The Joy of Gratitude

I saw a sign recently that read "It is not HAPPY people who are thankful, it is thankful people who are HAPPY". I loved this saying so much, I took a picture and have it securely stored on my smart phone (which by the way, does not indicate that the owner is smart). I click to that sign as a reminder that gratitude is the pathway to happiness. And I plan to place that sign in my house when we move in the next few months, as a reminder to our family and friends, that WE are the owners of  the happiness in our hearts. Those moments when we are simply grateful for all that we have in our life. 
I received a sweet email from my friend Amanda a few weeks back. She expressed her disdain for a rather unpleasant day but how my blog brought her joy in the midst of "ARRRGGGHHHH". And shameless plug, I was beyond giddy that I had reached someone. BUT, here is the focus of the note. She thanked me. She took time out of her busy day to say thank you to someone that had an unknowing impact on a minuscule moment of her life. I emailed her back, "BLOG ALERT! We need more gratitude and a lot less attitude! Thank you, friend!". For you see, I was battling writer's block (and also feeling a little sorry for myself) when her email made me realize the whole point of my blog in the first place. Insert popular bumper sticker here: Practice random acts of kindness. And Amanda hit a home run.
This simple moment took me back to one of my favorite Christmas specials, that sadly, I do not believe is played on TV anymore, The Little Drummer Boy. Growing up, those claymation specials were a part of our holiday season and carry a very special place in my heart. I think of the Little Drummer Boy and how he was so scared to go visit Jesus because he thought he did not have a valuable gift to bestow upon our King. He had two wooden sticks and a drum. I wasn't there, but I am pretty sure everyone in the stable was grateful for his gift of music. I remember trying not to cry in front of my brothers during the scene where he begins playing his drum quietly followed by an emotional crescendo of music that reaches your feet and rushes through your soul like a burst of wind. As tears trickled down my cheeks, I remember hearing sniffling behind me. We thought we only saw a stable with a baby that would change the world but meanwhile three children were learning it is not the price, but the love that is given with the gift that matters. The thank you wrapped up simply and sincerely. The note that expresses a moment when someone's heart is touched. The banana or breakfast bar shared with the homeless person in the intersection. The hug that expresses what words can never explain. The hand, pressed upon another, providing peace in a frantic world.
There is a lot of negative attitude in this world at the moment. A lot of debate, not much discussion. A lot of judgment, but not much gentle advice. A lot of what have you done for me and not what have I done for you. A lot of I have so much, yet still I have nothing. Seems the little drummer boy was the wisest of all: no attitude, all gratitude and a little beat that he shared on a cold, dark night with a grateful heart. Rum pum pum pum pum pum pum pum puuuuummmmm.

The Sisterhood of Motherhood: Finding Joy in New Territory

When Anna was born nine years ago, six months into her existence, I resigned from my job and plunged into the life of a stay-at-home Mom. I was TERRIFIED. Similar to a child, quaking on hot concrete, staring into a deep, blue pool, I thought there is no way I can jump into this situation and come back up for air. I need a life jacket…NOW. And then I met my first Mom friend through a local Moms group. Her husband worked long hours, she was a new resident in a small town without friends or family (she recently left her family in Tennessee), her son, Ryan, was six months old and her first born and she had chosen to stay home instead of returning to work. We had a lot in common but under no circumstances was I going to tell her I was terrified of my new situation. Her appearance was flawless, she was always happy, Ryan was beyond adorable and she was LOVING this whole Mom thing. We did not have that in common. I was grumpy, tired, longing for a hot cup of coffee, sleep, a shower and I thought my daughter, while cute, was sucking every last drop of life from me. And then she invited me to her house for coffee. Just me. And Anna.

That morning, while nursing my daughter I was thinking of every plausible excuse for not going to her impeccably decorated house without a mess in sight! I was so tired and I knew I could not manage an hour or two of casual conversation…I needed to be real and I thought I could only be real behind the tightly shut door of my home with the shades drawn. But the thought of an umpteenth day without adult conversation won over and I headed out my front door with a freshly packed diaper bag and a quick prayer for a flat tire on the way to her house. Another prayer unanswered or so I thought.

That morning delivered more than an amazingly good cup of coffee and homemade pumpkin bread. It delivered my now best girlfriend. Not that I knew that then, but nine years later, we talk at least two times a week and no subject is off limits. Our husbands would be blushing at the topics we discuss. She lives in Ohio and has for seven and a half years. Yes, she moved when our children were eighteen months old. Since then, my family has welcomed Josh and she has delivered Emily and Jacob. We talk about the sometimes loneliness of staying home and the joys that we would have missed if we were working. We talk about husbands that drive us insane but at the end of the day, gave us the gift of family, friendship and support. We talk about kids that we wish would stop talking incessantly, but are scared of the day when they won’t talk at all. We talk about our children’s latest triumph and their latest defeat. We talk about why they will spend countless years in therapy and why they will tell us when they reach the age of thirty we were awesome Moms. We talk about when we will stop dying our hair, stop caring about the scale, move to the beach and delight in latest escapades of our, gasp, grandchildren. But most importantly, we keep talking and laughing and sharing. We are sisters in Motherhood.

I would not trade that plunge nine years ago. From one Mom to another Mom, my prayer is you are exploring deeper waters of the Motherhood sea but yet, manage to locate a safe port with new friends in a similar boat. This Mom thing is rough, unchartered, and at times unmanageable, but still, one of the most amazing, breathtaking, beautiful gifts God has ever bestowed upon us. He did not intend for us to sail this course alone. So, I hope you seek out some Moms Groups, enjoy Mom’s Night Out, Book Clubs, scheduled play dates or perhaps, find the courage to ask someone you don’t know very well to share a cup of coffee. They might just bring a life jacket. 

The Joy of Great Aunt Lydia

I wrote this note when my Great Aunt passed away. One of my favorite memories of her was when I was in high school preparing for a pre-season field hockey game against Severn High School. First, I must say that the adjectives, "demure", "quiet", "shy", "small" were never used to describe my Aunt Liddie. And I remember that overcast day with a slight chill in the air, looking up from our warm ups to see my Aunt galloping across the hockey field, waving erratically and yelling, "Laura! Laura!" in a booming voice that was distinctive, yet heartfelt. I do not remember being embarrassed, but I do remember chuckling as a smile drew itself upon my face and giggling, "Oh, Aunt Liddie". You were an indescribable woman (although I make an attempt in the following paragraphs) but I am glad you continue to live in my heart and in my laugh. Here's to you:

Every family should have an Aunt Lydia. This reading could end right here. If you had the pleasure of knowing Lydia Pohlner those few words speak volumes. I was fortunate enough to be her great niece so I would like to share a few moments of your time remembering a one-of-a-kind woman.

Summers and special occasions were spent with Aunt Lydia. The family would gather at her cottage in Severna Park for the standard Maryland celebration of steamed crabs, crab cakes, corn on the cob, crab soup and cold beer. Laughter and stories infiltrated her backyard with a quick and clever attack, one that often left us breathless and stomachs hurting. The only cure was to head to the river where human cannonballs were launched from the upper deck soaking cousins, aunts and uncles sitting on the pier anticipating the inevitable soaking.

My cousin and I spent a few weeks with Aunt Lydia and Uncle Paul in the summer of gas lines, economic turmoil and political upheaval, all of which we were rendered clueless. We were transported to the Severn River in a sweet Chevrolet Camero with a wide stripe up the hood and down the tail. The interior of the car smelled of leather, sand, sweat and saltwater. Scott and I would sit in the backseat looking at the back of Aunt Lydia’s short, silver hair rustling in the hot breeze. Years later, that same car would shuttle me to and from classes at East Carolina University in Greenville, North Carolina. The low rumble that emanated from the engine reminded me of brackish water, jelly fish, crabbing expeditions and multiple giggle marathons. A simpler time.

Although Aunt Lydia may not have been aware, she taught me independence in a woman is a good trait. She taught me to spend wisely, not wastefully. Looking after others less fortunate is expected of us, but not to be lauded in the limelight.  She taught me women can enjoy a cold beer and should on occasion. She, along with her sister and four nieces, taught me that laughter will solve most problems and is easier on the ears than harsh words. That being said, Aunt Lydia also taught me that sometimes harsh words are needed and children and animals are much more enjoyable than adults.

Aunt Lydia was not a perfectionist or a perfect person. Her faults were intensely apparent and if I am correct in remembering, she did not apologize for her shortcomings. She expected you to accept her as she presented herself and I guess, Aunt Lydia, I should thank you for that, too. Because I have learned to enjoy the “real” in people, a trait that is harder and harder to find in today’s world. You have left your mark, Aunt Lydia, on our hearts and within our family. For these moments, I thank you. I look forward to sharing mental snapshots of your life with my children and I hope you will leave a mark on them as well. God Bless and whenever I hear thunder in the skies, I will know Grandmom, Granddad, Uncle Paul, Aunt Grace and you are having a wonderful time in heaven, laughing with the angels. Cheers!

The Joy of Field Trips

It's field trip week in our house and it might as well be Christmas. We are that excited. My son's preschool class visited the North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences today and my daughter's elementary school class will visit the North Carolina Museum of Art (NCMA) tomorrow. Why all the excitement? Well, one, who doesn't like a break from the regular school schedule, but two, it's junk day. Every other day of the school year, we pack a nutritious lunch with sandwich or entree, veggie, fruit and water. Some days you may find a cookie or a piece of leftover birthday cake, but mostly, we stick to the nutritious stuff. But Field Trip Day is a whole other experience and my kids live for this treat. We go to the store specifically to shop for lunch items and Mom cannot say no to the selections. And yes, sometimes, this is more trying than attempting to herd eighteen four-year-olds into a Discovery Zone classroom, but the outcome is just as rewarding. Because this only happens a few times each year, our eldest may take thirty minutes to pick out her items, which can be an eternity in Mom time. But I enjoy watching her weighing out her options, carefully choosing her sweets for the day and seeing our first child growing up, literally, right in front of me. And I think, one day, this might pay off for my daughter. I hope she will always choose carefully and that the end result is sweet and that yes, it was worth the wait.
Another reason for field trip excitement is I get to tag along. Ok, maybe the kids aren't excited but I LOVE these trips. A wise friend once told me the best way to learn what is happening in your kids' lives is to one, pop in during lunch time and two, drive your children whenever and wherever you can...hence, chaperoning my son's field trip today. I drove our youngest and his hilarious, sweet friend to Raleigh this morning. I learned some new riddles like, "Why did the dump truck dump his dirt on his friend?". " Because he was full of stuff." Yup, that's a keeper. And I learned riddles don't have to make sense to hit the point of hilarious, uncontrollable laughter. I learned my son thinks seafood is disgusting because seafood eats dead things and that is gross. I learned our car riders' address, her Mom's first name and that her sister is sometimes nice but she does not keep her car seat clean. I learned at the museum that dinosaurs attacking dinosaurs is not good friendship. And I learned that our sweet friend would help the hurt dinosaur but would need adult help because the tools would be "SUPER BIG!". But my favorite nugget came at the end of our ride, perhaps five minutes from drop off. The two children had been quiet but playing hand games with the wind drifting through the windows. Every once in a while I would hear a faint giggle and I wondered if they would stay awake for the last few miles. And then I heard it: "Josh," she said softly, "I know you are falling in love with me." 
"Yeah," he said, "I know." with the sweetness and sincerity only a four-year-old can articulate.
Yup, I learned a lot today but most of my education came outside of the learning institution. The joy of field trips..it's not the destination but the journey. And I plan on tagging along for quite a while. 

The Joy of O!

"O! Say can you see, by the dawn's early light...". If you are from Baltimore, MD, an Orioles' fan or just a lover of baseball, you know what is behind that sentence. It's not a misquoted line from our national anthem, but the battle call for a team that hasn't been in a post season championship game since 1997. Today, the O's are hoping to upset the New York Yankees and head to the American League Championship Series. O! What a ride it has been this season and I thank you, Baltimore Orioles. From the bottom of my childhood heart.

I grew up watching the men dressed in white, black and orange with the Oriole bird proudly displayed on the baseball hat. I remember chanting "Ed-die! Ed-die" any time Murray came to the plate. I remember Dempsey, Palmer and Singleton. I remember being amused by Earl Weaver's coaching antics and I remember Dad using those moments to coach me on the value of good sportsmanship. O! And I remember Earl Weaver had a tomato garden in the bull pen in Memorial Stadium. True story. I remember when the home plate was taken by limo from Memorial Stadium to Camden Yards and I remember my Dad being a little sad. I remember when a heart throb rookie named Cal Ripken, Jr. appeared on the diamond and I remember when 2131 was illuminated from the warehouse as he humbly passed Lou Gehrig's most consecutive game record. I remember Cal Ripken, Sr. coaching two sons and wondering how that dynamic worked outside of the stadium. I remember the feeling when the Orioles won the 1983 World Series...the same year my high school field hockey team won the Class A State Championship. I remember, it was indeed, a very good year.

As I watch my Facebook page light up with Oriole posts today, I can't help but hum "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" and crave for a hot dog, peanuts and a cold beer. I imagine my Maryland cousins poised and ready for every play that occurs tonight, only to dissect and analyze after every inning. I imagine my brother, hunkered down in Wisconsin with his Golden Retriever aptly named Ripken, hoping that the O's see another day. And I imagine my Dad in his recliner, hands down placed on the arm rests, legs outstretched and crossed at the feet with a little glass of red wine on the side table, trying not to get riled up if innings go astray. And my friends, well, I will read what they are doing/feeling/screaming through the FB updates.

Well, game time is in one hour and all I can say is BUCKleUP! Orioles fans. It's going to be a bumpy ride. And O! I couldn't be happier.

The Joy of Light

When my first child was born, my Mother presented me with a Mom's Devotional Bible that caters to the special needs and encouragement required of any Mom, but especially a new one. Through the years, I have underlined, starred, earmarked and shared not only God's word but the heartfelt nuggets placed in between the scripture. One of my favorites is titled "Label Your Light". The point is you can either illuminate or eliminate your light, but the choice is up to you. And if you are feeling extra shiny, you can pick the type of light you would like to be in life. 
Candle: "Do you light the room about you, but are you vulnerable to other influences that might snuff out your flame?".
Floodlight: "Do you shine so strongly in people's eyes that they are blinded rather than enabled to see?".
Flashlight: " Do you click on only in emergencies?".
Chandelier: Do you shine with beauty and make those around you look better?"
Honestly, I think I have been every labeled light in one single day, depending on the circumstances and people I encounter. But as I move forward in life and focus on my joy project, I am trying to be a chandelier. Some days, it is so easy to shine and other days, I am covered in cobwebs, barely making a glimmer. 
My Mom shared a story with me about a lovely woman from my hometown of Mt. Airy, MD. She suffered a horrendous tragedy when her husband, an avid bicyclist, was run over by a tractor trailer. Instantly, she was a single Mom of two older children. I was in high school at the time and I remember our whole town mourning and wrapping their arms around the family, hoping to heal a wound that would never truly close. Years later, I moved to North Carolina and during my phone calls back home, I always asked about Mrs. W and her children. Mom said she was doing great and seemed very happy. I was bewildered. How can someone be happy when they lost someone so violently and unexpected? How do they move forward? Mom shared this little nugget with me: Mrs. W set a daily goal to do a good deed for someone else every, single day. The person could be a neighbor, a family member, a long time friend or a complete stranger. Life is a short gift and  the little, unexpected moments of kindness are the beacon in which we bask. I often think Mrs. W could have easily gone into the dark and never dared strike a match to see her way out again. But not only did she light her candle, she lit the internal joy of a few people who may have been a little lost in the fog. 
So, as you venture out today or tomorrow, see if you can light the way for someone. And you never know, someone might just leave a light on for you. Shine on, people. Shine on!

The Joy of Snail Mail

Our daughter received a package in the mail yesterday from a girlfriend in Texas. It wasn't to celebrate my daughter's birthday. It wasn't a party invitation. It wasn't a school imposed writing assignment. This old fashioned form of communication was from the heart. The envelope held a card from her friend, a best friend's locket and two photographs. One picture displayed the connecting locket and one picture captured her two best friends smiling broadly and wearing the matching lockets. My nine-year-old daughter was overjoyed and so was I. Unexpected snail mail is the BEST!
In similar fashion my four-year-old son has checked mail every day since the end of September. His sister celebrated her birthday last month and something for her arrived in the mail almost daily. He declared last week, "I will check the mail today, Mommy! It's my turn for a package!".  The anticipation of opening up that black piece of metal to see if a surprise is waiting in the container is too much for a four-year-old to handle. His big brown eyes sparkle, he licks his top lip from one corner to the other, stands on his tippy, tippy toes and yanks open the mailbox with such force, I am sure the wooden post will come up, too. And then a big, heavy sigh follows. Sadly, a piece of mail has not come to him yet, but I have a feeling a letter will be arriving very soon from a grandparent.
We don't celebrate snail mail enough. Emails, texts and phone calls have replaced envelopes and stamps. I love receiving a handwritten letter, a newspaper clipping or a funny card. My Mother-in-Law is the master of sending notes to our house on a frequent basis. She or Grandpa might have spied a Family Circle cartoon that reminded her of the grandchildren. After the a hurricane devastated the Outer Banks, there was an article about my husband's former art teacher's summer house, so she sent the newspaper our way. I have received delicious recipes from various club gatherings or magazines. The thank you notes and thinking of you notes fill up a memory box that I pull out on my down days. I can't always pull up an email because more than likely I accidentally hit the delete button or filed in a misconstrued place deep in the recesses of lost computer space.
Recently my Father-in-Law found old letters his Mother and Father had written to him while he was away at college. He was studying in Massachusetts and his parents resided in North Dakota. His Father wrote magnificent letters full of town news, family updates, encouragement for a son that might be a bit homesick and thoughtful quotes from poets, philosophers and authors we are no longer able to recite from memory. These letters have enabled my husband's Dad to revisit with his Father who passed away over thirty years ago. Simple joy from a simple act.
My Mom is a post card queen. I have another box full of postcards from Europe and the continental United States written with the familiar and comforting handwriting of the woman who raised me. Her writings include fun facts about the location and usually a numbered code that when translated reads "I love you". And there is ALWAYS a tidbit about the new friends she has met and the local food she has sampled. My Mom can write a post card like no other person and at times, I truly believe she would have made a fantastic travel columnist.
I like the thought that someone took time out of their day to say hello. I like that they pondered words and reread the sentences out loud like a copy editor. I like that they put pen to paper and emotion to words and a stamp to an envelope. I like that years from now I can share time with them again, even if I cannot respond with an email or text or phone call. But I can hold on to that letter and the response will be felt in my heart. Ah, the joy of snail mail. 
PS: Have you written to someone today?

The Joy Party

Joy is defined by the Random House Webster's College Dictionary as "a feeling or state of great delight or happiness as caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying; keen pleasure; elation". I have been noticing there does not appear to be much continuous joy in our day to day lives. I have noticed manners are disappearing as I hear more, "stupid", "idiot", "get out of my way" and "what are are you thinking" instead of "thank you", "you're welcome", "excuse me" and "is there another solution?". Which made me think maybe people really aren't happy and well, that is just sad.
Recently we visited Marbles Kids Museum in Raleigh, NC, a creative and innovative play area that brings great joy to our youngest child. Outside of the iron gates is a statue of Ghandi with the words, "Be the change you want to see in the world." etched underneath. I spoke with my children about what they would like to change and the response was, "More junk food!". Ok, so clearly I have some work to do in regards to nutrition, but then the tables were turned and my daughter asked what I would change. I thought for a moment and said, "The world could use a little more laugh bell!". (If you do not get the SNL reference, I apologize). And then I thought, I need to put this in motion.
Over the next several months, I talked to several girlfriends, mulled a few ideas in my head, annoyed my husband and contemplated several options until finally, one day...clear as a laugh bell, The Joy Diaries concept broke through the continuous swirling ideas. I emailed my friend Carolyn and she wrote back, "I LOVE IT! DO IT!". Two days later she left me a voice mail. "When are you going live with The Joy Diaries? I am watching a talk show and they are telling people you can be happy by making your bed a certain way. Really? Bed making?". The time had come to implement my change.
My plan is simple. I am going to share present and past events, places, situations and people that bring me joy. I am tired of unhappy. I am tired of disgruntled. I am tired of rude. And I am tired of people snuffing the light out of shiny, happy people. Yeah, that's right...REM. 
I have a lot to be thankful for but at times I find myself "having a bad case of the Mondays" (Office Space - in my top ten hilarious movies) and that sadness can quickly spread into a month. No thank you. As my husband gently reminded me this year many times, happiness is a choice. In a country where we have the freedom to choose I am casting my vote for happy. Feel free to join my party.