that tiny photographer

Schroeder is 17!

2026-04-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

Schroeder turned 17! He celebrated by taking three friends to a Pacers vs Lakers game, and we splurged on tickets for him and his siblings to see Bruno Mars in September. I like facilitating memorable sibling moments even if they will be up at the top of the stadium.

He is moving rapidly through these last two years of high school full of big projects, college prep, and high school rites of passage. He joined the National Honor Society and National Spanish Honor Society. He made some money ref-ing little league soccer and just got a job as a lifeguard at the IU Indy Natatorium. He was excited with his first round SAT scores.

A week before his birthday, he got his license. We were running a little late to the appointment so I simultaneously yelled at him to drive faster while lecturing him to go slow during his driving test. One of his first solo drives was taking the mini van to the prom. It was a full circle moment for me because my junior prom was also at the Egyptian Room.

Sometimes I describe Schroeder to people as embodied. That used to be code for hyperactive. Now, it means he is aware that moving his body helps him regulate his mind. He likes having an after school activity which usually means a sport. He ran a sub 2 hour half marathon at the Indy Mini last year, and played as a floater for both the varsity soccer and volleyball teams. He won most improved on the boys’ swimming team after he unexpectedly dropped a lot of time on his 50 free. He has supportive coaches but not coaches that are critique his form so he turned to ChatGPT for advice.

He actually missed half the swim season due to a concussion incurred at a volleyball open gym while Stephen and I were in Puerto Rico. It was our first time dealing with a concussion and there was a learning curve in getting him cleared to swim again. The first time he went to see the doctor, he told them he was only at 75%. The doctor told him to come back when he was feeling 100% and charged us $250 for the advice. Learning can be expensive.

Both Schroeder and I have received comments about how thoughtful he can be when having a conversation in a small group. People are surprised to find out that he is pretty mature in his approach to life and relationships. He is maybe less mature when watching sports, though. It’s been an exciting year for sports in Indiana. The Pacers went to game 7 in the NBA finals, the Colts had an unexpectedly good start to their season, and the Hoosiers won the college football National Championship. It’s mostly fun watching sports with Schroeder. He brings the energy with his trash talking, rocking in a corner during tense moments, and running down the street yelling after a big win. Sometimes, though, things become less fun when he is hate-watching Arsenal or complaining that commentators are glazing SGA (even if they are).

Excited to see what this last year of childhood has in store for our middle baby! Happy 17th birthday, Schroe.

Maggie is FIFTEEN!

2026-04-29T09:37:00.000-07:00

It’s been eight months since Maggie turned fifteen, but a birthday blog post is better late than never. A handful of her friends gathered to watch 10 Things I Hate About You, eat pizza, and celebrate her. We gifted her Driver’s Ed. She plodded her way through the online course and finally got her permit over spring break, the same day her brother got his license. Even though I was annoyed with how long it took her, the timing actually worked out to only have one learner at a time.

Maggie finished out her year at Longfellow (and Harshman). We celebrated her eighth grade graduation at Calvary Church where she won an academic award. Her social studies teacher introduced her to the crowd by his nickname for her, “Maggie for Margaret”.

She posted a summer bucket list worthy of a teen movie on her wall. One of the last entries was “Be Brave” which made me tear up. That’s on my list, too. I was already seeing her take vulnerable risks, though. She ran her second 5k the morning of the Indy Mini, joined Longfellow’s track team, and asked to preach for her youth group. She has a reputation for being “Pastor Maggie” and shared about being honest and authentic to God in prayer.

I’m not sure she checked everything off her bucket list, but she stayed busy. She took her last trip to Springhill with cousins (the Indiana camp is closing), woke up early to condition with the cross country team, and traveled with us on a family vacation to Seattle. I asked each kid to suggest an activity for the trip. Maggie suggested we take paddle boats out in Lake Union like they do in 10 Things I Hate About You. Clearly, that movie has stood the test of time. We discovered that the swan paddle boats they use were just for the movie, but we could rent row boats for the adventure. Stephen and I had one boat and all five kids were in another. They traded off rowing and making “Nothing Beats a Jet2 Holiday” tiktoks.

Maggie started her freshman year at Shortridge in August. After some scheduling conflicts, she landed in the advanced band class. A stretch but also a path to improving as a flautist. After a couple of cross country meets, she quit the team because she got a part in the fall play, Noises Off. She was really growing as a runner so I was disappointed to see her quit but supported her decision to not overextend herself.

Noises Off is a play within a play and demanded that she portray two characters, use an English accent, and run up and down steep stairs in tall wedge heels. I was nervous someone was going to die falling off the balcony on set. She got the part of Logainne Schwartzandgrubenierre in the spring musical which was a lot less stressful for me because she stayed on solid ground in tennis shoes. She was super funny and dynamic in both, though.

She had definitely thrown herself into a more independent, high school life, mastering the use of the city bus, making friends from all grades, and taking McDonalds runs after school with her brother. She continues to be the same old Maggie Lu, though, who reads, journals, makes art, and keeps that room clean. Happy (very belated) sweet fifteen.

Penelope turned TWELVE.

2025-09-20T16:14:00.000-07:00

Penelope turned twelve the same day we held Julian's graduation open house. She was kind to share her day with her brother. I popped candles into one of Julian's cupcakes and we sang to her just after the party wound down and just before the Pacers played.

She did have a few of her favorite friends over for a pool party a month later. All of her guests started sixth grade at Longfellow Middle School but only two of them stayed for seventh. She has stayed flexible and joyful through the changes and has embraced being a Longfellow Lion. Last year, she played futsal and soccer, had a little bookclub with her English teacher, and got to go to Kentucky Kingdom to celebrate her ILearn results. This year she joined the volleyball team and made a little debate club with her gal pals. She asked to borrow my computer to type up her essay on why fruit belongs on pizza.

We get to walk her back and forth to school everyday, and we have a deal that we stop at Dairy Queen once a month for a sweet treat. Those walks have brought me so much joy.

She's still playing piano, still loves listening to Lauffey. She gets annoyed when we mispronounce her name. She has worked on perfecting her desk organization, iPad home page design, and skin care routine.

I took her and Maggie to Barnes and Noble during spring break and made them get both a fun book and a serious book. Penelope choose a lovely copy of the Odyssey from which her name came. She has read a few chapters and has begun noticing the constant references to it in all sorts of media.

Summer Penelope was busy reading The Summer I Turned Pretty, attending church camp and soccer camp, and traveling to Seattle with the family. She particularly loved the aquarium with the seals and otters. She's always a sucker for cute animals.

Fall Penelope is making herself hot tea everyday, watching Gilmore girls, and counting down the days till Halloween and Christmas.

She's the baby of the family. Right now that translates to being the only person without a phone and social media. I will communicate plans via text and forget that she doesn't get them.

It also means for the first time, she is going to a school without any of her siblings. I overheard her telling Julian that she felt like an only child. The college kids are away. The high school kids leave early and stay late for after school activities. When they do get home they talk bout their high school friends and events.

Sometimes it pays to have older siblings, though. Julian often taken her to the theatre to see Studio Ghibli movies. He's so kind until he grossly underestimates her age.

"Penelope you're turning nine, right?"

"No, I'm twelve!"

And we all collectively marvel how our baby is so old.

Schroeder is SIXTEEN!

2025-04-14T12:30:00.000-07:00

Schroeder turned sixteen on a quiet, gray Thursday during spring break. I had him drive us to the credit union so we could set him up a checking account. It currently has no money in it, but will be there when he inevitably gets a job in the next couple years.

We had dinner, sang to him over brownies, and watched a movie together as a family. He asked for a Google watch which he received, but I also bought him a book and some hair products. He's on a journey to decide how he likes to cut and style his hair. I'm on a journey to convince him to read for fun.

He's finishing up his sophomore year and keeping himself busy playing a sport every season. Soccer is still his first love, but swimming became more than just a way to stay conditioned. He shaved more than twenty seconds off his backstroke time allowing him to become more competitive. He's finishing off the year playing volleyball where he has become a confident serve receiver and server. I love to watch him play.

He had to take on a personal project for school and choose to run the monumental mini marathon in November. He finished in just a few minutes over two hours. I thought last year's 500 mini would be my last, but he convinced me to run it with him this year. It's hard for him to find time to condition with all his school and sport commitments, though.

I'm running with Schroeder, but he and Stephen have become regulars at the early morning Tottenham soccer games broadcast at a local bar. Who knew there were enough fans to have a local club?

He's owning his academics this year. He admittedly struggles with procrastination, but is learning more about how to manage his time. He is playing trombone and was invited to move up to one of the top bands at the semester but didn't like how that would mess with his schedule. His band teacher said, "Everyone likes Schroeder. He has the opportunity to wield his influence for good or for bad."

He's learning about relationships, who is safe to talk to, how to love well and forgive, how to give good gifts. I can read his face pretty well, but I try to stop pushing if he isn't up to talking. He has leaned on Maggie a couple times. I've heard them in her room discussing and processing. She also gave him advice on how to execute a proper homecoming proposal. I'm excited to see how their relationship develops when they are back in school together next year.

He got his learner's permit last summer. His older siblings have both required three attempts to pass the written test so I assumed Schroeder would do the same. We rushed into the BMV not long before soccer practice, and I said something to the effect of "It won't take long for you to fail."

Who's a good mom, and also wrong with regularity?

He breezed right through and then had to stay to process paperwork. He was late for soccer.

He had several driving lessons with a man who teaches at Whiteland High School. "Did you tell him that Dad and I graduated from Whiteland? Did you tell him you know one of the art teachers there?" No. I guess he doesn't share my enthusiasm for making random connections.

We love this boy particularly for his mean air guitar skillzzzzzz and his willingness to play with his younger cousins (although he could be gentler). Happy Birthday Schroe!

Julian is EIGHTEEN!

2024-10-07T21:06:00.000-07:00

Julian turns eighteen today.

He got his license in February, and his first job in June. Since we bought a second vehicle last spring, he has easy access to a car and a little money in his pocket, aka independence.

He has used his freedom to go out with friends and on a few dates. He also goes to a lot of movies. He became an AMC movie pass member allowing him to get movie passes much cheaper, a choice he claims was the best decision of his life.

He worked as a dishwasher at the brewery in our neighborhood. He mentioned wanting a job to his uncle at Mother's Day lunch, and his uncle made a connection to the brewery's owner who was looking for part time help. The job made him wrestle with what it feels like to do such a repetitive task for eight hours. His commercial dishwashing skills increased, for sure. I'm not sure that has affected his domestic skills, though.

He often spent time between dish loads studying for his SAT. We made a bet this year. Before taking the SAT, he mentioned a score that I thought was a BIG reach. He thought it would be easy, no problem at all. I (pseudo jokingly) told him if he got that score I would buy him a PS5. He said, nevermind about a PS5, I'll just take $500.

He proceeded to take the test in the spring and got a perfectly good score, the score I anticipated he would get. Determined, he came home and studied all summer. He took it again in August and increased his score by 120 points, only 20 points away from that reach number. I was so impressed by his persistence, I offered him half my pseudo serious bet. This might not be good parenting, but it's been fun.

He goes to an International Baccalaureate school. So much of his diploma program work is big projects that begin junior year and carry over into senior year. He has a lot of soft deadlines, deadlines that are there to help students pace themselves and not procrastinate. Our biggest challenge this year has been agreeing on whether these soft deadlines should be taken seriously. Me, yes. Him, they are not real.

Those arguments have mostly evaporated now that he is a senior because soft deadlines have become a lot more firm. And with minimal help from me, he is prioritizing his work and getting it done. What comes next is college applications.

We had a tear filled conversation in the kitchen over the summer. Ever since we visited Boston three years ago, he's been dreaming of going to school there. I want him to have everything he wants. I want to give him hints and advice on how to get it. The problem is, I don't know how to help him with this one. Schools in Boston are some of the hardest to get into and most expensive. I don't know how to help him get in or how to pay for it. I was frustrated because I didn't see him taking steps to figure it out. I just saw looming disappointment (my biggest fear).

I shared this with Julian who made it clear he didn't expect me to do anything. He told me he is just allowing himself to dream.

He asked for a record player for his birthday. It's a consolation present after I said no to his first request, mother and son chiropractic appointments. Julian is always popping his fingers, neck, and back. I cringe every time. I would rather skydive, literally jump out of a moving plane and fall to the earth with just a flimsy piece of fabric to catch me, than have someone twist my neck to the side. Julian is determined, though, to get us both in an office for adjustments.

Julian is quick to laugh. He is direct in his communication. He has a strong sense of his own style. I love to see him act, hear him play the piano, and watch him interact with his siblings. He has grown in taking responsibility for his own life, and I’m so excited to see where he goes and what he does.

A couple of times, Julian has asked me what I would do if he just up and left when he turned eighteen. It's tempting to take this comment as a threat or an insult. But, I understand that he is seeing and tasting freedom, his life opening up in front of him, the endless possibilities.

Well, I told him I would cancel his credit card and report my van stolen so he probably wouldn't get very far.

But even though this scenario isn't serious, he is getting ready to leave. And when he does, his dad will be reminding him not to be an asshole, and I'll say, "Call your mom sometimes. She's going to miss you."

Maggie Lu is F O U R T E E N!

2024-08-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

Maggie celebrated her 14th birthday with a few friends at the “Let's Sing Taylor” concert at Symphony on the Prairie. Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour is coming to Indianapolis this November but we weren't lucky enough to get tickets so this was the next best thing. It was a beautiful evening to be outside in Indiana.

The friends who came along painted a picture of her year. A longstanding friendship surprisingly dissolved at the beginning of 7th grade leaving Maggie confused and hurt. She spent a lot of time reflecting and journaling about that loss, owning her part and deciding what she wants in a friendship going forward.

I was nervous that her last year at CFI2 would be lonely, but she invested in other connections at school and church which flourished. That posture of openness and curiosity set her up to start at a new school this month. When I subbed last week, she brought three new friends to meet me.

The school district we attend moved away from K-8 schools towards traditional 6th-8th grade middle schools this year. We knew the change was coming and decided to send Maggie and Penelope to the global majority middle school within walking distance of our house.

On back to school night, we learned that Maggie was the only eighth grader at Longfellow ready for Geometry so we scrambled to find a class she could attend. Many of Maggie’s classmates choose the high ability middle school about 5 minutes north of Longfellow which offered Geometry. We made a plan to pick Maggie up before last period every day and drive her up to Harshman for math class. It’s goofy, but there are positives. We get to spend time with Maggie, walking her to school in the morning and driving her to Harshman each afternoon. Maggie gets to meet new people at Longfellow and still see some familiar faces during last period.

Maggie chose to be baptized this summer. Like her sister, she wanted to do it in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Edisto Island. It's exciting to see her faith growing.

Maggie has said multiple times that she isn’t sporty, but she often went to the gym this summer with D’arcy. She also expressed interest in running a 5k so I offered to run with her in preparation. Every Saturday we head out to do the next step in our couch to 5k program. We share earbuds but when I suggest we sprint, she moves fast enough and far enough away from me to lose connection.

Maggie likes to read, but there are some books that have felt overwhelming to get through. I suggested she try an audio book which she did with success. She is still playing flute and piano, and has an instagram account devoted to her art projects (tmw_art2010). She is excited to take some art classes next year at Shortridge, something none of her siblings have done.

She still shares a room with her sister, a situation that won't change for a few more years. She is often frustrated with Penelope’s mess, clothes on the floor, dresser drawers open, art supplies all over the desk. Sometimes I hear them talking late at night. I end up knocking on the wall we share because I’m cranky, tired, and ready to sleep. Maggie told me that she and Penelope could be best friends if I would just let them talk.

Cheers to fourteen!

Penelope turned eleven years old.

2024-08-28T07:05:00.000-07:00

Penelope turned eleven the day before we left for summer vacation. The day was hectic for me. I was packing, finishing up a school paper, and going to dinner for our 21st wedding anniversary (which falls on the same day). Her siblings were out of the house for various reasons, work, a concert, another party. We finally got a few people around the kitchen to sing happy birthday and eat cupcakes at 10:30pm. She had to wait for her present (a new desk chair) and her birthday party until after we returned from South Carolina. She maintained a good attitude about it all, though.

Penelope continues to have a strong style particularly in clothes and music. I would describe both as chill girl vibe. Her playlist is entitled “You Like Jazz?” and has a strong mix of Tyler the Creator, Lauffey, and TV Girl.

She is still unashamedly committed to stuffed animals, always wanting to check out what squishmallows Target has in stock. She is still making herself ramen on the regs, excited when I say I'm not cooking anything in particular for dinner. She loves herself a Jimmy John's sandwich and dreams of the day when I will let her get a whole sandwich for herself, one part to eat now, the other to take in her lunch. She is wholly devoted to making her lunch everyday which includes pistachios, yogurt, a Nutella sandwich, and a seltzer water.

I've noticed Penelope's tender side more this year. Our dog is getting older and just the realization that she will die one day sent Penelope into tears. She is hyper aware of any signs of her age, noticing bald spots, lumps, limps, or an upset stomach. I don't think Georgia fully appreciates the care, concern, and love Penelope has for her.

Our church acknowledged her graduation from fifth grade one Sunday in May. They gave her a box with treasures and letters from loved ones. As she read the letters from me and her Nai-Nai, you could see tears streaming down her face. She leaned in and gave me a hug which is not uncommon. I get about 10 hugs a day from her. This one felt more meaningful though. She was celebrating growing up and bracing for the changes to come including a new school.

I've also seen Penelope’s fierce side. She played soccer this spring, and her team once again made it to the championship game. During the playoffs, I would overhear parents say, "Whoa, that little girl is tough" when she would defend against boys a foot taller than her. I wanted to scream, "Yeah, she is. That's my girl!"

Penelope has a good group of friends. One friend welcomed a baby sister who would often come to lunch at school. Penelope came home lamenting the fact that she doesn't have a little brother or sister. Unfortunately, this is something I can't (won't) give her. Maybe eventually she will have some nieces and nephews to make up for this injustice.

Penelope started a new school this month. Longfellow Middle School is the new IB option just a short walk from our house. In the past, new spaces and people have overwhelmed her, but she entered this new phase with ease and openness. Unlike her older sister, she does have a strong group of friends who joined her in this transition which has brought comfort.

She is taking mandarin and opted for art over band. She picked up piano lessons last year, reluctantly taking Julian's lesson when he was busy with the his play. She quickly grew to enjoy it. I always love to hear her practice.

Penelope often watches TV with Stephen and I in the evenings. It gives me a little glimpse of what those last two years of parenting might look like, after her siblings have all left the nest and it's just the three of us. They are going to be sweet.

Schroeder is FIFTEEN!

2024-04-21T16:13:00.001-07:00

Schroeder is a freshman at Shortridge High School. He and his brother roll out of bed and head out the door before the rest of us are up, taking the redline to school.

Julian and Schroeder have a few overlapping teachers, band and theatre, who were surprised to find out they are brothers. They bring a different presence to the classroom. At Parents-In-Touch day, Schroeder's teachers didn't have to be reminded of which kid he was. There were lots of comments about his intelligence, energy, and... phone use.

His energy extends to sporting events. This is a photo a parent in my network sent me of him cheering on the girls volleyball team. I tell my kids I have spies everywhere. It's hard for Schroeder to hide much (including girlfriends) when I'm friends with his friends' parents.

He made the JV soccer, swimming, and volleyball teams. I felt a lot of anxiety during try outs, nervous he would be cut. I'm proud that he continues to put himself out there and works hard to build his skills. He is often outside in our very small backyard or upstairs in his room kicking a soccer ball around.

Once he made the team, I also felt anxiety about injuries; broken bones, twisted ankles, concussions. He's playing for an independent soccer club this spring. Stephen called me from the car one night to say that Schroeder's tongue was stuck to his braces and he was planning to take him to the ER.

"What? Bring him home, surely we can get it unstuck by ourselves."

I pulled out the pliers just in case I had to cut a wire. His tongue wasn't budging, though, and we eventually headed to the ER. We were a unique case and not top priority so it took a minute (four hours) to pull it off.

Fourteen was a good year. He got his own room (sort of) and travelled abroad for the first time. We went to France and England last summer. Once he recovered from the jet lag, he made a point of jumping and doing a heel click at every location.

The only souvenir he wanted was a football jersey. (I'm stopping to look up whether a soccer jersey is called a kit or if that refers to the whole uniform.) We stopped in the Paris St. Germain store, and I was overwhelmed by the price of the Mbappé jersey. I was underwhelmed with the idea of buying a Messi jersey from the vendors who set up on blankets around the Eiffel Tower, though. As we sat waiting for our flight home, I broke down and spent the money on the official kit from the St. Germain online store. It has proved a good investment as it looks nice and he wears it often.

His clothing style is simple. Soccer jerseys, jogging pants, Crocs, and a hoodie. He doesn't want weird graphics and brand names plastered over anything. When we go shopping, he often looses his voice, intimidated by the selection and sizing. Unlike juniors for girls, teenage boys have limited selection at stores.

Schroeder is a committed Tottenham Hotspur Football Club fan. He wears his kit, a Christmas present, on game days often getting up early to see those Europeans play. Julian teases him by chanting, "What do we think of Totenham? SHIT! What do we think of shit? TOTENHAM!"

Once, at church, our pastor revealed that he is also a Tottenham fan. Schroeder looked at me with big eyes, his attention finally caught.

He has a collection of PRIME bottles, a syrupy energy drink that come in different flavors. It's become fun to check a store to see if they carry any new flavors and surprise him with a new bottle.

I'm planning to run the mini again this year and he's one of my biggest encouragers. He will be getting up early to run the corresponding 5k that morning. His miles are about 7 minutes faster than mine.

He's still in that Duolingo grind, well over a 300 day streak.

We celebrated turning fifteen with a cousins trip to laser tag and pizza at Mother Bears in Bloomington. A week later, he organized a group of six boys to come over for tacos, park soccer, dairy queen, video games, and two AM water pong. I am grateful that the planning is in his hands now even if six fifteen years old boys in the house is a bit overwhelming.

We love this march madness bracket winning, napoleon costume wearing, Fanta drinking, newly minted fifteen year old.

An Unhealthy Alliance

2024-03-08T17:28:00.000-08:00

Who We Were

I was unexpectedly pregnant with our fourth baby. Stephen and I were still both under thirty. I cried in the bathroom that November morning telling him about the test result. We wanted more kids but not quite yet. We had been planning for years to take a risk and move our family to Portland, but instead I found myself asking if we could, please, move home.

When we decided to head back to Indiana, it was on the condition that we would reimagine what it would look like to live there. We bought a house downtown searching for walkability and diversity.

Looking for a church, the Alliance stood out. An old friend introduced us to this group that was youthful (literally) and trying to re envision church. Composed of mostly college educated millennials who had grown up in christian households, all the shoulds and have-tos had been thrown out. There was such a sense of freedom. Pursuing faith didn't have to be attached to a certain political agenda. Services didn't have to happen in a church building on a Sunday morning. Worship could be loud or still and quiet. The community embraced playfulness and creativity. Church members were practicing their faith by living in community, farming in the city, biking instead of driving, and making music and art.

Stephen and I were longing to be more than the sum of our responsibilities, an almost decade old marriage, four kids, and two mortgages. This community and the faith they carried invited us into something more.

____________________________

Spiral

All this freedom came with a caveat, little structure and lack of stability.

When we arrived, the church was on its third pastor in five years. Nothing dramatic had happened. All of them had been young, leading the church for a season before life opened up to go after their deeper callings. One had left to pursue music full time, another to live in Northern Ireland as a missionary.

After we had been at the church a year and a half, another pastor moved on. The Reverend took his place.

The Reverend was already attending the church when we joined. I found it confusing to sort out his position. There was no formal list to look at. He was a sidekick to our pastor, a best friend. He was often working in the back at the sound booth, and because of his youth and unique style, I didn’t assume he was in leadership.

We joined a small group that initially met in his apartment, although he wasn't named as its leader. The group's intention was to build relationships, and, yet, he didn’t share much about himself. After months of meeting, I knew hardly anything about him.

He did take it upon himself, once, to prompt another group member to apologize to me. The Reverend thought this person was dismissive as I shared about my mother's cancer diagnosis. He met with us each separately, outlining his expectation of an apology. The funny thing was, I hadn't felt slighted at all and wasn't sure why the Reverend was inserting himself in a non-existent drama.

Our church was a part of a larger denomination who made pastoral appointments. The Reverend was qualified because he had previously interned at a sister church. So, without seemingly any consultation with our local congregation, he was all of a sudden our pastor.

At our previous church in Texas, my questions or thoughts were warmly met. My pastor, a woman, heard me, saw me, and encouraged me to translate my thoughts into actionable service. She was safe.

Because the Alliance was a church that seemed to run on grassroots energy, I assumed they would welcome my voice. However, I got a less than enthusiastic response to my questions and suggestions from the Reverend. Some of his words cut me off at the knees, undermined my confidence, and made me deeply self conscious.

“We will tell people when they need to know.”

“(Instead of questioning my vision…) Maybe you should move into the neighborhood.”

“What makes you think you could be a church leader?”

“You are the last couple I would suggest to give counsel to other married couples.”

I took the hint. My voice was unwelcome, and so I silenced it.

—-----------------------------------------

An Apology Tour

Not long before we had our fifth baby, I joined Stephen on a business trip to San Francisco. We woke up in our hotel that Sunday morning and I felt a bodily sense of relief that we didn't have to attend church.

The heater in the church had broken that winter, and the whole congregation would huddle in the closed off side room wearing our coats and mittens. Most of the congregation, which seemed to be inexplicably growing, joyfully sang worship songs and laughed at the Reverend's goofy jokes. The nursery was closed so I sat in the back trying to keep my children occupied and my face from betraying how bitter I felt.

But sometime that year, there came a surprise apology. The Reverend asked to meet with me. A pastoral organization he was embedded in had recently collapsed, and in that wake, he was realizing some of the ways he had been taught to lead were off base. He was seeking my forgiveness.

His apology was on target enough to bring tears to my eyes. Secrecy, defensiveness, and control were mentioned.

I was eager to forgive, desperate not to have to make the hard choice of finding another church. And, so, I didn't ask many questions. I didn't bring up specific situations where his cutting words diminished me.

I was nervous that if I got too specific the apology would crack open.

I wasn't the only person he was apologizing to. Several others had been hurt by his approaches and had left the church. The Reverend appreciated my faithfulness. I had continued to show up even when the situation had become uncomfortable.

We started again, walking forward on wobbly stilts of trust. One stilt was named loyalty, the other necessity.

______________________

Invitations

My loyalty seemed to have won me enough favor to be invited to preach on occasion (something I had done at my previous church), and then to have a permanent place on the teaching pool. According to the Reverend, none of us in the pool were naturally gifted preachers, but we were all heartily committed which would do.

The Reverend invited me to coffee one day. Sitting at the window table, he asked if I would be interested in starting the consecration process with our denomination. Consecration was essentially ordination for women. Same process, different name. Distinct, but equal? My past biblical and leadership courses qualified me. I felt initially flattered and seen. Although, I didn't ask him to clarify what he saw in me specifically to prompt the recommendation.

Maybe I just didn't get the chance. Mid conversation, Stephen called to say our daughter had fallen down the stairs and needed to go to the Emergency Room for stitches. Hurriedly gathering my things, the Reverend stood up and knocked his coffee cup over. In a bit of foreshadowing, it spilled all over the paper describing the consecration process and all over my lap.

_______________________

The Interview

In January of 2017, I put on my nicest jeans and cardigan in an attempt to look professional. I stepped out of the land of women and children and into a conference room of seven white men, not the four mentioned on the phone the day before, but seven pastors in our district who were all a part of the Licensing, Ordination, and Consecration Committee.

Oh, and also one woman, the wife of one of the pastors. She worked in full time ministry alongside her husband, but was not on the committee and had never been through the process herself. She was brought in for my comfort.

I had already submitted an extensive application and taken a preliminary test. These men would interview me and hopefully affirm the calling to ministry on my life.

“You are much shorter than I thought you would be!” said one, not long into the interview. The others seemed to tense up a bit, embarrassed by his candor. He went on, "After reading your application, I came in ready to debate you on some points. But now we are here in the same room and you are not what I pictured." He was disarmed.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and my thin veil of confidence tore. Their questions exposed my inability to confidently articulate my calling, my irregular practice of spiritual disciplines, and my limited theological vocabulary. Regeneration is not just what lizards’ tails do, I guess.

They asked me about my relationship with The Reverend. In his email recommendation, the Reverend mentioned our relationship challenges but said he couldn't recall what had caused them.

That seemed convenient for him. I remembered and was left to share my point of view without coming across too proud or bitter. They wanted to know what my role in the conflict had been. Years later, I'm still trying to figure that out. Did I share my thoughts too intensely? Was I too eager? Did my gender make it worse?

After conferring privately, I was invited to continue the consecration process which, among other things, entailed lots of reading, writing theological position papers, and attending a conference.

I was assigned a mentor, the woman in the room. Sometime in the interview, she had discovered we had the same Myer-Briggs personality type, ENFP. She told me that we were often champions for other people but sometimes we needed someone to champion us.

I did need someone to champion me, but, as I left feeling somewhat humiliated, I wasn't sure if this was the group to do it.

__________________________

Codependency

Over years, I took on more responsibility at the Alliance, always with The Reverend's permission and often at his prompting. I led children's ministry. Stephen and I became elders. I joined the financial team.

I volunteered because I had both the skill and passion to contribute to each of those areas. But, I also volunteered because I wanted the church to move forward, not backward. I volunteered because I wanted to keep the Reverend accountable. I engaged in my own sort of controlling behavior as a way to minimize The Reverend’s weaknesses while he grew in his potential.

I pushed to implement structure and transparency; a yearly financial meeting and pastoral review, established by-laws, and an independent eldership search committee. I argued to preach from a wider variety of biblical texts. I shared some of my reservations about the Reverend's constant reference to a certain pastor “influencer” and his sometimes bizarre and sensational descriptions during sermons. I would wince when The Reverend described Jesus as teleporting across the Sea of Galilee, for example.

I had a meeting of some kind with the Reverend almost weekly, many of them filled with landmines. I began noticing the same patterns of control, secrecy, and manipulation and would come home needing to debrief with Stephen.

Others were struggling with The Reverend as well. For years, when people left, I never asked about the circumstances, afraid it would necessitate action on my part. Eventually, I started sitting in on some meetings as a mediator, hopeful that I could soften the frustration. What I was hearing from the Reverend made my own frustrations build.

“That is the very definition of gossip!”

“She didn’t come to me so I can’t trust her anymore.”

“I don't put my sermons online because they could be misperceived outside of our context.”

“I didn’t have time to ask anyone else before I took action.”

“Maybe you should go pray about that more.”

“I will not be guilted into taking action.”

“Feel free to cry.”

“You don’t know what is necessary in being a pastor.”

“Even after their apology, I will never stop by their house again.”

“You mentioned this about yourself, but I felt God showed me something different.”

“I did not give you permission to reach out to them for advice on this project.”

________________________

Trying

We gave our partnership a solid try, both of us.

The Reverend understood over time that I felt loved through acts of service and so he came over to help as I undertook a bathroom renovation by myself. It does feel nice to have a partner while doing hard things, and I appreciated his gesture. He delivered himself as a bit of the resident expert, having done some tile work in the past. This is a good example of how he approached pastoring in general, he often entered a situation as the one with answers and access to God, and instead of encouraging you in your process, he would insert his knowledge with the expectation you accept it.

We attended our district conference together in Chicago one spring. During a morning session, a certain pastor who the Reverend had issues with was preaching. I don't remember the details of the drama, maybe something about an assistant pastor, a friend of the Reverend's losing his job because of this man. I do remember the moment the Reverend decided to show his protest, though. He lifted himself from his pew near the back, and walked to the front. He hadn't shared his intention with me. I watched him curiously at first, and then my heart began to race. He proceeded, slowly like a bride allowing the crowd to take him in, across the entire front of the sanctuary. I couldn't peel my eyes away. He approached the district superintendent who was sitting in one of the first rows, directly catty corner from where the Reverend began. He kneeled in front of him and whispered some words. The speaker paused, unsure what to make of this action. He even said something to jest about it, laughing to himself.

I couldn't decide whether to be embarrassed or inspired. I couldn't imagine being that bold although, sometimes, I wanted to be.

As we drove home from the conference, the Reverend and I discussed the Enneagram, a new, to us, personality typing that categorized people into nine numbers. His wife suggested the Reverend might be an eight. I quickly googled the typical attributes; self-confident, assertive, protective, straight-talking, decisive, potentially domineering. According to the Enneagram Institute, “Eights feel they must control their environment, especially people, sometimes becoming confrontational and intimidating…At their Best: self-mastering, they use their strength to improve others' lives, becoming heroic, magnanimous, and inspiring.”

Yes, I thought. This makes sense. Maybe our differences have all been personality related. Potentially, this is the key to understanding and acceptance, to friendship and respect.

Eventually, I would conclude that personalities might give us insight into our first instincts, but they don't excuse our bad behavior. And the reality was, that a lot of people seemed to have “personality” struggles with the Reverend.

Years later, The Reverend, over the enneagram craze, would joke that he wasn’t a one through nine, but a ten.

_________________________

Burst Eardrum

Just before Christmas in 2018, I broke down. I have this tendency to reframe life positively as a strategy to avoid hard things and just get on with it. Maybe I would have done that if I hadn't also been physically ill. My physical exasperation prevented me from managing the psychological weight of my life at the time. For once, I couldn’t shrug my frustration and bitterness away. I was doing too much, trying to keep my community chugging along and to prove myself. My attempts were not working out well.

My ear ache seemed to correspond to my emotional distress in that season. It started as just twinges of pain on the same night I was feeling desperately lonely while spray painting cardboard doves for the church's children's Christmas program.

I obtained antibiotics which didn't provide any relief. This at the same time I had come to the conclusion that, despite our best efforts, the Reverend and I were not friends. We were never going to openly share our personal lives with one another.

Soon, my ear was actively weeping. My ear drum burst the same week that I called Stephen sobbing inconsolably after a phone conversation with the Reverend. I made a passive aggressive comment about the group planning our beloved Christmas cantata. He, validly, asked me to address this offense head on. After I sent a group email, he called me, sternly saying, "That's not how I told you to handle it, Melissa."

In that moment, I was able to be honest with myself about just how weary I had become.

_____________________

Mentor

By February, I had my hearing back and discovered I had learned a few things. One, antibiotics won't work for a fungal ear infection. Two, I needed to take some ownership in this situation. I couldn't change him, but I could change me.

I had been meeting with my new mentor sporadically since my consecration interview. She didn't seem deeply invested in our relationship, but when we were together, she was kind and shared her wisdom. Some of her words, I will carry with me my whole life.

We met just after my mother's death, and I confessed that I was relieved to get back to my life. She tenderly said, “This is your life, Melissa. Maybe one of the most important moments of it.”

She was deeply devoted to the practices of silence and solitude and was encouraging me to develop these disciplines. This was foundational in the clarity I got after my breakdown. I felt I was given a directive from God.

Slow down. Finish what you've started before you begin anything else. Get clear about what you want and dive deep. Be bold and calm in asking for what you need and let the chips fall where they may.

There were some commitments I knew I needed to finish, I just didn't know that my connection to the Alliance would be one of them.

__________________________

Are you stuck?

It took me nearly three years, but I finally completed all the requirements to be consecrated. I sat for my final interview one fall afternoon in 2019.

I was nervous about crying again. My mentor encouraged me to prepare for it, to not be ashamed of my tears. One particular question certainly inspired them. A pastor astutely asked, “Melissa, are you stuck at your church?” In denial, I rebuffed his question. “Is it hard? Sure. But what church isn't hard?”

But, I was stuck. Where else would I be able to find such a connected, beautiful community? Where else would I be able to serve a community I love? Despite my attempts at holding the Reverend at arms length, the emotional toll of working alongside him was growing.

_______________________

Cider tears

That same fall, I met a friend for lunch at a local cider company. I was trying to intentionally connect with people I was curious about or drawn to. I came prepared with questions.

This particular friend was the only member of our church with a seminary degree, but she didn't seem particularly interested in day to day church ministry. She was moving onto a doctoral program soon, and I was curious about her path.

“What brought you to seminary in the first place and how do you want to use your education?” I asked

“Why!?! Are you interested in going? You should absolutely go! You are already gifted, just think how impactful you could be if you honed those gifts.”

This response took me off guard. No. This wasn't about me. I was just interested in getting to know her better, but her insistence brought tears to my eyes. My body was acknowledging something my brain would not.

She was the first person in my life, even after a decade of intense church service, many leadership training courses, and a years-long consecration process, to suggest I go to seminary. Why was that?

I shook my head and downed some more cider. I'm too old. It costs too much. We are about to put five kids through college!

She wouldn't accept my excuses. I left a little tipsy and with a seed planted in my heart.

______________________

Consecration & Concussion

One Sunday morning in January 2020, the church celebrated my consecration. In February, the Reverend suffered a severe concussion. Seemingly unrelated events, they served as the catalyst for my decision to leave.

The Reverend’s behavior became even more challenging to accept after the concussion. He was having lots of dreams and visions. At our elders’ meeting, I came with concerns about how elders were selected in our congregation. I was working on being bold and calm in naming my concerns. He quickly dismissed this discussion, stating he had special permission from the district to circumvent the by-laws. Instead, he took us up to a room on the second floor. He had a vision of this becoming a “prayer tower”. The room had a very specific look in his vision which he wanted us to recreate. He asked us to pray about going forward with the renovation.

Days later, I responded via email with my reservations on the plan and he replied, “Melissa- the rest of your email I am discarding. Everything in regards to the prayer tower you wrote was what I asked folks to not prioritize or respond with.” He told me to go pray again.

On the same day, within an hour of his disregard for my thoughts on the prayer tower, he sent details of another dream he had, this one about our family. The dream identified a demonic spirit in our home, “the thief of joy”. He said, “The thief of joy says joy is the outcome of distant goals and sets up false diagrams and arguments that say ‘unless I get my way I will never be happy'. It feeds on preference and opinions.”

He encouraged us that “God was purifying your house - almost like a spring cleaning. Things that have robbed your presence of Joy can be flooded out of your home if you desire this.”

I did desire this. The one thing that was stealing my joy was his spiritual manipulation, and it was time to flood it out.

_____________________

A Marriage

One morning in early March, Stephen and I were sitting in our car, parked outside our house. I turned to him and said, “I can't do this anymore. If you want to keep attending, I'll understand, but I can't keep emotionally torturing myself.”

I think, deep down, for years, I wanted him to recognize how painful and damaging this relationship was for me. I wanted him to be the one to call it out and save me. I didn't want to force him to leave a beloved community simply because I couldn't get along.

But I had come to realize that I needed to clearly say what I needed, to advocate for myself.

Stephen looked at me and said, “Melissa, we are married. Whatever we do, we'll do together.”

____________________

Twelve steps to breakup with a church

I stayed home the next Sunday (the last Sunday before COVID shut down our world) to pray. My resolve only grew, not necessarily to break up with The Reverend and the church, but to set some clear boundaries that I assumed would end the relationship.
I called The Reverend to let him know I was wrestling with a lot. I had some questions about the church. He took this to mean that I was feeling overwhelmed and overcommitted and needed to work on myself. He was sympathetic. He was less sympathetic when he discovered that I had strong concerns about his leadership.
I wrote down all of my grievances, grouped into three categories;preaching, administration, and pastoral care. I didn't want to leave anything unsaid. I wanted to expose the deep wound instead of placing a bandaid.Looking back, I could have at least used “I statements” and subsequent questions. For example, I need decision making to be balanced and reflect our bylaws. Is this something that we can mutually agree on?

I sent this scorched earth email to The Reverend and the two other elders (besides Stephen and I), a woman and the old friend who had originally invited us to the church.
We set a date to meet over Zoom. Our old friend called us the night before asking if we wanted one of The Reverend's close pastoral friends to be on the call as a mediator. Um, no.
We met and no one wanted to speak first. I had put all of my thoughts in the email and simply wanted to know if they believed my points had merit.
The woman said I was clearly offended. I needed to get the speck out of my own eye before I could try to remove someone else's. Some of what I said had merit, but nothing could be done because I didn't come right. I felt like I'd been slapped.
The Reverend said he had only read the email once and would never read it again. He believed I didn’t know what is necessary to lead a church. He had a letter he wanted to read over us as our pastor. I snapped, “You are not my pastor.” And there it was, the truth of the matter. The letter was only redirection and manipulation, and I didn’t want to listen anymore.

I asked our old friend if he agreed with the other two. He said he needed to think about it more. He has never broached the subject again.
In an attempt to show that I wasn't just a mad woman, I wrote and sent an email sharing what I like and respect about The Reverend. It was heartfelt.
I set up a call with the district superintendent. After giving him some examples of The Reverend's leadership, he said that The Reverend is definitely a general and I would do better with a more diplomatic leader. He was right. He offered to send a mediating team if everyone was willing. They were not.

I submitted my resignation and drafted a letter to read to the congregation. The Reverend asked me to remove a couple of sentences, which I did. I delivered it one May morning over zoom, with my family beside me. The Reverend turned off his camera.

________________________

Trust Yourself

In April 2020, I received a little anonymous package in the mail. I opened it to find a pin that read “Trust Yourself”, a gift from a listening friend. This would become my mantra as I moved forward in healing.

I went to therapy a handful of times that summer. My counselor introduced me to words like codependency. I needed something from the Reverend, the stability of a beloved community and a space to live out my calling, so I was desperate to find a way to minimize the effects of his unhealthy leadership styles. She also taught me a way to mother myself, to put my hand on my heart and acknowledge that this is hard. But I quit therapy when I got anxious about the money and when the sessions weren't keeping up with the pace of my 2020 worries.

I had the instinct to write down all the ways I had been hurt. I wanted to hold onto them so tightly, to not let time take them from me. I googled “how to write a memoir” and the predominant advice was to center yourself in whatever you write.

Shit. I knew at the time that I only wanted to highlight him, those who defended him, and those who sat passively by chalking the whole thing up to personality differences. So, I waited and worked, trying to center myself in the narrative.

____________________

Detriangulation

I started seminary a year after I exited the Alliance. My consecration mentor wrote my referral letter. I embraced the lengthy process, hoping it would be a time of healing for me.

In the winter of 2022, I read a book for one of my classes about family systems theory. I was struggling to understand why I stayed at the Alliance for so many years when my relationship with the Reverend was strained, really, from the beginning.

The book used this word triangulating. You stabilize something hard with something good or hopeful. I had made so many triangles. Me, the beloved community, the Reverend.

Me, Stephen, the Reverend. Me, consecration, the Reverend. Me, our old friend, the Reverend. For years, I thought, if our old friend (who is the most decent human I know) sees potential in him, surely there is hope for growth.

As I did the work, beginning after my ear drum burst, these false stabilizers started to fall away. By the spring of 2020, I stopped looking at the situation through these other circumstances and just looked at it for what it was.

____________________

Turning the page

My exit in May 2020 began a host of church conversations which led to more people exiting that summer. What was small became tiny. The webpage came down and the church changed its name.

I would see the Reverend and his wife out in our small part of the city. My instinctual wave would get a nod from the Reverend and not even a glance from his wife. Once, when she spotted my kids on the local playground, she picked their child up and walked away. I was shocked by this icy reception. I had hope that someday we could at least be in the same room together with ease.

We began attending a new church, over zoom for nearly a year and then in person. The head pastor invited Stephen and I out to lunch after we attended an intro class. I felt nervous in his presence, even more so when he told me he knew the Reverend although no particulars of our situation. He offered to meet with us to process our church hurt. Tired of trying to convince people of what went wrong, I declined.

It's been nearly four years since my decision to leave. I've been eager for this to not be my current story, to turn the page. I know that time is required, but what actions can nudge the processing along?

I decided it was finally time to take the pastor up on his offer. We met one early morning in November. I skipped my normal tennis lesson to sit on his couch and get his thoughts. He asked a lot of questions. Believed me. Grieved with me. And encouraged me to take back my power. For the first time in so many years, I felt safe in a pastor’s office.

I told him that my relationship with the Reverend had been one of the most painful of my life, an admission that feels silly. But when I think about it, it was a relationship that was about more than he and I. It was about my community and my marriage. It was about the roles we are taught to play as men and women, as pastors and parishioners. It was about who I was and who I was becoming.

I'm becoming someone who is learning to trust herself, to know that she is created in the image of God and has unique gifts and callings. Becoming someone who can take her time, invest deeply, and be open to the unknown ahead. Becoming someone who needs people to support, encourage, and challenge her but is thoughtful about who she invites into that space. Becoming someone who is both honest and curious when something is hurting. Becoming someone who still loves the church and will fight for it to be healthy.

I no longer want to hold tight to how I was misunderstood or disrespected or looked over, I want to hold tight to that story of becoming.

Julian is SEVENTEEN.

2023-12-19T09:36:00.000-08:00

Julian turned seventeen with little fanfare. We woke up in Nashville and spent the day driving towards Texas. We finally crossed the state line around sunset and Julian drove us most of the way to Austin on the very congested and dark Texas highways. He is so close to having all the hours he needs to get his license. After years of being a one car family, we are planning to get a second van so he and D'arcy have more access to a car this summer.

Earlier in the week, we did attend Spiderverse at Clowes Hall with a few of his buddies. The movie was accompanied by a live orchestra. Spiderman has been bringing him joy since he was a toddler. He confessed to me recently that many of his dreams are comprised of him using webs to swing through the air.

Although both spiderverse movies are some of his favorites, Julian likes all kinds of movies. He wanted to see Barbie and Oppenheimer back to back, but the best we could do was seeing them within twenty-four hours of each other. He said that he cried during Barbie, and he convinced his cousin to see it with him a second time.

Stephen and I watched Lady Bird with him one evening. It's my kind of movie, funny, quirky, and heartwarming, a coming of age story that focus on the relationship between a daughter and her mom. Not long after, I overheard him mentioning that it was his favorite movie. I think it shows his tenderness. I like that we like the same thing.

He and I started to watch Haiku together, finding common ground between his love of anime and my love of shows that highlight sports. We only made it through a season, but we will hopefully pick it up again over break. I appreciate that we are finding mutuality, hopefully building a foundation for ways we can spend time together in the future.

Julian has spent the year learning to advocate for himself. He is figuring out how to care for his mental health and how to trust himself in the face of anxiety. I've appreciated seeing him be introspective and hearing his insights.

He stepped away from tennis this fall when he got a lead part in the Mean Girls musical. He played Aaron, Kady and Regina's love interest. I really hadn't heard him sing before. Rap, yes. Sing, no. I was blown away by his stage presence and voice. He had to kiss the girl playing Regina on stage a couple of times each show, and her dad joked every night that he had his eyes on Julian. The musical was funny, thought provoking, and SO much work. He spent loads of long evenings and nearly a month of Saturdays working alongside his cast and crew to make it all come together.

Julian is still playing trumpet and piano. He began a two year, diploma program music theory class. He is interested in listening to and playing jazz. He also listens to a lot of rap music. He asked for an album entitled "Scaring the Hoes" for Christmas. My knowledge and appreciation of rap is growing as I ride along in the car with him and so that title no longer scares this hoe.

Julian convinced us to let him move up into the attic when D'arcy is at school. For nine months out of the year, he and Schroeder will effectively have their own rooms for the first time in their lives. I was nervous about them being lonely, but they have gotten along just fine.

Whenever D'arcy does come home, Julian moves his gaming computer and monitor, a computer he earned by working hard to walk with his whole foot, down to his brother's room. He sleeps on the top bunk now that Schroeder has claimed the bottom.

Seventeen. I feel emotional just saying it. Months away from being an adult, this beautiful, funny boy of mine.

Maggie is a teenager.

2023-09-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

Maggie celebrated her thirteenth birthday with a long awaited slumber party. There was a heat wave in Indiana that week so I suggested we tuck everyone in the van and drive down to grandpa's to have an evening swim. I loaded the cooler with drinks, fruit, and ice cream and we stopped along the way to pick up pizza. The girls spent the car ride singing along to Taylor Swift at the top of their lungs. They kept the jam session going in the pool, making requests to the DJ (my dad).

Her party was on a Friday night which also happened to be D'arcy's birthday. In years past, Maggie would have had to arrange her birthday plans around her sister's, but now that D'arcy is away at school, she doesn't have to share her birthday weekend.

Maggie's wish list included art supplies, jewelry, leggings, and a kindle. We gave her a kindle. She tends to be a faithful reader. She started Little Women recently but confessed that the language was old which made the reading slow going. However, she is blowing through The Summer I Turned Pretty series and is firmly team Conrad.

She continues to be an extremely thoughtful person. For Mother's Day, she filled a jar with little slips of paper that describe why she loves me. Some of the reasons include my little lavender tattoo, because I am a substitute teacher, and because I love her. What a gift to be seen.

She also says she "loves me for correcting her grammar". I regularly point out her excessive use of the word like. I've always felt she is frustrated with me in those moments, but the paper says otherwise.

Over the past year, she has taken improv classes and continued to play piano. She is working on the song Cardigan by Taylor Swift. (What era is your favorite?!) She plays flute in the band and jumped back into hip hop this fall. They are doing a routine to a song from the Barbie movie. She already has her outfit planned per usual.

We went to France this summer and she looked regularly fabulous. I gave her the jean jacket I bought for my honeymoon. It's a size too small now and she wore it draped over her shoulders in Paris which made me deeply happy.

We love this girl so much.

Penelope is TEN!!

2023-09-12T06:54:00.001-07:00

Penelope turned ten in May.

She plays soccer during the fall and spring seasons. We call her a defensive specialist. She's a strong student and got to join a reading group that met with the media specialist weekly. She has WAY too many squishmallows. They fill her entire bed. She has a group of good friends at school and has even started to make some friends at church. A year ago, she was reluctant to go to her children's ministry class on Sundays, but now seems to look forward to it. She's addicted to seltzer waters and chips and salsa.

Based on Julian's influence, she is catching up on One Piece. I've never watched One Piece so I have no idea if it's age appropriate. That's sort of the rub when you have sisters and brothers significantly older than you, you get early exposure to older content. A couple of times this year, though, I've been surprised to find out she is still oblivious to the meaning of certain words or phrases.

We spent two weeks as a family in France and England this summer. I had initially planned this trip for summer 2020. I'm not sure that seven year old Penelope would have been able to keep up, but ten year old Penelope was able to hang.

She walked everywhere we walked, pushed her way into the metro, and climbed and counted all the stairs of the Eiffel tower. She did want to hold someones hand most of the time, usually me or Julian.

She also carried her own backpack and pulled her own suitcase through the airport, train stations, and city streets. She had won a stuffed otter at Dave and Busters a few nights before we left and insisted on bringing him with us. Too big to be stuffed in her suitcase, he rode on top, arms wrapped around the handle. It was a sweet reminder that she is both big and little at the same time.

Penelope was eager to go swimming in the English Channel as redemption for Hawaii. Unfortunately, unlike the ocean around Hawaii, the water is cold and shallow and the tide goes out really far. Plus, Steve kept us hopping leaving little time for the beach.

Penelope has her own unique style. A little bit tomboy. A little bit athletic. But she has a feminine flair. She seems to either choose a tight, short top with baggier pants or a big t-shirt with shorts. She loves a pair of overalls. Mostly she wears whatever she finds at the top of her drawers, forgetting what's buried underneath.

She hates to put her hair up and is usually unprepared for those hot soccer games when it's necessary, running over to the side to ask me if I happen to have a hair tie. Recently, she asked for curtain bangs, sending me inspiration pics through kids messenger app.

Happy Birthday Penelope!

Schroeder is fourteen.

2023-09-12T06:43:00.010-07:00

Schroeder turned fourteen in March. He celebrated by inviting a dozen boys and girls over to the house for pizza, a trip to DQ, and some sardines despite the cold, rainy, dark conditions. I was nervous about someone slipping and cracking their head.

I was reading Schroeder's birthday post from last year and realized not much has changed. He's still that competitive boy who is eager to get better at sports. He's playing on two soccer teams this spring. I hear him often in the backyard kicking his soccer ball against the fence. He's hoping to make the Shortridge team in the fall.

He still prefers math and neglects his art assignments. He's still growing, now taller than his oldest sister.

He still has a strong voice when he's in front of a crowd or cracking a joke and a voice that falters in a more emotionally charged situation or asking for something he wants. He was loud and clear when leading community meetings and during his community project presentation. Sometimes, though, he'll come into my room and pause and I'll have to invite him to spit his thoughts out and then repeat them louder.

He told me recently that he really just wanted to be the best at one thing among his peers. I relate to this desire, but I've also discovered it's a trap.

He's headed to high school in the fall. It was clear where he would go, but I fretted over it anyway. Did he want to tour other options? Would any of his friends join him? Schroeder made his comfort in the choice clear by wearing the Shortridge bracelet and T-shirt he received regularly. It turns out that quite a few of his friends and classmates will join him.

A week before his birthday, I had the chance to chaperone his trip to Camp Tecumseh. I'm grateful he was happy to have me along. While we were there, his gym teacher told me that he was always up to play any game or invest in an activity...even the dumb ones. His kindergarten teacher and fellow 8th grade mom said he should earn a scholarship for his high ropes course skills.

At Christmas, we bought him a phone. We normally wait for High School to start, but there was a sale. Also, his birthday doesn't happen to fall at the beginning of the school year, and I wasn't going to buy him Christmas and birthday gifts AND then a phone. He's playing a lot of chess on it. He also has a 150 day streak on Duolingo. Both sound like smart uses of time but not when they distract you at school.

We love this boy.

Julian is 16!

2023-02-16T12:22:00.003-08:00

Julian turned SIXTEEN on October 7th.

This last year felt like a negotiation. As someone who grew up in conservative evangelical churches, training for parenting doesn't include negotiation. I heard a lot of messages about authority...laying down expectations and demanding they be done or face consequences. But each kid has their own thoughts, desires, inclinations, hopes, and wills. All of that needs to be taken into consideration as we form our expectations. Therein lies the negotiation.

Last year, Julian was telling us more about who he was becoming and we tried to listen. We negotiated his level of church participation, academic and extra curricular expectations, and what our role as his parents should be in the next few years.

It feels like we emerged with a peace agreement.

He was always such a silly, easy going, no nonsense kid. We would occasionally see his temper. These days we are seeing more emotional and creative sides of him. It's a privilege to watch.

Julian managed girls tennis in the spring and played tennis in the fall. He is taking piano lessons once a week and playing trumpet in the Shortridge band. He has worked on crew for the theatre productions, and this year he tried out for the musical and got a part! Most nights, we can hear him upstairs lifting weights.

He has a group of friends that attend various high schools. They make plans to see movies, go to the zoo and baseball games, and have sleepovers. They support each other well. He credits them sometimes for his well being, and I wonder "what about those awesome parents you have?"

This story makes me laugh. Julian had Spanish in middle school so as a freshman he took a placement test which put him in Spanish 2. He breezed through the class. At the beginning of his sophomore year, he found himself in a Spanish 3 class. He felt immediately intimidated because he was one of the only non-native speakers in the class. I took a little joy in him finding himself challenged at school. He wasn't so sure, and ended up asking the teacher if he could be put back into Spanish 2. He confessed that the placement test he took was a Google doc with a translate button... which he utilized...so maybe he really shouldn't be a year ahead. His teacher told him she couldn't put him back in a class he had easily passed last year! Oh, the natural consequences!

He's done great, though, in Spanish 3 and all his other classes. He's up and on the redline to school before anyone else in the house is awake. He's doing his own laundry these days and learning to drive. He got his permit in September. He has emerged from middle school a responsible kid.

And funny. He's always sending me a good meme. He doesn't have a sense of humor about me taking his picture, though. If I ask him to smile, I get a kind of I-hate-you look. He still looks handsome, though.

Maggie is twelve.

2022-09-21T10:11:00.002-07:00

If Penelope is nine going on nine, Maggie is twelve going on twenty.

She shared her birthday with my dad's wedding. She wasn't bothered, just excited to dress up and eat good food. We found her an extra small dress from the Juniors department. She fixed her hair and makeup and kept mentioning how grown up she felt.

Maggie declared that she wasn't a "sports girl" this summer. Instead, she is artistic and musical. She plays piano and, inspired by Lizzo, started learning the flute. Her desk is always covered in dry paint. Still, she decided to join volleyball this fall. Maybe she's learning she doesn't have to define herself so rigidly, that she can always choose to learn and play a sport if the urge strikes.

She uses words like "aesthetic" and "facts". She reads tween novels especially those with LGBTQ themes, and proudly displays her pride flags in her room. She enthusiastically utilizes Pinterest boards. She sent me one for her birthday, in fact. She had pinned all the presents she wanted; bath and body works soaps, a tortilla blanket, delicate beaded jewelry. '

A couple of months ago, she messaged me on Facebook messenger asking if she could start shaving her legs. When I didn't notice the message for a few days, she left me a sticky not by my bed asking me to check messenger. My response was sure, go ahead and start a task that will never, ever be done or done well. There will always be that pesky spot on your knee, ankle, or on the back of your calf that you missed.

Our school district has just put out a plan to move and merge her K-8 school. The transition with have her at four buildings in four years. She will tentatively spend her eighth grade year at the middle school just blocks from our home, within easy walking distance. She already has plans that her and her friends will cross the street to the Dairy Queen at least once a month for a treat.

I joke that if there is an argument in our house between siblings, there's a 99% chance that she is involved. I appreciate that she has quick access to her emotions and words.

This weekend, a friend was sharing that she had a first date but was tired of the same old first date questions. Maggie pulled out her sticky notes that she keeps in her purse in case she needs to draw and began creating some new questions. What kind of grapes do you like, green or red? Who would you say is your best friend? She advised our friend that if he says "my mom", you should walk the other way. Maggies said, "You never want a guy who will choose his mother over you." Her book of dating advise and questions will be out next year...when she's thirteen.

D'arcy is eighteen.

2022-09-21T09:44:00.002-07:00

This will be my last birthday post for D'arcy. As the family historian, I've assumed the job of documenting her childhood, but her childhood is now officially over. Her life is hers to record and share...which doesn't mean she won't end up on my instagram feed.

It's been such a joy to watch her this past year as she wrapped up high school and made plans to step out independently into the world. I loved watching her jump and serve the volleyball as a Blue Devil and carefully preparing macarons for each of her friends' birthdays. I loved hearing her move around in her attic bedroom, pounding the keys of her keyboard. Her steps above me were my alarm clock each morning. I loved listening to people's reaction when they heard her sing in the musical. "I had no idea she could sing like that!" I did.

I loved helping her pick out three yellow dresses, one for easter, prom, and graduation. Several of her friends gathered to get ready at our house and descended two flights of stairs in their long dresses and high heels. Stephen drove her and a friend to prom in his old convertible, but I secretly drove past to see the beauty of a hundred teenagers standing on the library steps in their formal attire. I parked around the corner and cried at the beauty of it all. I loved screaming her name as she crossed the stage at Clewes Hall and seeing her siblings run to hug her as she came out on the lawn after graduation.

There were hard moments as well. She grieved the loss of a couple of close friendships. She struggled to know and accept her part in the breakdown and set healthy boundaries. In late March, she tearfully told me that Notre Dame, her reach school, had officially declined her application. She decided to go to Indiana University, and this summer was mostly a joyful time of getting ready. The night before she left, though, she came into our room crying, feeling scared. And, so, I petted her hair as she laid in our bed and just had a moment.

She has a great support system at IU, a best friend for a roommate and plenty of high school friends to help her feel less alone. When we dropped her off, we knew we would see her soon. We were picking her up in just ten days (the day after her birthday) for my dad's wedding. I left a gift with her roommate, asking her to put it on her bed on her birthday morning. Her friends surprised her with a sushi dinner out in Bloomington.

While I didn't see her on her eighteenth birthday, I picked her up the next day. She looked beautiful at the wedding. D'arcy and Julian performed a duet during the ceremony and she gave an impromptu speech. Then she put her tennis shoes on and asked the DJ to play The Wobble. That's my girl. Always my girl.

Schroeder is 13.

2022-09-16T12:26:00.004-07:00

Schroeder turned thirteen in March. We spent his birthday at the City Museum in St. Louis. We had our nephew with us so we paired up, someone older with a cellphone and someone younger without. Schroeder was my buddy. I followed him all over the museum, through tight dark tunnels, down slides. He doesn't give me as many hugs these days, but he seemed to enjoy spending his day with me.

I wish I could have seen him as he is now five years ago when he was struggling in school. He has always been smart, but now he is more focused and responsible. I don't worry when the school calls anymore because the feedback I'm getting about him is usually positive. Math is still his jam. He transferred into band this year. He's playing the trombone and his teacher is thrilled that he is easily making up the two year gap as his peers started in the 6th grade.

He has been cycling through sports; fall is volleyball, winter is futsal, spring is soccer, summer is tennis. He is competitive which means he is hard on himself when he doesn't do well.

This summer, he and Stephen went on a backpacking trip. Our church youth group has these programs to help kids connect with significant mentors and God. They often involve intense trips in nature. The leadership is encouraging parents to be intentional about the "coming of age" process. Stephen and I have had many discussions about how we can help both our boys as they enter manhood. Manhood doesn't have anything to do with sports or extreme outdoor adventures. It has everything to do with being kind and curious. It has everything to do with them knowing their worth and the worth of others. It has everything to do with identifying values that will guide their lives.

Schroeder struggles at times to vocalize his desires and emotions. When I ask him questions, I need to give him time and a safe place to share. Sometimes, though, I just yell "SPEAK UP!"

Schroeder is growing, growing, growing. On his birthday, he was my height. Now, six months later, he is several inches taller than me. I'm eager to see how much he continues to grow in all areas.

Penelope is NINE.

2022-09-16T12:07:00.004-07:00

Penelope has four older siblings who are all teens or preteens. This year, parenting them has been an onslaught of decisions and discussions about faith, dating, high schools, colleges, money, sexuality, driving, and independence. Comparatively, parenting Penelope has been a reprieve. Parenting Penelope has felt easy. She is nine going on nine, joyfully content to just be the age she is.

In the spring, I named a worry I had for each child but when I got to P, I couldn't think of anything distinct. She enjoys school and is excelling at reading. She plays soccer and likes to draw. She has friends that she loves and love her back. She climbs trees. She would scamper up the tree by the bus stop many mornings and then drop down when she saw yellow turning the corner. She plays video games with her brothers and watches Survivor and Big Brother with me. This year, I noticed how much of a giggler she is, the sound of it filling our house daily, hourly. She finds me regularly just to give me a hug.

I mean, she's not great at cleaning her room. She abandons the task and declares she forgot (insert eye roll) but, otherwise, in this season, she is not making me flex my parenting skills very much.

Well, until June when a little friend cried out, "Penelope hurt her wrist" and then I see her walk up the hill with a shockingly NOT straight arm. She snapped both her ulna and ~~tibia~~ radius when she fell off a ladder which according to Maggie was the height of a refrigerator. A pediatric nurse was in our company at the time and gave her a sling and us instructions for where to take her. That nurse woke up the next morning with the discovery that she had Covid, but I was so grateful she was there face to face with my babe, calming us all.

And so parenting Penelope looked like sitting with her during x-rays and castings and telling a nine going on nine year old the worst summer news, you can't swim for a month. A month turned into seven weeks when they removed her long cast and discovered they had burned her arm when they cut her original cast to allow for swelling. The nurse tried to make it up to her by offering her sparkles on her new, shorter cast. Penelope wouldn't even look at her, wouldn't even pick a color for her cast.

Seeing how this happened four days before our trip to Hawaii, she was a pretty good sport. She found joy in experiencing her first plane ride (that she can remember). When the rest of our family went zip-lining, she and I went into the city to find mochi, a Japanese candy. I'm so grateful for the resilient, beautiful soul she is.

Julian is 15!

2022-03-23T09:19:00.001-07:00

Julian finished his time at CFI2 in the midst of a global pandemic. There were no big trips or dinners, but he did get to play soccer with his friends. Although, he missed the last game when he had a strong reaction to his Covid shot. He was chosen to give a graduation speech, and instead of being sappy, he was downright funny. I was so proud.

He transitioned pretty smoothly to high school in the fall. When I was in high school, there was a clear school path, but in downtown Indianapolis, in 2021, there are choices. Shortridge had felt like the clear decision for our kids, but it was still a decision I agonized over. Julian wasn’t interested in agonizing which felt like a relief. It’s been lovely to have D’arcy and Julian in the same school again. They joked that they were planning an epic sister vs. brother, senior vs. freshman fight in the hallway. It must still be in the planning phases because it hasn’t happened yet.

He rides the Redline (the first rapid transit line in Indy) with his friends and sister taking it directly from our neighborhood to the front door of their school. He joined the tennis team as a novice player, is playing trumpet in the band, and started piano lessons again. I love to hear him play.

Julian has always had a great group of friends. Despite going to several different high schools, they all still meet up regularly to walk around the city. Their meet up point is usually the playground of their old K-8 school which I find sweet. It’s been interesting and sometimes uncomfortable for me to watch Julian have conflict with friends, though. In some instances, he has set boundaries which limited or closed the door to certain friendships.

We’ve also had several serious conversations about the role of God, faith, and church in his life. Parenting teenagers seems to be about finding a balance between continuing to apply your influence and expectations and giving them space to exert their independence. Maybe that’s what all parenting is about, but the topics seem to have gotten more serious.

Julian is all about anime. It’s what he is reading, watching, listening to, and wearing for Halloween. His love for anime is influencing all his younger siblings. He asked me to buy him a specific straw hat this summer, something an anime character wears. I was so amused that I didn’t question the purchase and just bought it.

For his birthday, he finally got his first official phone and phone number. With after school commitments and friend hangouts, it had gotten hard to communicate without being able to just text him. He could have gotten his birthday present early, before school started, but he had STRONG opinions about which phone he wanted and held out for the Google Pixel 6.

I found out this year that Julian thinks folding clothes is worthless. Also, he was surprised to find out that his first name, Edward, happens to be his grandpa and uncle’s middle name. How is this new information?!

We love this kid!

Maggie is 11!

2021-08-31T11:50:00.000-07:00

Maggie turns eleven tomorrow. She is all long legs, quick temper, and thoughtful card maker. A dream combination. She is quick to scream at Schroeder, but she won’t neglect making him a birthday card. At Christmas, she proposed that the siblings draw names and make each other a gift. Most of her siblings were resistant. D’arcy said, “This idea will NOT bring me joy.” Maggie sewed a little purple felt stuffy for Schroeder well in advance. D’arcy drew Maggie in her Pickle (a stuffed dinosaur) Halloween costume.

Maggie chose aviator style reading glasses that make her look like Gloria Steinem in all her feminist glory. She doesn’t know who Gloria is, but she knows she looks good. She is deeply committed to curating her look. She often braids her hair wet to get a solid wave after two days. Her braces have come off...for now.

In the spring, I asked her if she wanted to play soccer. After a year of being secluded due to Covid, I was ready to get the kids outside around their peers. “No.” She told me she “wasn’t a sporty girl”. And, yet, this fall, she decided to play volleyball.

She worked her way through watching “Boy Meets World”, one of my faves when I was her age, and has moved on to watching “Grownish” and “Blackish”. She is definitely ready to be grownish. She is coding and playing piano and listening to musicals on repeat. Maggie is passionate about LGBTQ+ rights and committed to wearing a rainbow necklace and bracelet throughout Pride month.

She attended a sleep away camp for the first time this summer. Twice actually. She went once with her siblings and cousins and then attended a different camp with her friend, August. At the second camp, I dropped her off and dumped all my friend baggage on her. “Give your friend space. Don’t talk her ear off the whole time. Read the room. Be open to making other friends and taking space apart during the week.”

For her birthday, she wanted to take a group of friends to Color Me Mine, a pottery painting studio. We have a van full of kids heading up there tomorrow. She asked for art supplies, fidgets, and mascara for her birthday. She’s been going to my bathroom for a month to use my mascara. I find myself squinting, trying to remember how old her sister was when she did such things. They are just far enough apart that I seem to have forgotten.

D'arcy is 17!!

2021-08-25T11:10:00.006-07:00

D'arcy is seventeen and a senior. She's back in school full time (for now) after a year of Covid craziness. We are hoping this virus gets under control so she can finish up her year and go on her senior trip to Belize.

She has a permit, a bank account, and a check book. Her full schedule doesn't allow for a steady job, but she's out their busking and babysitting to earn some money.

She's a night hour away from getting her license. Her flexible schedule while doing virtual school allowed me to take her out every Wednesday last winter, and we let her drive all the way to South Carolina for vacation. She conquered driving in downtown Atlanta and the Tennessee mountains. She was not great at turning or staying in her lane when we started, but I think she's almost ready. I've been the kind of driving coach that yells, "Is that how you want to die?" when she pulls out without being able to fully see what's coming. We haven't been in too much of a hurry because she will still be predominantly taking the redline to and from school and practices.

The redline and friends with cars has given her a lot of new freedom. I no longer have to plan activities to fill her summer. Instead, I'm just trying to keep track of where she's going, with who, and how she's getting there. We use an app to track her and it even gives us an idea of how fast her friends are driving. But that doesn't replace a good ol' text from her communicating her whereabouts. She has asked questions recently like, Can I have a beer too? and Can I sleep over at a boy's house with a whole group of friends? She's trustworthy but I'm learning how to maintain boundaries unemotionally with teenagers.

She has a great group of friends that survived some relational challenges last winter. They come to each other's sports games and exchange baked goods at Christmas and birthdays. They play tennis, picnic, swim, watch movies, and play frustrated games of monopoly. It's beautiful to see your child loved.

It delights me to watch her hit serves playing JV volleyball and lose with class on the tennis court. She ministers to me when she sings up front at church. She is toying with the idea of going to IU (Indiana University) next year. She wants to major in a math or science, minor in music, and have some sort of cross cultural experience. I want her to really consider the financial implications of college without closing her mind to possibility. It's fun to feel the change coming but not have it fully revealed yet.

Until then, you'll find her in her third floor walk up attic apartment (that happened this year!) writing essays to finish IB, watching New Girl or Gilmore girls on repeat, listening to musicals, making delicious macarons or playing Olivia Rodrigo on the piano.

I have been rewatching Friday Night Lights, and when Tami Taylor said this, I teared up. "I got my dream. I went to a good school. I got the degree I wanted. I met your dad, and I had you. You're my dream, baby. I got what I wanted. I got it all. And now it's your job to dream up whatever you want, and I will support you to the ends of the earth to do that." Excited to see what's ahead for this gal.

Penelope (DaBaby) turned 8!

2021-08-12T06:51:00.000-07:00

Penelope turned eight at the end of May. She's a little thing with a confident, independent spirit. She likes a good anime and often turns on her lo-fi hip hop music to chill. She (briefly) started studying Japanese on Duolingo so she could eventually stop using subtitles. She thinks her bangs hanging in her face give her an anime look, but they make me crazy!

She loves to draw. I find her often with a sharpie in her hand. And she wrote the sweetest little book that I think is good enough to publish. She prefers a cold can of sparkling water, and tells some seriously bad jokes. An example would be, "Don't be sad because sad backwards is das and das not good." She plays a whole lot of Roblox, and is always wanting to spend her money on Robux which to me is the equivalent of flushing money down the toilet.

Like all her other siblings this year, she celebrated with a backyard movie party. She wanted to watch Dumbo live action because her siblings never want to watch it with her. She invited a few of her fave friends from school including a couple of boys she became better friends with during Covid. While we waited for the sun to go down, they got some Nicey treats and tattoos and played at the park.

Penelope played soccer for the first time. She played defense, and it was so thrilling to see her stand her ground with boys much taller than her as I screamed from the sideline. She said winning makes soccer more fun and would often have a gut feeling about whether they would win on the way to a game.

All her siblings went to sleep away camp this summer, but it still makes me nervous to think of my littlest bit swimming in a lake without me. She was happy to be an only child for the week, though. She angled me into buying her some new shoes while they were gone. She wanted Crocs and I thought if I bought her the exact shoe she desired (with clouds and rainbows), she might keep them on. Keeping shoes on is an ongoing fight with Penelope Unfortunately, she is just as likely to take them off and complain that her feet hurt or are too hot.

She did get to host a bearded dragon in her room for a week this summer. Her second grade class pet was taking a summer tour around Indy. P was already familiar with holding and feeding him mealworms. We kept him in her room so Georgia wouldn't lose her mind. Nacho decided to shed his skin while he was at our place. I secretly loved him.

Despite Covid, Penelope rocked second grade. She was proud to "finish" dreambox (a companion online math program), and her reading exploded. At the beginning of the year, she only wanted to read graphic novels. Other books "didn't have enough pictures" she said, but she decided to reread a book I had read aloud to her about a pig in the city. Then, she read the follow up book. Plain ole novels became appealing, and she also decided she would add pigs to the list of animals she loved. Now she has two stuffed pigs, a cork pig that she made at craft club with our neighbor Rebecca, and two ceramic pigs that used to be my mom's. (My mom collected pigs in the '90's.)

All the older kids can't believe she's eight...it feels so old for someone they remember being born. Forever that baby we all love.

Schroeder is twelve.

2021-04-15T11:27:00.001-07:00

Schroeder's eleventh year of life overlapped almost exactly with the coronavirus pandemic. School was cancelled just two weeks before he turned 11. He will finally go back to school full time on April 5th as a twelve year old.

Last year, we had a zoom party. This year, we had a handful of his masked buddies over in the backyard for snacks, video games, sardines, and other general nonsense.

We scootered over to Dairy Queen for some dessert. Schroeder was showing his friends how fast he could ride his scooter, how he could lead the pack. Then he hit a bump, flipped off and rolled his wrist. I thought it would derail his party. He wasn't crying, but he was clearly in his head with discomfort. After some ibuprofen, he rebounded but two days later we are looking at taking him in for an x-ray to see if he has a fracture.

He has really sweet friends. Friends who will say hello to me, will let his little sisters play sardines, and will notice he isn't recovering from his spill and sit with him and ask him questions about how it's feeling. I always feel really grateful that my kids have peers to connect with.

This year, most of that connection has come through screens. It makes it even more challenging to limit screen time because I'm essentially saying "stop playing with your friends who you never get to see in person".

For his birthday, we repaired his Nintendo switch. In December, I found him crying on the couch. I sat down beside him with a whole helping of concern and empathy. What happened? Did a friend hurt your feelings? I soon discovered he was crying because, in a fit of anger over his video game, he smacked the screen with his controller and busted it. All my concern and empathy dissolved. A busted switch screen was a pretty perfect natural consequence.

Schroeder entered middle school in August without much fanfare. Middle school paired with virtual learning created the perfect practice ground for time management. I try to check in with him at lunchtime. I have him write down his open assignments in his planner for us both to see. Then I ask him what his goals are for the day. "What will you get accomplished before 3:30pm?" At 3:30, I'll ask, "How did it go?" Childhood is for practicing.

He always prioritizes his math first and leaves art for last. Math is easy, but he says he's no good at art. I'm trying to help him reframe his words. "Maybe you aren't good at it because you don't enjoy practicing drawing. It's okay to not prefer an activity." But also, "Just finish your damn art assignment."

Schroeder is a beautiful kid. Quick to smile and laugh. Quick to give me a hug. Quick to be excited about an adventure. Quick to tear up when he's feeling tired or overwhelmed.

I'm realizing this is his last year, really, as a little boy. Next year, on his birthday, he'll likely be taller than me. I can already see the baby skin on his face becoming less smooth. Motherhood is constant mourning and gratefulness and dreaming of the future.

On his actual birthday, we played a game as a family. He and Maggie were giving clues. These babies of mine, just 17 months apart whispering to each other and giggling and strategizing. I wanted to bottle it up.

Everyone is a year older.

2020-06-23T09:52:00.003-07:00

I've been working on this blog post for about six months. Slowly adding more kids as their birthday passed.

Written in January 2020
D'arcy turned fifteen this past August. She's awake an hour before us all, and the newly opened Redline takes her from around the corner to the front of her school. She had been resistant to the idea of public transportation and was talking about Drivers Ed and getting a car. But after one practice bus trip with me, she saw it for what it was, freedom. Now we have to remind her that even if she has an independent form of transportation to get to an event, she still has to ask and inform us.

Giving her freedom feels pretty easy, though. She's deeply responsible and motivated and has earned our respect. Her report card came in the mail and it listed her class rank as #1. But we do have conversations about value though. It's great to strive for great grades, but, ultimately, the learning will be the value you carry with you. It's fine to be competitive, but comparison steals joy.

There seems to always be clothing flowing from her closet door. When three girls share one room, it's challenging for it to ever feel clean. Now that she's in high school, I have more of a desire to give her her own space. We are strongly considering turning our attic into a live-able space. It's definitely something we want to accomplish by the time she's in college. I think it would be hard to push her back up into her bunk "apartment" once she becomes an adult. But until then, I see the beauty in her still sharing a childhood room with her sisters.

She and Julian are teenagers together, now. Once, this fall, they asked me, "Have you seen the Birds work for the bourgeoisie on TikTok?" "What? Are speaking English?"

D'arcy asked us to buy her $250 Apple EarPods for Christmas. She assured us that we could combine our gift budget with grammy and grandpa's to afford them. It could be her only gift. I asked her how many times her cheap earphones had been taken at school. Twice. Then I thought about how angry I would be if we bought her $250 EarPods and they were taken in, say, February. I think I would be pretty frustrated. So we gave her a few small gifts and some money. If you want to spend that much on a tiny little item, feel free. She ended up buying $40 ones from Amazon.

Maggie turned nine in August. She is living this year in the '90s, a scrunchie (or two) around her wrist and choker around her neck.

In July, she asked to cut her hair to her chin. I watched a youtube video to get the technique right. In September, Penelope asked for her hair to be cut just like Maggie's. Maggie sat in her oversized Ed Shearen pajama t-shirt, and cried in Stephen's arms. To be copied was devastating.

At the beginning of second grade, I wondered aloud to her teacher if dyslexia was playing a part in her reading challenges. She made huge strides that year, but was still struggling with some letter combinations. Her teacher just recently tested her to give us more information about where she was at risk.

Her emotional life feels very similar to my own. She wants people to see that she needs help without always asking. When something doesn't come easily, she becomes frustrated and quickly angry. She'll dash out of a room with tears in her eyes and slam her door. When you say something deeply true about her, she will begin to cry, I suspect, with relief that she is being seen and fear of being exposed and vulnerable.

In November, she came downstairs to say, "Mom, I can't bend my thumb." It was the same week the dentist said, "She really needs to see an orthodontist." and the same week the eye doctor reminded, "it's time for your next appointment." So we took a medical tour that led to outpatient surgery and braces. A first for us as parents.

She's drawing. Portraits. Right now, she is having an eye period. Last night, she was telling me how she understood God's seven days of creation through the eyes of an artist. You start with a concept and come back daily to add details.

Julian turned thirteen in October.

Parenting tip...puberty requires a larger clothing budget. He told me recently that I should buy him only black pants for school. "It's simpler to have all the same color. Also, they don't show dirt as easily."

As a thirteen year old, we are diligently trying to help him create a habit of hanging up his towel. Also, we are introducing him to the oven and stove. Tackling the fine art of frozen pizza, mac and cheese, and one pot spaghetti.

He's a really sweet big brother to Penelope. She sits on his lap or his shoulders and watches youtube. They play video games together. She urges him to "go easy on me". Lately, being a big brother to Maggie has looked like tackling and fake punching her back. Less sweet, but Maggie seems to like the pseudo affection.

Our friend Billy who occasionally teaches the kids lesson always tells Julian to give me a hug. So he obeys.

He's going on an Art Club trip in June to South Dakota. We had to find different ways for him to earn money besides sitting on a city corner playing the ukulele. We had a yard sale, and he worked to price items and haul what was left over to Goodwill. He sat outside on our stoop, drinking coffee, and peddling used goods. He likes coffee.

March 2020
Schroeder turns eleven today. His birthday looks a little different due to our coronavirus quarantine. Breakfast delivered instead of out with Dad, and a virtual happy birthday sing along instead of a party.

I asked him what life was like for him this past year. He said school is harder than it's ever been. He's currently working on his exhibition project, a culminating project to finish out his elementary years. He selected the challenging topic of police brutality. This is my third time supporting a fifth grader through this project. In February, a first time parent asked me what to expect. My response was, "Most of it is completed in school and is supported by the teacher." That is proving to not be true this time.

It is interesting...even beautiful...though, supporting a child as he learns to research and take a position on a hard topic for the first time.

In November, Schroeder decided to run the Monumental 5k. He got up before sunrise on a super cold Fall morning and ran through the streets of our city in his thermal leggings. I cried when he crossed the finish line. No one in our family had ever done something like that before. I was so moved that he would have the courage to try something hard and new all on his own.

He has lots of little hobbies. He learned to solve ALL the rubix cubes...cube ones, triangular ones, ones with a million sides. It's all he asked for for Christmas. He rides around the house on his ripstick, getting more and more bold with his speed. He got a new scooter for his birthday because he wants to learn some jumps. We also got him a helmet and pads.

May 2020

Penelope turned seven at the end of May.

She finished her last three months of second grade learning from home due to coronavirus. She took a heads down, get 'er done approach. She got on clever at 9:45, did her math and reading and extra activities and moved on with the day.

"It's official everyone in our house can read." I made this declaration one night at dinner. After ten years, I'm so relieved to be past this stage of parenting. Penelope's reading EXPLODED this winter, and I give all the credit to her kindergarten and first grade teachers.

Penelope started hip hop club this year after not wanting to join anything as a kindergartner. In February, her coach asked me if she is enjoying herself as she tends to have a very serious look on her face. My response was, "Yes, she enjoys it quite a bit. Don't worry, she didn't smile at me the whole first year of life."

She is a gamer. She asked for her own pro controller for the switch for her birthday (And also a super soft blanket and stuffed animal.) She told me recently that Schroeder is her favorite sibling. She said, "We play together and like the same things. If we were the same age we would basically be twins."

Penelope tends to disappear when chores start to happen. I have to say, "Don't talk like a baby." at least once a day. But when she scrunches up her nose, she has the cutest nose wrinkles.

We recently decided to leave our church of ten years, the same church we showed up to with Penelope in an ergo carrier when she was 40 hours old because I'm ridiculous. I read a statement to the church on our zoom meeting at 11:30am. Then, at 4pm that evening, Penelope looked at me and she said, "I really like our old church because it didn't have that many people. A new church is going to have SO many people." She started crying. The type of crying where you can't catch your breath for several minutes. I felt like Penelope showed me exactly who she was in that moment...a little shy and easily overwhelmed in light of change.

Urban Dwellers

2019-07-10T16:50:00.002-07:00

It was October, and my friend invited me to a local meetup of women who had aspirations of being intentional influencers. One of the topics that emerged at the meeting was social media. Women were vulnerably sharing how certain feeds can leave them feeling less than or jealous.

I came home and declared, “I don’t think I have ever felt that way, Stephen. I am not duped by those perfect feeds. Everyone has a messy life in some ways, they just don’t share it."

That same month, some friends who have a bluegrass band asked me to take some band pictures. We went out mid-day to this empty lot with a cool mural painted on the adjoining building. There I was with my single camera and step stool. I’m 4’10’’ in the morning. They say you shrink a little bit during the day. The step stool helps me photograph people’s faces instead of their necks. I can tell you, I strike a pretty unimposing figure.

We are there, and what I can only describe as a supremely confident photographer came over with a bride and groom. Could her bride and groom pose with the band? Would they play for the couple? Would one of her assistants hand her the 80mm lens? Would the other assistant take a photo of her taking a photo? Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Days later, this photographer posted the photo of the bride a groom with the band on Instagram. One of the bandmates brought the picture to my attention. I scrolled through the photographer's feed and discovered prettier people, better light, more creative angles, and a familiar face.

Our children’s principal and her family were there in this photographer's feed. I really didn’t know much about her at the time. She has two daughters. One the same age as Schroeder, the other the same age as Maggie. I knew that she dressed well, and I knew that I didn’t like her tone when she called me to talk about Schroeder’s behavior. Did he go to preschool? Is he young for his grade? Are you as good of a mom as you think you are? She didn’t ask the last question. There’s a solid chance that she didn’t have a tone, either. She may have just been doing her job. We might never know.

I found out a few more things about her from her instagram feed. It has since become private, likely because of stalkers like me. She recently sold her four bedroom home in exchange for a condo downtown. They were no longer trapped on evenings and weekends cleaning, maintaining, and improving a home. They were now urban dwellers. The city was their backyard.I had fallen down the rabbit hole, and my mind began to churn. In our move to the city, why hadn’t we considered moving to a condo instead of a 130 year old, beige, moth-ball filled house? A house that had consumed a good portion of our expendable income over the last five years.

It occurred to me that one difference in her situation and mine was she has two kids and I have five. Why did I have five kids!? My life decisions no longer made any sense.

Just after Christmas, I tore up our upstairs hall bathroom and slowly began to put it back together. I pulled down a grate and found it was hiding a big hole in the ceiling. I pulled out the vanity and discovered there was no wall behind it. It was a slow process. My mom asked me, “Who are you hiring to lay the tile?” No one. I’m doing it myself. She outright laughed. I reminded her that DIY projects are as much about the process and what you learn as the end result. I’m still clinging to this truth.

I spent a grueling mid-winter Saturday laying down tile. I had started in the corner which was the wrong strategy, and all the poorly spaced seams were converging in the very center of the floor. Mortar was coming up through the cracks, and I wasn’t doing a fantastic job wiping it all away.

Stephen had decided to forego the home improvement life and took D’arcy to the historic Women’s March. While I was slugging away on my hands and knees in a bathroom with no windows, he was updating me on his day. Ran into your cousin’s family. In a strange turn of events, my cousin’s wife had just become the assistant principal at our kids' school. They are going to the principal’s condo for lunch, and have invited us to come. Is that cool? I guess. Eating butternut squash soup. Of course you are.

The irony of this turn of events was not escaping me.

Days later, I would call Stephen crying that the thinset mortar I neglected to thoroughly wipe away had dried on the top of the tile. Also, it was really all his fault since he was pretending to be a free wheeling urban dweller when in fact he was the kind of downtown dweller with a really big old house which required him to spend his Saturdays helping his wife lay tile in a windowless upstairs bathroom. He refused to accept the blame. However, he took the next day off work, and we spent seven hours slowly chiseling off the excess mortar.