Belly Laughs

This is a photo from my childhood. I think I posted it years ago on another blog but it's worth posting again.

This is what childhood is supposed to be. Pink bellies, bathing suits and neighborhood fun. I wish Richie and Ronnie and Jan and Tammy, Tara and the multitudes of others in our neighborhood were in this photo. I wish I had a photo of Rick Lawrence and Tom Bradley to contribute. I wish David Hinesley was in this photo because this is probably the age I began my crush on him that lasted for decades. I wish some of the weird dudes, the cool dudes and happening girls were there but I guess that came later when personalities developed.

We're so scared now. (And rightly so.) Kids are only allowed to go so many houses down and 10-year olds have to check in with their cell phone. Responsible? Yes. But also a little sad that the absolute reckless freedom of running like crazy, climbing fences and trees with abandon and all that childhood fun may be lost to a new generation.

The world changes and you all know I embrace certain changes and buck the others like a mule.

My greatest wish for children is to have faith, have great parents and have a neighborhood like the one I grew up in.

Mom's Day

Mother's Day is bittersweet for me. I love my mother, my best friend, with all my heart. But I didn't get to birth children of my own and that is one of my true regrets in life.

Yet, God opens doors. He gave me Jennifer and Tyler -- two of my greatest blessings. He gave me their mothers, two of my best friends. He gave me goddaughters (thank you Jan!) and a bounty of children to love. My "sister" has three children and thankfully, she has commanded that they love me.

You never stop being a mother. Today I was liturgist in my church and I flubbed a portion of the responsive reading. There's nothing like looking into the congregation and seeing your mother say, "You messed it up."

Yes, I did. And thanks Mom. One of your most amazing gifts is to let me know that I mess up and you love me anyway.

I truly believe it takes a village to raise a child. This child is looking at 50, a scant few years away, and realizing the women who shaped me, scolded me, loved me and soothed me.

Here's the prayer I shared with the congregation this morning:

Gracious God,

Today we honor mothers. We thank you for the mothers who gave birth to us and step mothers who stepped up. Thank you for adoptive mothers who grew children in their hears. Thank you for foster mothers who deal with situations most of us couldn't imagine. We thank you for grandmothers who get to love and laugh and send the children home.

Lord, let us also honor aunts and godmothers and all who touch our children. Thank you for neighborhood mothers who instinctively know it takes a village.

Let us also be grateful for Mary, a young mother in a challenging situation, who gave birth to our Lord.
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May your loving hand touch all mothers everywhere.

So, I hope you honor yourself today. If you birthed a child, participated in raising a child, smacked a child upside the head for doing something dangerous or stupid... you have added to the community of humanity for all the greater good.

And may you all have someone who can look at you with a wink and a smile and say, "You messed up." Yes Mom, we all do it once in a while.

Pasadena Peeps

(Thanks to Kim for this title)

If you look me up, here's some basic things you'll find. I went to Howe H.S. on the east side of Indianapolis and then on to I.U.

It's too bad that your online profile and public records only reflect education and employment because we are all so much more than that. We are formed by parents, family and friends. And if you're really lucky, you are also formed by a great neighborhood.

Maybe I'm jaded but I don't think neighborhoods have the same kind of intricate bond that they did in my childhood. We were quintessential throwbacks to:

kids in and out of each others homes
parents sitting on the front porch
shared babysitters
grandparents who knew all the neighbors
porch lights indicating when it was time to come in

I wish every child in America could grow up in a great neighborhood. Here's what makes it great in my mind:

The core people rarely move and if they do, they want to come back.
The neighborhood children who still love to come back and tell their version of the stories. And they bring their children.
Pulling on the street and waving at neighbors who you have known forever.

I say once a peep, always a peep. I can get annoyed with some of them but I love them to the core. And that includes my parents.

There's great comfort in people who love you -- warts and all.

Prejudice

Everyone pretends they're not prejudiced. Myself included. Yet we are all a jumble of life experiences, family history and whatever else has jaded our minds.

Here's how honest I'm willing to be. I think women are smarter than men. In a jam, I will pick a woman EVERY time to get me out of a mess. Or, at least hold my hand through it.

I can honestly say I don't pass judgement based on color. On the other hand, I pass a ton of judgement based on language skills, how someone dresses, the number of tattoos, and if their underwear is showing.

I'm terrified of teenage boys. Especially if they are traveling in a pack. If they are tattooed and showing their ridiculous boxer shorts, I want to run. (Really, I want to grab them by the scruff of their necks and have a serious talk with them but then I remember that I value my life.)

I'm old but I'm learning. I helped to raise a baby who became a teenage boy and is now a full-fledged adult. Often I get out of my car and three little boys -- staying with their grandparents who live across the street -- come running toward me. I adore them. They will all be teenage boys the next time I blink.

And I will start to trust teenage boys again.

Sleeping Like a Dog

I often struggle with sleep. I have my routines and some nights they work more than others. Lately, I'm sleeping better.

I sleep with my dog, Gabby. She's a good sleeper -- the kind that gives you a friendly warning growl if you try to shove her over. She sleeps best when she's had lots of exercise.

Yesterday, we did our daily walk in the park. Then a friend stopped by with his dog and they ran around the back yard.


They had such fun that I loaded Gabby in the car and headed to their neighborhood so the play date could continue.

There was no need to count sheep last night. We both slept like dogs. Maybe we both need more exercise.