Still wearing my cousin's clothes, with gratitude and pride

Today would have been my cousin Karin's 40th birthday. She died almost 5 years ago from a rare, aggressive form of kidney cancer. In this picture, she is celebrating the wedding of her brother Greg to her new sister Cathi. I inherited many of Karin's clothes, including this dress, and I still wear them with gratitude for the privilege of knowing Karin.

Here is an excerpt from "My Cousin's Clothes," a reflection I wrote Dec. 31, 2008, 16 days after her death:

Karin’s funeral was on a Friday. On Saturday, my mother and I planned to fly back to Buffalo. However, the weather postponed us – as it turned out, by three whole days. We returned to the Faulkner homestead and were greeted, well, like family. That evening, standing in the kitchen, Karin’s mother Nina looked up at me and inquired, “How tall are you?” She wanted me to go through Karin’s clothes – “She won’t be needing them anymore,” she said.

The next day, I found myself standing in the closet of a cousin a barely knew in person, but knew intimately through the written word, her blogs. Even though Karin’s accounts were remarkably detailed, I don’t recall her ever mentioning her favorite brands and clothing styles. I found them uncannily similar to mine (the main difference that many of mine are thrift-store finds): Lands’ End, Coldwater Creek, Talbots, Jones New York, Christopher Bank – solid colors, mostly; a tad more pink than in my closet, and a few more florals; V-necks, like mine; mostly separates (finding a good fit is hard for us tall girls). I took a deep breath and began assessing the shirts, one at a time, looking, considering, sliding each hanger to the left. How on earth would I decide what to take and what to leave? I couldn’t possibly take them all. I didn’t feel I should. But Nina seemed determined that I should take some. The prospect seemed to comfort her. And I certainly wanted to comfort her, if I could, even in this seemingly small way.

Going through Karin’s clothes, I identified with her in a way that I believe – and I hope – will render me forever grateful for each day that enjoy the privilege of living. At 35, Karin was just one year older than I. (Will I have only one more year to live?) She was two inches taller than I. (So why do her gowns fit me to a T? Strange – “like the cousinhood of the traveling dress,” I mused.) “Why am I still here, and not she?” I fairly shouted inside myself. Then the tender line of the French musical Les Miserables came to mind: “Oh my friends, my friends forgive me, That I live and you are gone. There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on.”

I proceeded through the shirts, the skirts (I left the trousers – she was two sizes slimmer); the gowns, inexplicably, fit perfectly; and I took just one pair of pajamas, soft ivory cotton with a pastel harp print. Then I looked down and realized: her shoes might fit me (we tall girls have big feet). I slipped on a pair of pink ballet-style Crocs – princess shoes, I thought – and they fit. I nearly gasped. Wearing the garments of a deceased person bore one kind of weightiness. To literally walk in her shoes … it felt like too much! As if, somehow, it would be up to me to carry on with her living. Not her life, of course, but my own, in memory of her … in honor of her life and death … in honor of the fact that I can live and breathe and love and, if I choose, blog! So why wouldn’t I?

Karin’s husband Steve heard my gasp and my declaration: “Oh! Even her shoes fit me!” He stepped into the room, I think to reassure me that he didn’t mind my going through her things. “You sound awfully sentimental about shoes,” he teased, and he added: “Karin was sentimental about everything. I’m not.”

Nor am I, normally. But, stepping into my cousin Karin’s shoes, trying on her clothes, taking them home with me, and embracing my children at the door, I have carried another song in my heart: “I will never be the same again, I can never return, I’ve closed the door, I will walk the path, I will run the race and I will never be the same again … the Glory of God fills my life, and I will never be the same again.”

Here is Karin playing "Silent Night" on the harp: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1naZ-16tBXw.

'Words can't bring me down'...but Birthday Bash sure can!

OK, so here's the sitch: Two weeks of bona fide running workouts and the scale hasn't budged. It's as if my body is saying: "New job, big change, no way am I gonna let this go!" (Or maybe she's saying: "You can run all you like. As long as you keep eating cookies, ice cream and pizza to your heart's content, I'll be content hanging onto this comfy poundage, thankyouverymuch!")

I'm really fine with how I look. I mean, sure, I'm 20 pounds up from my vegetarian apex last fall. But even so, I'm still 20 lbs ahead of where I was a year ago. And my height works to my advantage -- 20 pounds on me "blends in" better than on a shorter person.

The problem is that the pounds are literally weighing me down when I run. And want to run. I love to run. Would I choose to carry two 10-lb weights with me on a 5-mile jaunt? Of course not! But I am, essentially. I just need to remember this next time I'm tempted by one of the weird ice cream flavors Tom brings home from the grocery store. (Curse you, BOGO!)

"If you tear up this note I will still love you"

I think it's in The Secret Life of Bees (in the book--I'm not sure about the movie) where the protagonist's father makes her kneel on grits as unusual punishment for various misdeeds. You know, grits--the small, hard mealy stuff that Southerners cook and consume for breakfast, lunch and dinner (at least, in the movies they do).

Today, cleaning my 9-year-old son's bedroom, I felt like that girl. Not like I was being punished, exactly, but like I was kneeling on grits. Only instead of the Southern staple, there were seemingly millions of very small pieces of plastic punishing my nerve endings: Legos. Lots and lots of Legos. And while yesterday's nemesis was potholder loops*, today's tedious pick-up item was something I didn't have a name for until now: K'Nex. I could have swept and/or vacuumed them into oblivion, but creativity-supporting mom that I am, I collected them, one ubiquitous piece at a time. On my knees. And even now, I'm smiling from the pleasure of accomplishment, thankful I have this time off to serve my family in such a lowly way. Sometimes, it literally is "the little things"...

Best find! Little sister to big brother...

*My Facebook status a day ago: "Today I cleaned Lucy's room, aka the Island of Glitter, Paper Scraps, and Misfit Toys. (Please may I never see another potholder loop as long as I live!)"

Here are a few other "things that made me go, 'hmmm...'" (you can click on the pictures for a closer look, if you like)

Toolbox half-full of water. ("It's for my Orbeez," son explains.)

File drawer containing formerly stuffed snowman head

Fuzzy slipper containing four partially eaten Lifesavers

After hibernating behind nearby shelf, "Elvis Dumbledore" returned to his perch

A Plug for the Count

I confess up front: I am motivated to write this because I want to win a $300 gift card to Target. However, having said that, I really do appreciate this program...

1-2-3 Magic. Sounds like a cheesy marketing ploy, right? Well, it gets your attention, and it certainly got mine. I first heard of the 1-2-3 Magic parenting method when I started as client services manager at the Care Net Center, where I worked from August 2008 until last week.

When I first signed on to work at Care Net, I thought I'd be working with women facing unplanned pregnancies, and I was (somewhat) prepared to do that. I did work with those women, but I also found myself facilitating another of Care Net's important programs: Parenting classes. Everyone calls them "classes," but they're really one-on-one information/coaching sessions, where clients with kids of all ages can vent about their parenting challenges and gain access to new ideas and insights for managing those challenges with grace.

If I had been told, before I agreed to take the client services position, that I would be billed as the "parenting expert" in those sessions, I probably would have stayed at my previous job. But, come to find out, I could learn right along with my clients. And while I still don't consider myself an "expert," the program that has yielded the best results for my family (less yelling, more loving) is 1-2-3 Magic by Dr. Thomas Phelan.

It really is very simple. And it really takes a great deal of discipline on the part of the parents. The kids (as is typical, I suppose) adapt much more quickly than the grown-ups to the method, which simply sets out the expectations of the household and then enforces them--consistently, nonviolently, with liberty and justice for all.

I won't explain the program here, I'll just endorse it and refer you to your nearest public library or favorite media retailer to discover the details for yourselves. And, by the way, I really recommend the DVD because then you and your spouse and/or parenting partner(s) can all watch it and learn together. The DVD has some decidedly dated elements to it (mainly the hair and clothing styles of the presenters), but it is nevertheless well-done and timeless in its content.

Let the magic begin! http://www.123magic.com/

Just a few more quote-able quotes from Lucy…

Lucy sporting her new shoes

Buckling into the car yesterday (en route to Walmart, for an 11^th-hour purchase of dress shoes before her piano recital): “I don’t know about you, but I am thrilled about next year!” (when she won’t have to sit in a booster seat anymore)

*             *             *             *             *

Sitting on the porch this morning, waiting for the bus (sans brother, who isn’t feeling well this morning — I sure hope he isn’t afflicted with the horribleness I experienced over the weekend):

Lucy: “Do you think I’ll ever be better than Reuben at anything?”

Me: “You’re better at being Lucy!”

Lucy: “Yeah, but I mean like better at a sport or a game or something.”

Me: “Oh, probably — when you’re older, there will be something you’re better at…”

Lucy (exasperatedly): “Yeah, when I’m, like, 56, and I get a job!”

Reuben revels in post-duet triumph

 *             *             *             *             *

Another one sitting on the porch, which needs to be painted a.s.a.p.

Me: “We need to paint this porch.”

Lucy: “Ooo, can I help?!”

Me: “Sure. But first I need to sand it.”

Lucy: “That’s your job!”

            (pause)

Lucy: “Well, maybe I could help… But I’ll need a mask. And some gloves. Because I do not want any splinters!” {insert Z-snap here…she’s very expressive, this child!}

Proof of divine comedy

On Friday I posted my complaint about gaining weight, ending with the "Downward, Dawg" (oh, aren't I so clever?). The next morning I awoke at 4:30 a.m. feeling *sicker than a dog* and lost 5.5 pounds in one day! I vomited with such vehemence and frequency that I frightened my children. And this on what is annually one of the funnest days in A-Town: Strawberry Festival Saturday: 5k/8k race, parade, fried dough (ughhhh...the very thought...)

I am so glad my dear husband was able to chronicle the day for me and for everyone else who had to miss it. If you haven't checked out his new news site, please do! http://www.orleanshub.com/index.html

I am also grateful to my nurse friend who came to check on me when everyone else I knew was running the race, and to those who filled in for me at various parts of the day when I was supposed to be contributing to the festivities (and had been looking forward to it!).

And most of all, thanks to my Mommy, who came to my aid, watching my kids and bringing me ginger ale and crackers. I couldn't keep them down yesterday, but I tried again this morning and (so far) have succeeded. "If at first you don't succeed..."

Extraordinary...ahem...achievements

http://gallery.sarahmascarah.com/yoga-on-the-web/

One thing I'll say about myself: I am really good at gaining weight! I mean, some women brag about how quickly they can pack on poundage in mid-age? I am so naturally talented at this that I even excelled as a lass. Heard of the Freshman 15? My first year of college, I gained twice that amount in half the time! Yep, 30 pounds in the first semester alone. (I mean, that's gotta be some sort of record.) Recently, I have seen the scale creep up 10 kilos in 2 months (that about 22 pounds, for you non-Euros). However...HOWEVER!!! This morning I am pleased to report that I ate apple slices with (a modest amount of) almond butter for breakfast, rather than polishing off the leftover cake from my farewell party last night. Those who know how much I relish buttercream frosting can appreciate what an accomplishment that is. Onward and Upward! Er...Downward, Dawg!