What thirty-eight looks like...

Thirty-eight does not fall in the milestone category like 30 and 40 and whatnot.  It’s a lost-in-the-middle kind of number - past 35 so you round up to 40, and shoot, well over 30.  We live life by fives and tens and the others just get lost in the middle.  But, thirty-eight for me is pretty significant - 20 years since I graduated high school, 15 years at my job, 10 years of motherhood, and 5 years since I first shook hands with cancer.  Plus, I’m never lacking for things to celebrate - I’ll just make stuff up. 

At thirty-eight, life seems to have brought me to a place where age and circumstance intertwine.  We all have something in common - our kids, our work, our past experiences.  We’ve moved past the intimidation of who’s older or younger and just see each other for who we are - or at least I do.  It’s really cool.    

Every year brings challenges, victories, defeat, and this year is no exception.  I find my prayer list longer and thicker with needs - illnesses that we thought only older people face, challenges that are reserved for “grown-ups” and then I realized I’m supposed to be a grown-up.  Somedays I long for that little two-bedroom house that we first put all the money we had in only because that’s before life got real big and messy.  But, then I realize that messy is sometimes beautiful and real and very much the glue that binds us all together.  Messy is rich with friendships and Friday night pizza, laughing and crying our way through life’s celebrations and heartaches.  

At thirty-eight, life has sure brought me to a place that was no where in my dreams, but part of it is better than what I could have dreamed.  So many times, my tendency is to say, “no, thank you” and go about my business, but thirty-eight has taught me “yes” because sometimes even though “yes” is not very comfortable, it’s the right thing.  So, this year, I decided to list 38 yeses - in no particular order:

1. Yes to cake.  My mom used to make me a chocolate sheet cake with homemade icing every year on my birthday.  This year, my aunt walked through my door with the same cake, tied up with a purple fluffy bow - yes, just yes to that.
2. Yes to spandex.  It helps with holding the things in that are poking out at thirty-eight.
3. Yes to lunch.  With friends, with your kids - even if I have to totally rearrange my day and spend an hour in a noisy elementary school cafeteria, I never regret it.
4. Yes to fear.  Facing it is harder than knowing you have it, but you will either determine that it was not as bad as you thought or much harder than you thought and both will be gratifying. 
5. Yes to fairies, fairy gardens, fairy dust, and gnomes.  They are tiny and cute and I am fueling a limitless imagination. 
6. Yes to meal sign-ups.  You can’t fix cancer, tragedy, or death, and you may not know what to say but everybody needs to eat.
7. Yes to jewelry.  I can wear solid colors the rest of my life and no one will notice.
8. Yes to an emergency stash.  Of chocolate, wine, coffee, wet-wipes, or whatever it takes to get through it.
9. Yes to the puppy.  He will weasel his way into your bed, your heart, and bring endless joy for your kids, even if he poops on the rug.
10. Yes to the kitchen table.  For homework, for family dinner, for art, for the piles of junk, and for all the dips that will start conversations that always end in side-splitting, cheek-holding laughter.
11. Yes to music.  Two of the four people in this house find their groove in music.  One claims that “her brain just plays music like a radio.”  I’ve learned to embrace it and sometimes use my galley kitchen as a dance floor. Sometimes.
12. Yes to the Big Green Egg.  It has saved me countless hours in the kitchen cooking meat and brought many people to my table.
13. Yes to child meal planning.  Taco Tuesday and Waffle Wednesday will be a big hit and the guesswork is removed every week.
14. Yes to humor.  Life’s not always funny, but it is.  And, you can find humor in the hardest places if you look for it.
15. Yes to play.  The kind that’s free and unstructured. I spend my life teaching and encouraging play skills for children with different abilities and their families.  There is no greater joy than watching my own fling off their backpacks and run free in the backyard. 
16. Yes to the littlest giver or gift.  For my birthday, I got sandbox cupcakes with stick candles made by toddler daycare friends, a birthday book made by my own little bitty artist, and a chocolate cupcake presented by a crying toddler because she really wanted to eat it.  All small but all big.
17. Yes to interviews.  The story was lived to be told.  
18. Yes to Tervis Tumblers.  They keep drinks cold and don’t leave those pesky rings that you see after it’s too late and the plastic cup is sitting in a puddle on your grandmother’s table.  
19. Yes to sporting events.  I’ve never watched one play of any NFL, MLB, or college football game, even though all of my vacations have been centered around stadiums.  I love watching my son play and sitting by my husband.  My people watching skills have sharpened and even bad nachos are good.
20. Yes to Bible verses.  I had no idea when I memorized them as a child how often my brain would recall them to bring me peace and help me look forward.  
21. Yes to thank-you.  Sometimes that’s all that’s needed - not score-keeping, not returned favors, just simple acknowledgement of kindness and good.  
22. Yes to survival data surveys.  Yes, I’m still alive.  Go ahead and extend the bar graph.
23. Yes to service.  Sometimes you don’t have talent or money to give but serving others in whatever capacity is a gift for the people you serve, for yourself, and for your children who are taking notes.
24. Yes to the consent form to use my extra blood for research.  It’s one more way I can help.
25. Yes to your gut.  It usually steers you right.
26. Yes to candles.  Especially trick candles.  I believe in making wishes and trick ones let you do this over and over.  Plus, the ten-year-old boy will really get a kick out of this.  My birthday cake came with three to celebrate past, present, and future.  What more do you really need? 
27. Yes to reading glasses.  It beats squinting and who are we kidding?
28. Yes to books.  It’s hard to find the time but good ones are such an escape.  Same goes for magazines.
29. Yes to Sundays.  For worship, fellowship, and family, and to sit down for a few minutes without feeling guilty.
30. Yes to stopping to smell the roses.  Or reading all the iris labels in the garden, touring the caboose, picking the blueberries, looking at the sunflowers, standing on the porch of Elvis’s birthplace - even though it wasn’t planned, you’ve got time and you’re teaching them something. 
31. Yes to art.  Especially kid art.  It’s one of the freest forms of self-expression and allows us to interpret the world through someone else’s eyes.  Glitter is optional.
32. Yes to coffee.  No explanation needed. 
33. Yes to the experience.  There will be a story later and it will be fun to tell.
34. Yes to Girl Scout cookies.  They are overpriced but delicious and some mom has to meet her quota of cookie money.
35. Yes to keeping your mouth shut.  Sometimes this is the best option.  
36. Yes to no.  Sometimes this is the best option.
37. Yes to prayer.  This is always the best option.
38. Yes to birthdays.  Celebrate them fully.  They are not just calendar days but gifts of life, growth, change, experience.  Parties are optional but cake is not.  

At thirty-eight, I live the most ordinary life in a suburban neighborhood dotted with SUVs where moms run taxi and dads cut grass.  I never would have thought what a miracle it would take to get to a place of ordinary and how happy I’d be with first world problems.  I ran across this quote that was written below some picture of a baby horse snuggled up to a teddy bear.  I can’t figure out what in the world this quote had to do with the horse and the bear, but it’s a pretty good summary of where I am and what thirty-eight looks like:  

"There comes a time in your life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it. You surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Forget the bad, and focus on the good. Love the people who treat you right, pray for the ones who don't. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living."

Here’s to thirty-eight - the party's just getting started.

KJ

Summer '15...the farewell tour.

School.  

It’s a word I love for so many reasons.  It means structure, routine, schedule.  It means bedtime.  Glorious bedtime.  We are now on our fourth week.  My kids have had their first days once again, learned the rules, seen their friends, met their teachers.  They have new goals, new things to learn, and accomplishments ahead of them.  It makes me want to recite, “Oh the places you’ll go...” while I skip down the sidewalk.  This is as good as it gets.  Their shoes fit, their shorts are long enough, and their folders are crisp.  I have renewed strength.  I have complete thoughts.  I’m on top of my game.  They’ve been on time every day for almost a solid month.  With lunch.  (Except for the one day when he left his in the car.)  Because my old friend, School, is back.  I know this one.  Summer, you are tough with your unpredictability, and your shifty boundaries.  You tried me, you tested me.  You caused me stress.  Sure, the kids had fun, and I helped them have lots of fun, but you exhausted me with your constant hungry people and requests.  

I remember that day in May when the bell rang and the children ran out with their boxes of broken crayons, nubby erasers, and shredded notebooks stuffed in their bags.  It was the last day that I would complete a thought for two straight months.  As relieved as I was over social studies and spelling tests, a certain amount of anxiety was evoked in my core over how all the summer stuff was going to work.  I had my eye on the other mothers.  There was wide-eyed, hyper-alert panic under their smiling faces too.  Twenty minutes after we left the school grounds, we could all be found at one of three places - Kroger, Chick-fil-a, or some gracious soul’s end of the year pool party.  Buy food, feed kids, entertain kids.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  

It seems we all made it.  The first Monday morning of school, I walked my kids to school, took their pictures, kissed them goodbye and came home and sat in silence for two hours.  Ten weeks had never seemed so long.  I’m hoping they have good summer memories but if they don’t someday they will read this and something will spark.  I am not sure what they will remember but I’ve learned that the things that I take the least amount of effort with or spend the least amount of time planning, those are the memories that usually stick.  So, before we are too deep into the depths of common core math and symbiotic relationships of animals, I’ll share my general reflections on the last few months.  

On Summer:

    

I was feeling pretty good about my summer strategy.  I had the first week covered and a sprinkling of camps and sitters here and there with some carpool backup.  Not exactly solid planning, but hey, it’s summer and I’m going for that breezy, carefree mom look for a couple of months.  

Lesson one: It’s not a look I can pull off.  I need a certain degree of predictability that does not make me think, like the Friends re-runs I’ve watched every night at ten o'clock for the last six years.  (My Friends are still there for me.  They are still funny).  I also need silence on occasion.  (My tendency toward introversion was  confirmed recently by a quiz on Facebook.  I’m late to hop on the self-awareness bus.)

We didn’t make it to the library until the second week.  They were excited enough, checked out books, even read a few pages.  Martha Kate made it to the first prize but when it was a thimble-sized container of bubbles that wouldn’t blow, she was done with that.  I bought laundry bins for both of them in an effort to change the clothes to floor habit.  She climbed in hers and played game of sack-hop in her room.  Bailey used his as a basketball goal.  I came home to unbrushed teeth, and unmade beds every day.  I lost my calendar the second week (see “on water” below) and truly winged-it on childcare from one day to the next.  I guess I was going for the element of surprise.  

They did the camps - the ones that last three hours in the morning only and don’t start until 9.  She made the crafts, he did the sports, hung out with his grand-dad, the VBS, the summer mission (which gives me hope of them becoming decent citizens).  They swam in the pools, played in the sprinkler, built the forts, and played with the toys all over the house.  They even did Grandparent camp for the first time ever - the only camp where everybody wins in both financial and entertainment values. 

Lesson two: They are not tired.  They have not used their brains.  They met me at the door every day after work wearing goggles and swimsuits.  They had plans to go the movies, friends, get snow cones, or buy new shoes that they wouldn’t even wear until August.  They saved their questions for me about why they could not have a cat/fish/bird, go to Disney, and always, “when are we eating dinner?”  At ten o’clock every night their faces were still talking asking for more food and “Can we watch a movie?”  It was all just wrong.  But, it’s summer.  I’m carefree and breezy. 

I really lost that look shortly after the second week. 

On water: 

A little water goes a long way.  A lot of water can really do some damage.  About week two of my loosely gelled summer plan, I came home for lunch to two inches of standing water in my kitchen, pouring through the walls, out the garage, and down the light fixtures.  Our upstairs toilet chose that day to crack.  (It would be nice to choose a day to crack).  The poor dog was sitting in his little crated island in the middle of a pool.  I handed the sitter a twenty and told her feed the kids and bring them back in a few hours, turned off the water, and called the insurance on my way back to work.  The agent suggested that I used some towels to soak up the water. I politely explained that I did not own that many towels and that this was more of an ark-building situation so he decided to send over some yellow vans. 

These vans remained THE REST OF THE SUMMER.  Within hours the baseboards were ripped off, and our house sounded like an airport runway from the fans.  We had to go outside to think.  Or talk. And the dirt.  Oh, the dirt.  If we even looked like we were halfway put together when we went out in public for those two months we were living a lie.  There was plastic draping over the doorways, appliances, torn out walls, ripped up floors, and two kids, two dogs, and a babysitter right in the middle of it all.  I tried to sing a few verses of the LET IT GO song and embrace what we had.  It’s all replaceable.  I did not let go easily, fully, or willingly.  I like it clean - some people smoke. I vacuum.  When we backed out of the driveway and the garage ceiling fell in I reminded myself that we’ve done worse.

The kids camped out in their rooms.  I didn’t really cook because there was no where to eat and plastic on the fridge.  I let them drag out all the Barbies and the Legos and help us, Perler beads, as a consolation prize.  I cleared out a 12 inch space to get to the couch and the sensor in front of the TV.  They crawled over all the furniture to get to the snacks that were somewhere between the lamps and bookcases.  Kate tunneled her way through the holes in the furniture like an underground ant and the dog barked at himself in the mirror propped on the floor until the dust piled up so much that he could no longer see his reflection.  I quit vacuuming (except for the 12 inch space).  We spent evenings outside on the patio and afternoons swimming in friend’s pools.  We explored the city on my days off because we sure didn’t want to stay home.  

The kids seemed pretty unfazed by the mess.  Kate asked where she was going to eat breakfast and when I threw a towel on the floor and said, “There.” She grinned and then started inviting her friends over for picnics on our kitchen floor.  They roller skated in the kitchen, played wall ball in the dining room, but when Bailey tried out the floor guy’s mallet and broke the chandelier, I had to set a few ground rules on personal property.  The house reminded me of the beach condos you rent for a week and just let sand fill it up because it’s not yours and it won’t do any good to clean it.  Shoes?  Just throw them on the floor - can’t guarantee you’ll find them.  Several friends lost their flip-flops in the abyss along with a summer’s worth of craft projects - large paper flowers, fairy tutus, and VBS treasures. My calendar and wall clock were also in the mess.  Not good.

Yes, Camp Reno was fun.  It was just the summer spontaneity I was looking for - breezy and carefree and living in dirt.  I do have an uncanny ability to forget the unpleasant things in life over time which is probably why it has taken me a month to even document it.  Cancer three times and I was sure this would be my Achilles heel.  But, in the end, we have new floors, new paint, and the realization that our people are always our people.  They will sit in our dirty house in lawn chairs on Friday night and eat pizza out of the box.  They will tell us there is progress, even though there had not been any in 2 weeks.  They will help us pack or drop off boxes and tape.  They will come in and nod with sympathy and agreement that it is a disaster, and that no, you don’t need all those doors so ripping them off at five in the morning and throwing them out was totally validated.  They will bring dinner over and sit at the table piled with dusty trinkets because they’re not here for the food.  Or, they will just feed you and let you swim in their pool.  And use their wi-fi.  

The experience bonded us and made us sick of each other at the same time.  We had some good fun outside the house.  We visited Graceland, ate at the Arcade, had sno-cones from Jerry’s, and picked blueberries. I even took the exit in Tupelo and plopped them on the porch of Elvis’s birthplace and then ate fried bologna sandwiches at Johnny’s Drive In.  Because the only thing better than nitrites on white bread is fried nitrites on white bread.  

There were certainly parts that were uninhibited and carefree, mostly the schedules and the dress code - messy hair under a ball cap and too shorts gave me visions of my future.  Longer legs. Loose teeth.  Bigger feet.  Insisting that red and neon are complimentary colors.  Insisting that she fix her own hair.  
My vegetables didn’t do so hot but my kids grew.  

On growing:

Several months back I was drying my hair and I screamed with such panic that both kids came running and I’m sure thought my hair was on fire.  I happened to glance over and realized that the two inch piece of trim where I had measured their height for the last five years was completely painted over.  We had our bathroom painted in the spring and apparently “DO NOT PAINT THIS” did not translate well in Spanish.  This is the kind of stuff that totally breaks me down as a mother.  I am obsessed with watching my kids grow and develop and change and doing my best to document it.    

I’ve been old and sentimental for as long as I can remember. I have loved hearing the story behind old things as long as I can remember.   I’m sure that my obsession comes in part from losing my mother and fear of them losing theirs.  Over half of the artwork in my house is what my kids have made.  I had a stack of art ready to frame that I had put under a chair in my dining room and found it floating in water in the flood.  It was the first thing I rescued.  I laid it all out flat in the sun before I turned off the water or called the insurance.  Screw the floor, I’m saving my kids’ art.  

I stared at that piece of trim for months until one day this I got brave enough to tackle it with paint thinner and a my fingernail to scratch through the oil-based paint.  Stephen was in the background talking about how it’s already cured or something - words and sounds, you don’t get it, man.  It is now visible enough for me to fill in the blanks.  Kate had even marked the height of her American Girl doll.  These are things I want them to see later.  I see people post pictures all the time with the caption #timeslowdown.  Well, it doesn’t.  We can ask it to or wish it would, but it doesn’t.  So, the only real option we have is for us to slow down and watch our them grow. I’ve learned in the last five years, that no matter what turmoil, I’ve got going on, the world is still turning and when I sit down and they cover me with their bodies, there’s always just a little more of them than there was yesterday.

Summer is also good for this.  Immediately after they are home for a few days, you start to notice that

the legs and arms and bellies that used to be covered by their clothes are now showing to a much greater degree.  You look in the backseat when you are coming back from vacation, and get a glimpse of your ten year old boy with a rather punkish expression on his face because he’s so annoyed that he is in a car, and see legs everywhere and his foot in your face on the console because it can now reach.  You have a hard time folding them up in your lap even though you try really hard.  You watch him run and jump to try to touch every doorframe in your house and remember when your brother did that too.  And, you feed him.  All day.  He likes real food because he now watches Food Network and would like to try all the restaurants on Diner’s, Drive Ins and Dives.  He eats adult meals and you realize you might need a second job.  You are glad that she’s still 37 pounds because at least you have one, but somehow she’s as long as the bathtub and can stretch her arms and legs out to climb all the door frames so she can touch them before her brother gets there.  You will hear all summer that “my shorts/shoes/shirt” are too small and you will be thankful for flip-flops and swimsuits because when their heels hang over the back or when they get wet it’s not as noticeable.

And, the personalities.  They grow too.  He has inherited your ability to impersonate almost anyone

and you beam with pride as he completely nails the one-liner in context and right on cue.  If used properly this obvious genetic trait will bring you and him much entertainment value.  He understands and loves the Griswolds which is both a blessing and a curse.  She marches on to her own drum.  You find yourself embracing it because you are so opposite yet so alike and she makes you happy with her made-up songs and elaborate stories about how the fairies will come and leave treasures, or how she cannot understand rain on happy days when there should be rainbows and unicorns flying around.  Then in the next breath she will say the truest and most profound thing about heaven or how God loves people and we should love them too even when they are different than us.  You wonder how you could bottle that all up to give to the rest of the world.  They both tell you a million times a day how much they love you.  You know it’s true and they know love because you give them love and for ten and seven years you have told them over and over.  

You will watch them spend a summer together and see them fight but also bond, sure maybe over Minecraft, but still sometimes they are sitting next to each other and he is teaching her something.  He will still embarrass you in public by saying, “YOU LOST HER AGAIN!” even though you know right where she is but you will know that he is looking out for her.  You will realize that at the beach, they can actually play with each other and that the age gap is closing enough to make them relate.  He will empathize with her over pulling teeth and offer his hand to squeeze, or do a dance with the dog to distract.  And while you’re mourning over the loss of her last front teeth, he’ll walk by and hand you his first molar.

When you are shopping for school supplies, long-enough shorts, and bigger shoes to fit the feet that grew from Food Network experiments, you will be grateful to be doing so.  And, then you will remember that he is in 5th grade and you will freak out because this is the last year of a smallish bubble, so you will stop the car and turn around and give the speech:   

“You can choose to lead or you can choose to follow. I suggest you lead or at least don’t follow trouble unless you want to be in it.  I will not back up nonsense, do you understand?”  

He will look at you like you have two heads and wonder if he’s still going to get any shoes or what he ever did but you hope it stuck. 

And, then you will drive them to school and you will drop them off and take a picture from behind. 

The same one you’ve taken every years for five years and had no idea what five years would do to you.  Or for you.  Or for them.  And while the other mothers are sad, you are happy because you made it one more time.  

And, finally...

On school:

I’ve determined that overall it is good.  It stimulates brain cells and gives purpose to their day.  Ours happens to be public and excellent which is a bonus.  They are learning to respect authority, make friends, and face challenges both mentally and socially.  We get to brush up on history and learn math party tricks.  It’s not easy but neither is life and school is the first bubbled in taste of the real world.  We’ve spent over three weeks into homework and for heaven’s sakes, NEW MATH.  Instead of adding, there are charts to move things to the right and left and triangles under numbers to make equations.  I was hoping the kids would bond over math and not Minecraft but whatever.  I’m grateful for the kind teacher in Maine who YouTubed her homework sheets.  She deserves a handwritten thank-you or a Christmas ham.  We’ll eventually learn it together or they’ll teach me which is what they do anyway.  They teach me over and over how to be better at who I am so they can be better at who they are. 

As parents school lets us see if what we’ve put out there is going to float - if all this home training that is all a big guessing game is going to work.  It’s all experimental learning.  Do we push them harder?  Do we go to bat for them or sit back and watch?  Do we give them a pass and show some grace or let the punishment fit the crime?  There are so many people with opinions these days that it’s confusing.  Everything about raising these kids is confusing, even what groceries to buy.  I assume taco shells are of the devil since there were none at the organic grocery store.  You can read any category of parenting advice on the internet, like the article on "helping girls embrace failure."  It's hard for me to imagine that a child has enough life experience to fail at something.  I’m guilty of reading the articles and sipping on a drink of the Kool-Aid.  After all, I confirmed that I am an introvert and then just yesterday, that I probably have ADD. Thank you, Facebook.  

In the fifteen minutes before I go to work every morning and after they are off to school, I make their beds and pray for them.  I look at their rooms and see little reflections of themselves - sports, dolls, legos, crafts.  I pray that their teachers and friends see them for who I do.  I see my sensitive, funny boy that wants to be liked but also wants to please and has probably dealt with more real life than a lot of his friends.  I see my free-spirited, spunky little girl, who is happy with who she and wants everyone else to be happy too.  I want them to “have courage and be kind” like the fairy godmother says.  I want them to make wise choices and discern when they did not, to be kind to people, and have the courage to stand up for themselves and for others who can't.  I’ve resolved to stand in the gap as an encourager but I know is the hardest place to be when they will encounter mean kids, defeat, and discouragement. As for the parenting, I’m thinking Proverbs might be the best option with the “train up a child in the way they should go” and Matthew with “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  Or my mother’s voice which I hear over and over saying, “Just do the best you can.”  She had a pretty good handle on what our best was, and unfortunately for them, so do I.

So, now that summer’s closing in and we are trading in our rash guards for football jerseys, our Hawaiian Tropic for pullovers, and our afternoons swimming for kitchen tables of homework and taxis to practices, and parent meetings, it’s a good time to reflect on questions in life like:  

Are you smarter than a fifth grader? 

Who decided on "joggers" and high-waisted jeans as a clothing option?

What is a Whip and a Nae Nae?
What would Elvis think of iPads?

It’s also a good time to give thanks summer memories that will turn into laughs later, for new floors, yellow vans, and people like Carlos and Daniel that joined us for the summer adventure and for Selma who helped clean it up, 
for thin Oreos so you can eat a lot of them and feel like it only one, 
for coffee, 
and of course, 

BEDTIME.  

KJ

Always take home the class pet.  It will be more fun than you think.We kept the lizard alive.

"it was a blast."

Life is like a box of Barbies...

As I write this I’m listening to my little 7 year old snaggletooth narrate her Barbie’s stories.  She’s planning their next move (to the gym) and deciding their futures.  They are lucky girls, hanging out in their jacuzzi tubs and talking on the phone.  They don’t have to make decisions or plans because it’s all laid out for them, only they don’t know what’s coming next.  Oops.  Next turned out to be back in the box with a bunch of other Barbies - bet they didn’t see that coming!  

My little water girl

There’s a lot in my life that I didn’t see coming.  Sure, I had narrated my story in my imagination - what kind of man I would marry, what kind of mother I’d be, and how many kids I would have.  I chose my college, chose my career, and chose my husband (based on looks and charm, but more importantly persistence to counteract my obstinance).  When motherhood happened I started choosing for small humans, navigating through it like a blindfolded birthday girl trying to pin the tail on the donkey.  It is both better and harder than I could ever have imagined.  

I did not choose cancer.  I did not see that coming.  Four years and seven months ago I was thrown into a box with a bunch of Barbies.  A bunch of really scary Barbies.  Cancer was not in any of my imaginary plans or my 5 year goals, and there wasn’t even a donkey to pin that tail on if I took the blindfold off.  It turned out that I got the full blown stage 4 kind with no good options.  This box was small.  And dark.  I was supposed to be drinking Starbucks and talking kindergarten, not looking for science experiments that might open this box up.  When the box was closed the tightest and I was pretty sure it wouldn’t open, I told God He could use me.  It was really nice of me to give Him permission since that’s what He was planning on doing anyway.  

In January of this year, Stephen walked in from a work trip and announced that he wanted to bring the Miles for Melanoma to Memphis.  Being the submissive and encouraging wife I am, I said, “knock yourself out.”  He was serious though, so I had to get myself where he was.  I am not a social planner.  I am not a public speaker.  I am NOT a runner.  But, it looks like I married one.  We started talking through it and working on the logistics, but it was April and I figured too late in the game for this year so I was home free.  And then, just like that, we had a date, a location, and a presenting sponsor - a paint company whose only connection to melanoma is through two employees - Stephen and our friend Bob in Mississippi.  We had 3 1/2 months to pull it off.  

So, here’s the thing about God’s timing.  He acts fast when He’s ready.  And, here’s the other thing. He had already been strategically planning well before I knew.  All the things  were there, all the people were there, and the money, well it was there too.  He just needs hands and feet.  He gave me a big fish story to tell - one that’s so crazy dramatic that you think the fish should grow every time but it does’t have to - it’s already big.  Even when I try to shrink the fish, it’s still big.  Public speaking?  No problem.  God handed me a microphone in April to tell my story to 400 perfect strangers in white coats.  Go big or go home.  And, the running?  Well, I reluctantly started making myself run from the house to Bailey’s baseball games because I had to get there in time and Stephen had already taken the car.  I suffered through the July humidity enough to show up and not look pathetic but if I’m any kind of runner at all it’s a fair weather one.  I’ll give a shout out to Kelly Clarkson for her words of encouragement as I trained:

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger

Stand a little taller

Doesn’t mean that I’m lonely when I’m alone

What doesn’t kill you makes a fighter

Footsteps even lighter

Doesn’t mean I’m over cause you’re gone

We started to watch the numbers rise - it was our bedtime conversation.  Teams started forming.  Stephen’s boss, Tim, sent race stats like they were sales numbers.  We asked for sponsors. People said yes (and no).  Stephen went around town telling my story, making the ladies cry, and people wrote checks.  Teams formed from other places, people we didn’t know but needed to connect through this disease.  Our goal of $20,000 seemed like a lot especially for a first year.  We just wanted to reach our goal and for people to show up.  He exceeded it once again - in a loaves and fishes kind of way.  

Our home became race headquarters with a UPS delivery of boxes every day.  One friend brought over boxes of sunscreen, I drove around in my car with 400 frisbees for 2 weeks because I had no where to put them.  Powerades, waters, bananas, snacks, more sunscreen - all donated.  When bag stuffing day came, our friends came over, ate hamburgers and filled 400 bags with all that stuff.  Stephen agonized over his play list, reluctantly trading in some of his 80s glam rock for newer pop compliments of a few tween girls and ended up with an eclectic mix of glam rock, Memphis tunes, and a few songs thrown in with survival themes. (Not sure anyone cared or heard it, but boy, was it an issue).  It was happening.  Martha Kate and I put signs team together and as I read those names, I thought of the people behind them.  Teams.  Every person on them was affected in some way either by my story or some one else’s.  And the beautiful thing about it is that these teams weren’t competing but working together.  

Saturday, it became clear to me what kind of race we were having - I didn’t see it coming.  Our race had heart.  It was full of stories and connections, friendships, memories, and love.  My team was huge - I’ve known that, but when you line them up in the flesh wearing hot pink shirts, it really makes an impression.  The others?  Some I knew, some I didn’t.  Some I got the pleasure of meeting, others I wish I had.  I finally met our friend, Bob, and his family who was introduced to Stephen through his district manager, Tim.  Over the last 2 years, Stephen and Bob have become good friends through my story and his and we now share a doctor and the same cancer drug. Bob went head first into the fundraising with his creativity.  He pulled at the heartstrings by wearing my shirt and posting a picture of his smiling face getting treatment, passing the hat at his family reunion, and my personal favorite, auctioning off his bucket of home-grown tomatoes for $100.  

Race day was like a wedding.  You don’t know who’s going to show up, you don’t know if you have it together, but you know you’ll walk out of there just as married.  We showed up to run but we had all already won before we got there.  As Bob said, “when you’re surrounded by winners and people who strive to be the best, success will fall in your lap every time.”  Our goal for this race was raised 3 times.  We exceeded every one and totaled over $42,000.  250 were expected.  We had 422.  Team KJ was the largest participating team ever - over 115.  If you are wondering where God was, He was right there on Saturday.  Stephen and I said some words on a stage but there really weren’t enough words to describe it.  We also crossed this finish line.  The hills were real, the heat was real, but so was the experience.  

We learned a lot through this experience.  We learned that hosting a race and running it too is a lot harder than it seems.  We’ve learned that the people around us are seasoned with life - our life and our experience and that if they’ve hung on this long, they’re not going anywhere.  We’ve learned to push through and look ahead and say yes when it matters because the on the other side of that yes there are big things, big fish and probably loaves of bread to go with it.   

We were sitting at Vanderbilt a couple of weeks ago waiting on my scan results and to see my

doctors.  Every time I sit there, I know there’s a chance they are about to tell me that I will do this all over again. There’s no way to prepare, no way to determine what this box of Barbies holds for us next.  And, with every clear scan, every good blood count, we take a deep breath and move forward.  Saturday morning also ironically marked the day that 6 year ago my mother ran her own race into the arms of Jesus.  I woke up, took a deep breath and moved forward.  

That’s the way it is. Good comes from bad, joy comes from sadness, and victory comes from defeat, but God wins - every time. 

“Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us...” Ephesians 3:20

Kimberly

LeBonheur peeps

Addie and her family from Texas - a former patient of mine who has cheered me on from the beginning.  We go way back. Click her name to read more. 

Daddy - always supporting!

More of my posse.

Stacy held me up more than once.

The Jessops - always to our rescue!

Emmanuel love

Two of my best girls that missed the team pic because they were working.

Sherwin-Williams

Bob, Tim, and Stephen