-manship. Whatever your situation, it can turn your gathering into a tinderbox ready to be ignited by the smallest spark. Don’t let your familial bonds render you powerless.

1. The emotional downer: When asked about yourself by someone who is typically looking for an opportunity to bring you down, stay as neutral and superficial as possible, so as not to create an opening for competition and judgment.

“Has your business recovered from that incident last year?”
“Oh we’re doing fine, thank you. How are things going for you?”

Avoid offering any details, and turn the subject back to them immediately.

2. The judge: If you do find yourself in a scenario of being confronted with judgment, stay positive and confident – remember that they are looking for a reaction!

“Guess you learned your lesson from that bad decision, huh?”
“Every day is a lesson, and we all have them to learn! Have you tried these stuffed mushrooms?”

Let them know, as subtly as possible, that they are not in a position to emotionally affect you.

3. The One-Uppers: For those who engage in constant one-up-manship, realize that all they want is attention, and just give it to them! Congratulate them, compliment them, and keep the conversation focused on them. They can’t top you if you’re busy agreeing with how wonderful they are. This is also an easy one to escape. When they’ve recounted their latest, greatest achievement, grab Uncle Joe and say, “Joe, you have got to hear what Cathy did last week!” Thus allowing you to slide gracefully out of the picture.

4. The Skeleton Releasers: This can put you in the hot-seat faster than falling on a bonfire. The key is to keep your cool, and change the subject as fast as possible.

“I’m so glad you and Dan are happy! I always wondered if you’d made the wrong decision in breaking up with his brother Jim.”
“We are extremely happy, and building a better FUTURE every day! Where did you get that bracelet? It’s absolutely stunning!”

DO NOT return the favor by pulling out more skeletons! Make a point of putting the past in the past. If you then turn the focus on them, they will be forced to flow with the change of subject, in order to answer your question.

5. Let’s face it though, you can’t plan for every contingency. If things do get uncomfortable, simply excuse yourself from the conversation: go to the restroom, change conversation groups, or fake a phone call. Don’t worry about what the other person thinks. Under the circumstances, that individual should be viewed as a bully, and given the same amount of consideration. When you are calm, weigh the options, and determine whether it would be best to leave.

6. When you’re going to a gathering where you KNOW there’s going to be trouble, just make it quick. Consider attending for appetizers or dessert only (appetizers if you know that alcohol will escalate the drama later, dessert if things usually calm down after dinner)!

7. One more tip: If there are particular people with whom you routinely have issues, but it seems to be JUST you, take a look in the mirror. How are you contributing to the tension in these “confrontations?” Take a step back and try to see things from their perspective.

Ultimately, remember that every person in your life, family or not, is there for a reason, and with some gift to contribute to your individual growth. Look for this, and the light that shines on each of them will suddenly be much kinder.

Mothers. Much has been written about, dedicated to, analyzed, scrutinized and attributed to this pillar of our existence. Over the years, the cliché of the patient on the couch being asked “Why do you hate your mother?” has become as familiar as Toll House® cookies and Goodnight Moon.

We blame the ‘refrigerator mothers’ of the 50’s, working mothers in the 70’s, we point fingers at coddling, aloofness, guilt, rigidity, permissiveness. Mother’s it seems, have fought a losing battle over the years.

I admit, I did my share of “mother blame” through the therapy-laden decades in which I raised my children.

In the early years, I designed my parenting based on what I perceived as having been “wrong” or “bad” in my own upbringing. I consciously eliminated every negative and replaced it with it’s antihesis.

This was happening contemporaneously in the now adult relationship with my mother who I concluded lived her life in denial. (Yes, I bought into the 80’s like a kid and a Cabbage Patch Doll). Yet another reason to look for the antithesis!

As time went on, and I was fairly pleased with the way things were progressing with my own daughters, something very strange was happening. My daughters began to engage in a dialogue with me (no hidden agendas in THIS household!) that let me know how some of the things I did on behalf of the family might not be in everyone’s best interest.

WHAT?

Could this be so? How cruel of them! How unfair! After all I’d done for them…….oops.

Many a mother reaches this precipice: We can choose to hear what’s being said or go into defense mode and confuse the issue. Well, I have to say, deflecting did cross my mind, but that would go against what I set out to do in the beginning. Antithesis.

Turning points can show up at the most unexpected times, and this was one of them. Suddenly, I felt a true sisterhood to my mother. It became clear to me that creating a family life that you desire is more than eliminating what didn’t work, but remembering that there were some wonderful things that happened, as well. Plus, antithesis is not always an improvement.

And now? Well, for starters I’m learning to eliminate judgment of good vs. bad, wrong vs. right. Plus, over the years I’ve recognized how incredible my mother is. Her denial is merely a label I chose because I could not relate to someone who could accept things so readily and gracefully. She is loving, practical and simple. And within that simplicity is a complex, dynamic and exciting human being who taught me that everything happens for a reason, every cloud has a silver lining, and there is good in everyone. Some clichés are better than others.

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.“ -Hebrews 13:2

My husband is not frequently mortified by my behavior, but within the past year, two separate occasions brought rolling of his eyeballs, scratching of his head, and more than one “I can’t
believe you did that” lecture.

I befriended a lady-about a year ago-while Ernie and I stood in
line waiting to get a table at the Stage Deli in mid-town
Manhattan. She and her husband waited alongside us on the
sidewalks of 7th Avenue, all four of us cold, hungry, and very
anxious to get inside. It seemed perfectly normal-even given that we were in New York-to strike up a conversation with them. They seemed quite normal, were nicely dressed, and had fairly thick Southern accents. In the twenty minutes or so that we spent outside, we managed to find out where they were from, how many kids they had, and what they did for a living. You know. Normal conversation.

As it would turn out, they got seated at a table next to ours. That area of the restaurant is well, tight, so even though technically we sat at different tables, we were
essentially having lunch together. So we chatted some more,
mainly because we practically had to, but we tried to give each
other some space; this was New York after all, and we were
decent, respectful people. Towards the end of our meals, I saw
her struggling to make a dessert decision. Reknown for their
cakes, pies, and cheesecakes as the Stage Deli is (their
chocolate cake is legendary and stands about 7 inches high; it is one of the best I’ve ever “experienced”…and, as you may or may not know, chocolate in any form is not eaten; it is
“experienced”) there was indeed a decision to be made but it was
not a tremendous decision.

There was only one decision to be made and it was a chocolate one. I hated to see my new friend struggle so I offered her some advice. But her other issue was: could she eat it all? No problem. We agreed to share it.

Our husbands’ eyeballs at that point were not just rolling; they
were getting that very bizarre look about them that said:

“You’ve got to be kidding please tell me you’re not going to share cake with a perfect stranger with who knows what kind of germs are in her mouth that will be transferring onto that plate not to mention what viruses she’s a carrier for or the fact that you have no idea where she’s been where she comes from or for that matter what kind of germs her husband and kids have either.”

And yet before they could verbalize the mental war they were each undoubtedly battling, the waiter brought one mammoth-sized piece of the best chocolate cake ever on one plate with two forks. And we sat there and ate it, giggling at how stupid we must have looked yet happy to be in that exuberant state that only chocolate cake and hot coffee on a cold winter day can induce.

We never saw them again.

But if Ernie was mortified and mystified by that exchange, he was downright angry about what I did a few weeks later. Last year, I took our two youngest kids to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. We left at the crack of dawn in order to both beat the traffic as well as to ensure front row positions on the sidewalk. Our home is roughly 60 miles from mid-town Manhattan; I literally pulled the kids from their beds and met them downstairs ten minutes later with juice boxes in one hand and car keys in the other.

After driving into the city-fighting traffic and tourists all the way from the West Side highway to the parking garage off 7th Avenue-walking three or four blocks to the perfect spot on the perfect street with the perfect view, and chatting with the tourists sharing asphalt space with us during the good hour of standing and waiting time, Victor informed me that he had to go to the bathroom. Badly. It only took me a few minutes to ascertain that he didn’t go when he woke up. No. He had to let us go through all of that.

So what was I supposed to do? If we all left, we’d lose our front-row spots. (And of course that was the intelligent option.) Victor was by this time practically dancing, he had to go so badly. Cristina was grumpy to think that little brother was too “little brother” to not use his brain and go to
the bathroom before leaving for the city. And I was calculating
all of our options given that the parade was about to start in
just a few minutes and that downtown businesses were mostly
closed early morning on Thanksgiving Day. The nice older man I
met, who, with his wife, engaged us in charming conversation
during most of the hour, offered to take him in search of the
nearest restroom. OK. I’m not that stupid. But at the suggestion
of a handful of people on the street who all witnessed my dilemma and who all offered to watch my daughter during the ten minutes it would take me to deal with Victor, I did wind up leaving her with a band of (almost total) strangers on a curb in mid-town Manhattan on Thanksgiving Day.

With the city on high alert for terrorism and dozens upon dozens of policemen within a hand’s grasp-and a firm and very loud order to scream if anyone did anything weird-she calmly waited on the sidewalk for something like eight to ten minutes while I took care of Victor.

OK. Both incidents were nothing shy of sheer stupidity on my
part. And I can’t even believe that I am confessing to either one in this Newsletter. And I know you’re thinking:”what’s the point in telling these stories anyway?!?” It’s this: most people are good at heart. And if you allow yourself the freedom to engage with both friends as well as with complete and total strangers alike, you will find that people want the best. Most people look for the best, want the best for you, and will offer their best to you. We are all in this journey together, and we all want to move forward. Everyone wants health and happiness. Everyone wants to be in love and to be loved. These are universally human cravings.

When we allow total strangers to enter our world, we may be
allowing a touch of the divine into our lives. And sooner or
later, we will all entertain strangers. It may not be over
chocolate cake at a New York deli, or on a sidewalk waiting for a parade. But it may be in a subway car, in a grocery store…or in a hospital room.

We have allowed the owner of a local restaurant to enter in our
world during this past year. We eat in his restaurant nearly
every Sunday after church, so by now we know each one of his
waiters by name. And they have all become very involved in our
lives. They provided homemade chicken soup by the potfuls when
Nick was first diagnosed with leukemia. They’ll bake Cristina a
cake for her birthday this Friday, which she will celebrate there after school with her friends. The owner comes to see us at “our table” every Sunday and gives us encouragement and tells us of how he prays for Nick’s healing. He was a total stranger a year ago. He is an “angel unaware.”

Wellington pumps my gas. He, too, was a total stranger last year. But after pumping my gas almost every week for a year, he’s entered my world. He, too, is now praying for our family and for Nick’s healing. He is an “angel unaware.”

So is a lady at the local pharmacy who has been faithfully
helping our family with routine prescriptions during the past
year. Now she has entered our world at a more intimate level. As
have teachers at my kids’ schools. Moms in our neighborhood. And
dads whose sons play lacrosse with one of my own sons.

I have allowed complete strangers to dispense chemotherapy drugs
into a port in my son’s chest, drive my daughter to tennis
lessons, and all three to violins lessons in a town forty-five
minutes away from home. Angels unaware.

Just yesterday, while standing in line at the post office to mail Christmas packages, an old friend who I hadn’t seen for several months came through the door. With her at one end of the waiting line and me at the other, she kind of yelled across the room: “How are ya?” and when I yelled a little softer: “Fine but have you heard about Nick?” to her “No,” the whole post office crowd quickly became involved in our son’s illness whether they wanted to be or not. After making five trips to my car to get some twentysomething packages and apologizing profusely to the now very involved people in line with each new package-laden entrance, an elderly lady-a complete stranger-walked up to me and wrapped her arms around my neck and waist and literally squeezed me. She kissed me on the cheek and said: “I felt compelled to do that.” And walked away.

An angel unaware.

Be not forgetful to entertain strangers this holiday! Invite them into your home for dinner. Invite them to your Christmas Open House and to your coffees and your luncheons. Invite them into your world. And you will be delighted to find-as I have in both my moments of “horrible judgment” as well as in my moments of complete transparency-that God puts people into your path to make your journey not just more bearable, but more enjoyable, too.

Angels unaware. Each one of them.

The northeast corridor got clobbered by heavy snow and ice this week, leaving many parts of the New York City metropolitan area without power for several days. Our tiny town was no exception; most of Ridgefield was without electricity all day Wednesday. Extended empathy for victims of Katrina and last year’s Asian tsunami immediately bubbled to the forefront of my thoughts. And everyone in our family reflected with some sadness at the extent to which we rely on electricity and running water. No water, no coffee, no phone, no internet.

There went my plans for the day. Enjoying a morning shower (something I take for granted after a tough workout) was like hanging my hat upon a star, as was working on my web site (I’m in the middle of an internet remodeling project), returning phone calls and catching up on laundry. Visions of escaping to the nearest town for both a mall and a movie theater experience was looking better and better, until I re-examined my schedule and realized that there were certain responsibilities that I needed to keep, if in any way possible. Conference call (hmmm…could be done by cell phone I suppose, even though I’d have to at least idle my car in order to charge my phone battery and aren’t gas prices at an all-time high?); violin lessons (no excuse there as the music school did indeed have power); bill-paying (turns out you can do that by candlelight if you have to). And, like it or not, even the reds can get separated from the whites on the laundry room floor in the light of day.

So we grunted it out, the kids and I. While hubby was in sunny Florida for a three-day retreat (fate has had him out of town during most of our power outages), we made do as best we could in the absence of all imaginable resources and well as my knight in shining armor.

We were sailing along swimmingly (it’s quite amazing what a large hot cup of joe can do for downtrodden spirits, even if one has to drive across two town lines to get it) when just before I turned onto the main street leading to the music school, a tire on my van went completely flat. Nada. Down to the metal of the rim. It would only figure. Ernie out-of-town. Perfect time to be a sweated-stinky-bad-haired-cold-hungry-damsel-in-distress. Happens every time.

Having just finished my conference call, I was, mentally at least, still absorbed in its message: it’s all about process. The lesson was being applied to the business of professional writing and speaking, but now, with two tired and thirsty kids in the back seat and me with a completely immovable lop-sided van in a town other than my own, I kept reminding myself: “It’s aIl about process, Carolina. Take a deep breath and move through the process.”

Like becoming a writer or lecturer of stature, becoming a seasoned mother is all about process. As a writer with a single published article does not an expert make, nor does a mother with a single newborn babe. It takes years and years of trial and error, mistakes and victories, rejection and acceptance to finally “make it.”

It’s a process.

I recalled rather quickly one of my first flat-tire experiences. Even though I do not remember it as occurring on a day in which we also lost power (a rather strange mixture of circumstances indeed), it was nonetheless distressing. Waiting for rescue with small-children-strapped-helplessly-to-car-seats in tow, eventual repair was not comfortable even ten years ago. And I was nothing short of a bumbling flat-tire novice (or idiot, depending on whom you talk to.) Didn’t know the first thing about how to deal with the task at hand. Call AAA or call hubby? Get out of the car or stay put? Get someone to put on the spare of get towed to the nearest tire store? Laugh about it or burst into tears?

But having lived through a number of flat tires…and power outages, coffee withdrawals and bad hair days….I endured the process much better this time around (even though the no-power no-food no-coffee combination thing was not especially enjoyable nor entertaining). But I understood (kind of anyway) what to do. Call AAA from my cell phone (which I charged on my car’s battery while driving the thirty miles to violin lessons); let the kids walk the three blocks to their lessons (despite my fear of foul play along the way); phone hubby for sympathy (enduring him telling me that my plan was wrong and that I should opt for Plan B); and take a cat nap while enduring the wait (versus the whole bursting into tears routine.) And after the spare is put on, celebrate by driving to the nearest mall-with-a-Sears-auto-shop-attached for a new tire, dinner and quick shopping experience.

The process took more than five hours to complete. And it’s not that it was funner than it’s been in times past. I was still thirstier than usual, I still had leftover sweat clinging to my un-showered body, and I was still suffering from an excruciatingly bad hair day. It’s just that I’ve come further in the process. I’ve endured more emergencies. Faced bigger challenges. Fought bigger battles.

The process of motherhood is not about immediate results. Quick fixes. Flash-in-the-pan success. Motherhood requires embracing the challenges that come our way on a near-daily basis. Embracing difficulty. And pain. Suffering. And growing in the process. The act of going through the process has its own lessons. And its own rewards.

Growing up is not especially easy. (Look at any pre-pubescent boy if you need further evidence.) It involves introspection. Hard knocks. Falling flat on your face. But the process is inevitable, and you won’t be the kind of mom you want to become unless you go through it.

Embrace the process. However painful, endure the growing pains. While they keep coming years after you think they should well be over, embrace your role through them. No one ever told you it would be easy. No one ever told you it would take this long. But it’s not about easily measurable—or easily attainable— results. It’s mostly all about the process.
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