the most important letter

Hey, 

I won't ask, 'How are you?" I already know it's not good, so that's why I'm writing you. 

You think your life is over. You think your children will have a life of relentless pain. You wake up in the morning with an oversized pit of dread churning in your gut- realizing each morning that your actual life isn't just some weird bad dream. This is your new reality.

You feel weak. Confused. Angry. Terrified. Empty. Void. Dead on the inside. All the world's pretty colors were muted and nothing you knew as real and truth will ever be the same. You don't trust yourself, your insight, your stupid Mother's intuition. You think yours is broken. You think this is the end. 

This is the end of the way you see the world now, but that isn't such a bad thing. I can promise you one thing: with every end, comes the start of something, and this is your beginning of your new life. And although your life will be hard, it will also be amazing. When you are ready, you will open the door and walk through it. There is no other way. You will still be scared, it will still be hard, but you will do it. Acceptance is the gateway to happiness.

At around 16 months of age, you started the knowing. The knowing of what you feared all along- your baby Parker was going to follow in Greyson's (sometimes tippy toe) footsteps. Parker is autistic. You can't eat. You can't hope. You can't silver line this cloud. You can taste the anger. Your pleads and prayers to God stopped and turned into rage. WHY ME. WHY HIM. Not even questions, just statements. 

One day, you will be open enough to see WHY. But for now, just sit with me in your feelings. They are so real I can feel them too. It's ok to cry. I'm crying as I write this to you. 

Parker headed to his 1st Speech Therapy Appointment

Parker in Speech Therapy

Parker has been in Speech Therapy for a few months now. He doesn't say any words besides, "Go" and only if you say, "Ready, Set..." first. He is trying to learn how to point, but it's so hard. I see your face when you see kids younger than him out in the world doing it all on their own. You are amazed and bitter all at once. You wonder about his future. All you see is awful. Will he ever speak? Will he be happy? Will he "get" Holidays? Will he go to a regular school? Will he ever have a friend? Will he know math like Rainman? Will people make fun of him? 

You are exhausted. When you sleep, you hold this truth, so heavy. Life is hard and exhausting. It won't always be so difficult. Like Joan of Arc said, You were born to do this.

I want to tell you a story I witnessed today. A story so simple and so perfect, it felt like a dream. I saw your perfect Parker today. Life went forward so fast and he is now 13. He talks! The evaluations and assessments are still stamped with severe communication delay, but for the most part- you will only care about that when you read those damn evals. (You are a pro at it now). On paper Parker is not the best. It will all sound so scary and desolate. After those papers are read, sometimes a few times a year, you will put them in a binder and file them away. Then you lift your eyes from the paper Parker and words and see the real boy- the magical one that God brought into existence 13 years ago. The real Parker.

Trust me, YOU WILL BE AMAZED. My smile is huge as I tell you this. He is at school, and he is thriving. He carries a backpack and has an ipad to do work on just like all the other kids. He will be in a Special Education classroom- but it's ok. It's so much more amazing than you would ever expect it to be. He learns differently- so he has to be taught differently. So many of the things you conjure up as a worst case scenario aren't bad at all. Your perspective on what matters will remarkably shift. That isn't bad- it's a wondrous, incredible thing- to get the opportunity to view the world in a completely new way. Oh Momma, the best part- the most important part- Parker is happy (now we are both crying). HE'S HAPPY! He loves life. He is hilarious. He's creative. He's adventurous. The assessments aren't able to capture the magic of him at all. He falls in love with things like the movie The Titanic, or collecting VHS tapes,or creating crazy contraptions all over the house, and watching and making movies. 

Well today, this 13 year old Parker popped into a classroom I was substitute teaching in. I was so proud to know him. The kids didn't know my place in Parker's life, and I heard them say, I LOVE PARKER! Several echoed the sentiment. "Parker! Can I get a fist bump?" "Hi Parker!" One asked. "Parker, do you remember my name?" "William" Parker exclaimed. William made a fist and pulled it down exclaiming, "yessssss". Oh Momma, I wanted to cry, but I was just so dang happy, so I stood there and smiled instead. And then I told them, "Parker is my son!" I was so proud and so happy, and I didn't want him to be anything other than this kid in front of me who was lighting up the whole dang room.

So, don't worry. Life is going to be amazing still. I promise you. Because you will choose it to be. You just wait and see.

Future Chrissy

things I've learned as a substitute teacher

The first thing I've learned as a substitute Teacher, is that there is absolutely no such thing as a substitute Teacher. Nope. Not even close.

There is just no substitute for the full time classroom Teacher. To be able to provide an appropriate substitute or swap- it would probably take at least 6 people. The job Teacher and the job substitute Teacher have almost nothing in common but students and teaching and school.

Walking in to substitute today. I get excited and nervous every time I enter a new classroom.

A substitute can pop into a classroom for their chosen assignment. Maybe it’s for an hour. Maybe it’s for 8. When I leave for the day, I may think about great interactions I had, the moments of learning or connection that made me feel alive. I may think about the hard moments, or the things I could have done better or differently. But ultimately, I can let it all go because I am no longer responsible for those students. If there is a really difficult classroom- I don’t have to go back to it.

I don't have to lesson plan. I don't have to learn curriculum. I don't have to do research or gather and make materials. I don't have to pay out of pocket for things my classroom and my students need. I don't have to make copies. I don't have to try and create engaging lessons. 

Education is not one size fits all- but as a substitute, I don't have to differentiate instruction. I don’t have to worry about how I can make the work accessible but appropriately challenging to every student. I don't have to remember all the specific needs of each student with an IEP. 

I do not have to communicate with parents. I don't have to try and connect with guardians who can’t be reached and haven’t responded to my attempts. I don’t have to talk to parents who have unreasonable expectations and make unreasonable demands. I don't have to provide impromptu status updates to parents who inquire.

I don't have to answer a zillion emails. I don't have to communicate with Administration. I don't have to stress about standardized testing. I don't have to belong to committees. I don't have to attend staff meetings. I don't have to document everything and input endless data.

I don’t have to fill out paperwork and fill out questionnaires. I don't have to collaborate with Speech Therapists, School Psychologists, Occupational Therapists and other Related Services. (Each one of those professions also deserve their own YOU ARE AMAZING blog posts.) 

I don't have to go to my car during lunch or a break because the sadness is leaking out and I just need to cry. This matter of helping to educate roomfuls of complicated humans is rewarding but so heartbreaking sometimes. 

I don’t have to know state and local Ed code. I don’t have to attend professional development, and endless meetings and trainings. I don't have to come in early and I don't have to stay late. I don't have to hold my bladder for inordinate amounts of time. 

I almost wept today when I finally got to use the restroom after school was over and the students were all gone!😂

I absolutely ADORE being a substitute Teacher. But when I get accolades for it, my heart sinks because I want to give them all DIRECTLY to the real Classroom Teachers. They deserve all the praise because they do it ALL. (And they never think they are doing enough.) One of my favorite parts of being a substitute - is getting to see the real Teachers in action. It honest to goodness brings a tear to my eye- watching how well they teach and how well love their students. 

Teachers: Thank you. We don't say it enough. Thank you.

You are my hero.

bubble up

Monday I was a substitute in the sweetest little Kindergarten room. I arrived early, and reviewed the plans for the day, which included, "Bubble Up, Bubble Down."

Hmmm...that is not a term in my daily vernacular, so I knocked on a neighboring Teacher's door to inquire. Turns out, it's sharing a high and a low. After the students arrived, we sat around the brightly colored, carpeted circle while they shared their own highs and lows from the previous weekend. Many kids had multiple highs. Most kids didn't even have any lows that they could remember. Sure they might tattle, and don't always listen- but I think for the most part, Kindergartners are optimists and intuitively focus on the good.

Turns out you can learn a lot from a 5 year old. 

Life’s greatest lessons are never learned as the warm sunshine hits your face, lying on a cushioned lounge chair while staring at the Caribbean Ocean. Knowledge is usually tied to hurt, to loss, to transition, to "its complicated"- to pain. On top of that, the knowledge isn’t a guarantee- I’ve met plenty of people who just turn bitter. 

At this point in life- I think most have us have earned the right to be bitter. (Can I get an amen?) But why stay there? And at what cost? I'll start out bitter, but I’ll be damned if I stay there. I won’t let my joy be a victim to any circumstance. If the shit has to hit the fan, you better believe I will work to find its purpose in my life. We must cultivate more Bubble Ups to counteract the downs.

Sometimes it’s important to take inventory and see what we need to let go of.

Friday morning was a rough one for Grey. He never loves going to school, but he begged not to go. School is closed! He announced. He cried as he got dressed for the day. As we parked and walked up, tears were streaming down his face, and slowly plopping onto the pavement. He’s not usually dramatic, and he doesn’t cry real tears for attention. My heart ached as I tried to validate his sadness while also talking about things we have over the weekend to look forward to. I said my goodbye as one of his para’s walked him into the building. Then I heard him explode into even bigger tears. I froze for a minute. I wanted to run in and grab him- take him home for a mental health day. I wanted to stop the bleeding on his source of pain. Parenting can be tricky. Sometimes it is our job to take away pain. But sometimes it’s vital that they endure life experiences- even the not so shiny ones. It’s truly the only way to learn the skills we need to succeed, and the skills we need to be a good, kind, happy person. There is a term called, "learned helplessness," and can be applied to adults doing things for a child that developmentally- the child can do on their own. We deprive them the chance to learn how to live functional, independent lives if we don't let them fail- if we don't let them experience pain.

I remember constant tears as Grey’s autism became more apparent in his two year old self. There were times it frustrated me, and times it broke my heart. A simple walk down the street would cause tears as he tried to run into traffic, and refused to hold my hand. 

There were so many therapy appointments he sobbed through. But he also gained skills- communication skills, self-regulation skills, self advocacy skills. If I never allowed him to feel pain- he would not have learned what he needed to, I would fail as a parent. First of all- it’s unrealistic, part of being alive is pain. Secondly, taking away the pain can also be taking away the learning.

This is true regardless of age or abilities. If you are in a painful moment, be willing to ask, "What are you here to teach me?" It will change your perspective.

I’m loving substitute teaching. Something about being in school is healing little kid me in ways I didn’t know were broken. The fact that my boys are an included part of a school community feels like a dream come true after being deprived for so long. I couldn't help but look at it and think- whatever is going on there is magic and I want to be a part of it. So here I am.

Kindergarteners draw me pictures and make me feel like a rock star. HI MRS. KELLY! They holler when they see me in their school again and I just MELT. Middle schoolers are helping me work on my fear of confrontation skills. (Because apparently- “Can you guys keep it down please?”- does not in fact - quiet a room.) I’m the type of person who can get her hair done, hate it, say- I LOVE IT! And tip 20% and go home and cry. So I’m learning to be more direct and assertive. Every time I am- I get a high from it. 

The week began and ended with gratitude. On Friday afternoon I worked in a 5th Grade classroom. As one student was packing up for the day, he sang,

Thank You for sunshine

Thank You for rain

Thank You for joy

Thank You for pain

Another student stopped him- Thank you for PAIN?! Why would we say thankful for pain?!

"OHMYGOSH!" I said, "YES YES YES! I'm writing about this very thing right now! Of course we don't want pain in the moment, but if we let it, it always teaches us something important." 

The students looked at me in awe. Just kidding! They stared at me blankly. HA! That's ok, one day they will get it too. 

And here's a Bubble Up I want to share. Meeting this awesome Teacher here. Turns out she has a child with Super Powers and she found our page back when we were in California, when she needed it most. I've recently worked in her school, and when she told me, she made my whole day. The world is so much more connected than we realize. Sometimes your pain can connect you to other people in the best possible way. (I am lucky that what started out as a way to share my pain connected me to you Carmen❤️❤️❤️).

What about you? What Bubble Up can you share with the rest of the class?

So Much Love,

Chrissy

the reinvention of you

I wish blogs had little trap doors into a virtual family room of sorts. For this one I feel like we need to curl up on the couch so I can look you in the eyes as we talk back and forth. I want to hear about your life too. I have some news I want to share that is just so precious to me and I hope the written words can do the actual feelings justice. 

As women, we constantly reinvent ourselves with each decade of life. I don't mean anything as surface as a make over or even a personality overhaul. I mean a real and authentic revamping of every single purpose and cell in our being. Think about it- ten years old you compared to 20 year old you. Pigtails and skinned knees turning into adulthood. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" turns into, "What am I doing with my life?" You look and feel and are completely different.  

I remember turning 30, thinking I was so "old" ( HA!!!) Wondering when my "real life" was going to begin, not knowing I was there all along. I lived in my own apartment in Hermosa Beach, a gorgeous beachfront city in Los Angeles, California. I was making great money in Pharmaceutical Sales, I loved to run on the beach and hang out with friends on the weekend. But I thought a lot about what I didn't have- my Disney promised "happily ever after." Husband, kids and a yard to call my own. 

From 30 to 40 was a huge shift. From career person to wife, mother, and then stay at home mom. First to an 18 month old and a newborn. And then the realization that although I was a mom, my life was unlike any other motherhood journey I had personally witnessed. I had to relearn everything I thought I knew about parenting and life. Yoda said, You must unlearn what you have learned and so I did. Imperfectly, sloppily and with all the grace I could muster. 

I hit 40 and I felt younger and more capable than that 30 year old prior, but I didn't have it "all figured out" suddenly like my dog-eared Glamour magazines promised me I would by now. Yoda also says, In a dark place we find ourselves, and a little more knowledge lights our way. I think Yoda gives pretty good parenting advice. 

For most of these years I was home with the boys, attending some kind of Doctor or Therapy appointment. Our days were planned around intensive home Behavior Therapy where my boys learned to navigate life. Every single thing typical kids learn naturally- how to eat with a utensil, how to pull on a shirt on over your head, how to brush your teeth, how to label colors, how to hold an adult's hand while crossing the street- they were repeatedly and painstakingly taught on a daily basis. At first I was terrified, I was confused, I didn't know what they needed- and over the years, we found our path.

Sometimes when you are on our own little well lit path- you can suddenly find yourself in the dark again. In September of 2023, we moved to St. Louis after I spent 24 years in California. A truly magical state that was unfortunately no longer meant for us. Buddha says, In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you. Boy is letting go hard. 

The boys started school in October. For the first time in literally ever- both boys are in the right spot for school. Suddenly I found my days filled with free time, which at first was weird, and then cool, and then just boring. I had an ache in my soul for something more. What do I want to be when I grow up? I still wondered. In my past life, aka before Mom'ing- I was in Pharmaceutical Sales. I made a lot of money, but it didn't fill my soul. 

While rocking our Plan B Life during the past decade- I fell in love with watching my boys learn. I fell in love with teaching them. I read everything I could get my hands on about how the brain works, neuroplasticity, what motivates behavior, communication, and child development, how to learn how to read and more. Certainly that passion could be used somewhere, I wondered. And then I thought about the 15 year gap on my resume. Then I saw an add on Facebook, polished up my (ancient, carved in stone) resume, got some letters of recommendation, and went on my first interview in probably 20 years. 

And now you are looking at the new Mrs. Kelly, substitute Teacher. It's only been a month, but I LOVE IT SO MUCH! 

It's so fun! It's also so hard! One- because it's hard! Two, because I don't know any of the technology and currently school is MOSTLY TECHNOLOGY- it's all apps and google drives and links. Back in my days we called links ACTUAL HEAVY BOOKS in our backpack. Three- because you literally have to have 47 windows open in your brain at one time, while also talking, writing, finishing what you are doing while also planning how to execute what comes next. I've taught kindergarten,1st, 2nd, 5th, 6th, Freshman and PE (enter laughing emoji here! What the hell is ultimate frisbee and floor ball?!I don't know but I taught it!)  Every time is a new choose your own adventure. 

But my hard is absolutely, positively NOTHING compared to full time Teacher hard. MY HEROES. My first few times subbing- tears filled my eyes numerous times as I watched how many people are literally working all day, every day - pouring their everything into our children. From the people in the cafeteria, to custodians, to bus drivers, to paras and aides, to people holding a stop sign at the cross walk to the main office air traffic controllers.

Teachers are teaching all damn day, sometimes monitoring lunch duty and recess, then donning walkie talkies for after school pick up. (I thought school drop off was crazy from a parent perspective. HA! At least we don't have to deal with the craziest of all= US PARENTS!)  

ON TOP of teaching, Teachers and Administration are attending meetings and professional development, learning the constantly changing format of technology, finding new and innovative ways to engage students, and accommodating extremely different learning styles with different baselines. They are writing lesson plans, managing behavior, filling out check lists and questionnaires about students with known and suspected learning differences, collaborating with Admin, communicating with parents and connecting with children (plus eleventy hundred trillion things I can't think of right now).

"So and so rides the bus so he leaves in five minutes", "so and so gets picked up", "so and so stays for after school club"- (also- can I go to the bathroom- my stomach hurts, can I go to the nurse- Tommy has Speech Therapy at 10:30. The timer went off- Maddie has to go to the nurse to take medicine). THERE IS SO MUCH TO REMEMBER AND OUR TEACHERS ARE DOING JUST THAT. It is an outright miracle and incredible and they deserve Pharmaceutical Sales level money so much more than I ever did.

Every single day from bell to end bell- our schools are this constantly changing by the second machine and it is the most beautiful thing and an honor to witness. 

Every parent should have to substitute teach for one day. 

So here's your homework assignment my friend. 

1. Answer- What do you want to be when you grow up? Maybe you are doing it now and need that reminder. And if you aren't, It's never too late to write a new story regardless of what decade you are in.

2. Hug a Teacher. Write them a note telling them how awesome they are. Give them a gift card or a high five or a Mercedes. They are magic. 

So Much Love,

Mrs. Kelly

PS- I wish they could just call me Chrissy but I know that's illegal. 

be ok

I like to put words into feelings. Sometimes it helps me to name them. (Sad, happy, anxious, melancholy...) Describe them. Understand their origin and backstory. All of this work creating a door inside that is able to then release them.

But sometimes feelings just need to be felt. Not prodded or labeled or poked. The words we tell ourselves aren't always accurate. We aren't as omniscient of narrators as we would like to think. It's not that we mean to lie, it's just that we are stuck in the stories we tell ourselves. It's never ever too late to tell a different story.

Remember driving without stress or care, windows down, weather perfect, a song that explicitly matches your mood blasting on the radio? You just feel. I mean if you HAD to describe it, you could. But it wouldn't accurately describe how simple and free and good it feels. 

Sometimes, we just need to feel. 

It's been a little over 6 months since we moved from California to Missouri. The sharp grief of loss is slowly being replaced with acceptance and new normals. I can tell you, we are much more the same than different. When it's cold we complain about it. When it's hot we complain about the heat. Most people don't know how to drive in the rain. Most people think the boxes we check (girl/boy, republican/democrat, black/white) make us more different than the same. 

Recently I was listening to a new podcast called MeSsy with Christina Applegate and Jamie-Lynn Sigler. Both ladies are dynamic actors, truth tellers, gritty, and witty as hell- and they have MS. But this isn't a podcast "about MS" because we are never the one thing that simple minded people might use to quickly label us. While listening I was overcome with its relatability. Not because MS has been a part of my life, but simply because they are human beings trying to navigate some of life's unexpecteds. It was such a great reminder that: it's ok to temporarily not be ok, we are never just one thing, and something that makes our life harder can ALSO bring us into a realm so authentic that it makes you stronger, better and realer than you ever could have written into existence.  (You can listen to MeSsy HERE.)

People who haven't been through HLT (hard life thing) often don't know what to say, so they say something that makes us feel more lonely. "You have MS? At least it's not ALS!" (toxic positivity- fun!)  " My neighbors Aunt had MS." (ok...is there more to this story?) "You are such an inspiration!" (because of a diagnosis? Ok).

We've all heard it based on our HLT. "Your son has autism? I know about that- can he do Masters level Quantum Physics?" (Nope- He's a Freshman and working on 1st grade math currently.) I believe people mean well and want to connect, but like I mentioned, not all feelings we try to convey can be translated into words.

Yes, it's freaking hard (life). But sometimes I am overwhelmed with the beauty this unexpected world contains in this parallel existence. 

 Like Parker at Special Olympics Swimming Practice. It's literally a highlight of my and his week.

Some Scenes from Spring Break...

The last time I was at Vintage Vinyl on The Loop it was 1999, and I was buying a new CD for my roadtrip to California. I can't believe it's still there. It smells exactly the same- like burning incense, and endless youth and possibility. And here I am now, exactly the same and not at all. It's never too late to tell a different story.

Whatever burden it is you are holding, you aren't doing it alone. It's so easy to shrink and hide and believe that- but remember- sometimes our own words don't always know the truth. Sometimes we just need someone to tell us- "Maybe you aren't right now, but I promise you are going to be OK."

So, here I am my friend. You are going to be OK. (Chances are- so much more than OK in fact.)

SO MUCH LOVE,

Chrissy

she let herself go

DEEP RANDOM THOUGHTS:

I do not wear clothes with words on them. It's ok if you do. I just can not.

I floss and vacuum daily. 

I’ve never found anything I like more than my bed after 9:30 at night. Three dogs, two heating pads- what more can one ask for? (Also- I hate ending sentences in prepositions.)

_______________________

I’m a story teller. I can’t get enough story in life. I read them like crazy. I daydream. I love memoirs. I love non famous people’s unwritten memoirs. The real ones- the folks who you get 5 minutes of their time while waiting for a train, while checking out at the store, while standing on a sidewalk waiting for a friend. They leave their footprints. 

I love to write, and I hope people out there care about the stories I share. (I care about yours). Thank you for being here.

Soon after we moved to Saint Louis, my sweet niece looked at my hands and said- "Why do your hands look like grandmas?!" with an ewww look on her face.  I looked down at my veiny, raised tendon hands in shock- as if I were just seeing them for the first time. "I don’t know- maybe because I’m old?" I answered, hiding my hands under the table where we were sitting. For weeks I became wildly self conscious of my hands. Grateful for long sleeved shirts I could tuck my hands into. 

Never had I considered my hands as anything other than something to open and carry and wave with. But now they were a billboard announcing - I’m here and I’m old!

 Why is old so scary? I ask myself. Because if I'm being honest- it is to me. I think because we’ve been shown all our life that old is ugly and old is irrelevant. We are bombarded with these messages daily- so much so that we start to believe them. My mean inner voice sounds just like my own, so sometimes I trust it.

Tik tok kept showing multiple videos of a 50 year old woman I didn’t want to see discussing her healing from a recent facelift. She looked ugly and awful and the scars were scary and wretched, and I judged her and then I yelled at myself for judging her.

I tried to get to the bottom of my anger and disgust. I don’t want a face lift- I’m not jealous. Sometimes it's jealousy that makes me judge someone initially. I think it was because if she was showing her befores like they were appalling, then it felt like she was saying I was appalling- because in her before, we had our aging face in common. But she doesn't know me, and her actions have no impact on me- so why was I making them have impact?

In one video, she showed off her hands proudly. “I even got a facelift in my hands” she declared proudly. Her doctor injected fat into her hands. They looked so... weird. Like chubby toddler, old lady hands and I asked myself-  What in the frick is wrong with society that we would rather have weird fat hands then old lady hands? (my inner me also talks like a sailor.)

If you do nothing- it's "She really let herself go." If you gain weight- 'Boy, she really let herself go." If you let your hair go gray, "She really let herself go." She can cure cancer and raise a family and follow her passions and serve her community and cry at the beauty of a sunset, and make a meal for her friend that is sick, but the focus is still “She let herself go.”

If you do something to counteract the effects of aging- You are vain, you are superficial, you look gross and can’t you just age gracefully?! 

Why are we so opinionated on other people's faces? Telling someone they should dye their hair is just as wrong as telling someone they shouldn't get botox.

The 1st time I saw Madonna debut her new face at the Grammy Awards, I scolded her. You look puffy and weird! Just embrace your age! Money can buy almost anything but it can’t buy youth. But judgement can't buy happiness either, so I try and dig into those feelings.

I am attempting to make friends with my new me in the mirror. I’ve done fillers and botox in moderation. I still have crinkles around my eyes and crepey skin underneath. Jowls are starting to form- like my skin is subtly melting down. My neck is giving saggy scrotum.  I'm trying not to compare her to the face of my 30's that I criticized constantly anyway.

Where is the line between Let herself go and Doing whatever the hell you want and Can’t you just age gracefully?

I thought of Madonna. Unlimited funds and a world obsessed with her likeness for decades. So much pressure to stay relevant simply so she can have an audience for her craft. When she writes songs and I imagine she feels alive like I do when I write. I looked at her in a new way. 

Who gives a shit how I look at her- Does she feel pretty when she looks in the mirror? I hope yes. Who am I to begrudge another woman feeling that peace. That feeling when you look in the mirror and you see HER. WE LOVE HER!!!! The 8 year old you with skinned knees and pigtails. Your body simply a vehicle to help you run so fast and jump so high. Face rosey after a bike ride home. And 11 year old her. (She's perfect). With your new big people teeth and awkward limbs somewhere between a toddler and a teen. And angsty 15 year old you. You feel like a woman and a little girl in the same breath. Twenty year old you. 40 year old you. 

My god, you are still you! I tell her, beautiful by no standards other than warm sunshine and twinkle lights and the way you light up when you do what you love.

I felt this depth of empathy for Madonna- who face is ridiculed and worshipped and criticized and praised daily by thousands of people all over the world. 

Scenes from Des Peres Park today...

So now I type, and I bring my focus back to me and even to my hands. My hands that held my babies and rocked them to sleep. The hands that filled out checklists in psychologist offices to confirm autism. Hands that clean and make dinner and drive and write and type and wave around wildly while I talk. My hands that are aging like the rest of me. And at least for today, I call they are beautiful- because they are.

Finally, she decided to let herself go. Let herself go from expectations. Let herself go from the past. Let herself go from traditional beauty standards. She let herself go and she was free.

thoughts from the high school parking lot

18 years is SUCH a long time.

Imagine having a cold for 18 years. Or how about an itch?! (That would be awful.) But for some crazy reason, when it comes to raising your own humans, it's really no time at all. People often say, "Time is a thief", but I mostly disagree. Time is a gift -and if you are here reading this now, you have this gift. We are alive. It's a good thing to remember to be grateful for.

When I was in high school, I thought I was so old. (Chances are I knew everything too.) When the boys were little, I thought kids in high school were SO OLD. And now that I have a son in high school and have spent time on campus, suddenly I look at the high school kids and just see babies. Sure, they are at the top range of being a kid- but they are still just a kid. They are not young adults, they are old children. And still practicing kid things in a world that is so adult- with social media, and kids wearing lululemon and getting highlights and having a skincare regime at 10. 

I often comment that in so many ways, my boys are just like other kids their own age. They want to be happy, they want to spend time doing what they like, they want to have friends and be liked. But there is also a grand canyon sized difference between them and kids who don't have special needs- aka "Super Powers". I don't have an idea of what our life will look like when they are done with high school- and to be honest, I'm just trying to deal with this week. One week at a time. I can't think that far in advance. But I do know that I have an intense ache in my heart for the parents of Seniors this year, who are getting ready to say goodbye to the tiny little babies of their own as they leave for college. I can't relate to that specific experience, but I can relate to a heart in pain. I'm thinking of you. 

When I was in high school, I didn't have a car until my Junior year. And let me tell you, she was a BEAUTY. And by beauty, I mean BEAST. The car was my grandmother's army green 1973 maverick. It was older than I was. The sides were rusting, so they were "fixed" with silver duct tape. She had an AM/FM radio, a bucket seat up front, manual roll down windows, and a coil cigarette lighter and ash tray. 

"The Mave" looked just like this. 

Sometimes the horn would sound all on its own- continuously. Hoooooooooonnnnnnkkkkkkkk!!!! Can you IMAGINE my humiliation- desperately trying NOT to be noticed in this BEAST while being as loud as the krakatoa eruption while driving down main street? (I don't even know what that is- but I asked google- "What is the loudest sound in the world? and she said, the krakatoa eruption.) People staring at me- pissed off- wondering why I was lying on my horn. 

When I went to the all girls, private high school and had to drive the beast, I would go 30 minutes before school started so I could pull all the way into the back-back where the nuns parked so I could go unnoticed. All the nuns had a hoopty so it blended right in! Don't mind me, just a woman of God here! Too godly to care about material possessions and cars! Now this car was not just ugly, she was incredibly unsafe too. I wouldn't even let my boys ride as a passenger in this car now. The battery died constantly, and the seat belts didn't always work. 

I will tell you, not getting a lot growing up definitely taught me a lot about character. It taught me about what I valued, and what was important to me. I had to work for everything. I didn't instantly absorb these lessons- in fact, I would cry and fight with my parents over this car. It took years for the lessons to soak in. 

My Dad taught me that money can not make a person- and not having money did not break a person. Money will just bring out what is already there. If you are kind and generous, you will be a rich, kind and generous person. And if you are an asshole- you will just be a rich asshole. 

I barely see any hoopty cars in the high school parking lot. In fact, a lot of the kid cars are nicer than the teachers. The world has changed a lot, but the lessons we need to learn remain the same.

-------

Both boys are eligible for school provided transportation as a provision of their Special Education Program. I've always declined- instead taking and picking up myself. To be honest, it's some of my favorite parts of my day. I love to be there when Grey and his classmates get out. I can't explain the energy and light these kids emit. I can be in an awful mood, and then interact with them, and my whole day turns around. 

Junior Year

I was so caught up in wanting to say and wear and be the right thing in high school. But Grey just isn't desperate to fit in on a superficial level. He is just so fully himself, in a way so deep it's enviable. I see this in many of Grey's classmates.They hand out smiles and hellos freely. They walk into school with a little hop in their step. I'm smiling ear to ear as I write this. I wish you could experience it once if you haven't. Today I was overwhelmed with gratitude for this experience after an interaction with one of my favorite students who always greets me with the hugest smile.

I don't even think high school me would have been open to this. There weren't kids with Special Needs at my private high school. My Senior year I went to public school. There had to have been kids with Special Needs there- but I don't remember ever encountering them. I wonder how I would have reacted. Would I have said hello?  Would I have felt sorry for them? Would I have averted my eyes as to make sure no one thought I was staring? 

I don't know, but I do know- I missed out. I'm glad that I now know. It's so easy to get bogged down by day to day life, that we forget about the gift that is time. I'm glad that at least for today- I remembered.

train station

I do my regular Trader Joe's run on Sunday mornings. If I go around 9am, it's usually pretty quiet. I prefer to avoid crowds when I can. As I rolled my stocked grocerycart up to the check out line, I tensed for the usual, "So, what do you have going on the rest of today?" conversation that ensues. Small talk is my kriptonite. I tend to give answers such as, "Fine, how are you?" (Oh wait- they asked WHAT I was doing. Not HOW! Idiot!) 

Once I went the morning of Memorial or maybe it was Labor Day. They asked what I was doing to celebrate later. We didn't have plans that day, and I felt stupid saying that. Like a loser.  So then I randomly say that we are attending a BBQ at a friends. The next thing I know, I am answering random questions about my made up BBQ and friends for the remainder of my time in line. 

Up until I was in my late 30's, I always thought I was an extrovert. I love people and their stories. I talk too loud, and I frequently overshare. I don't mind speaking to a room of hundreds of people. Sometimes I love going out. But I didn't understand why I was such a broken introvert. As far as social gatherings go, I prefer a small group of people versus a roomful. I hate small talk. I panic if the doorbell rings and I'm supposed to answer it. I have to recharge alone after being around a lot of people. 

According to verywell.com, Introversion is a personality trait characterized by a focus on internal feelings rather than on external sources of stimulation. Introverts also typically get more energy and recharge by spending more time alone than with others. That being said, introverts and extroverts are often viewed in terms of two extreme opposites, but the truth is that most people land somewhere in the middle.

Ah ha. I like that descriptor. We can be both. (Most personality tests show I am).We can be anything, even though the world finds it much more convenient to put people into one single basket. 

So today, when the Trader Joe's Employee asked, "How are you doing." I responded with, "Great! I love coming early when it's quiet, and all the good people are at Church." The man started belly laughing, and then I thought- oh, crap. I just inadvertently called him 'bad people' because like me- he isn't at church. But unlike me- he is working and I just chose to come here now. "You aren't bad people though. You have to work. So you can guess what category I am in." I replied. 

The lady bagging my groceries said, "We were actually singing gospel songs this morning, so that counts for something- right?" As the man ringing up my groceries started to quietly sing:

Swing low, sweet chariot

Coming for to carry me home

Swing low, sweet chariot

Coming for to carry he home 

I quickly pulled up the song on my phone and turned my phone to the loudest setting as I lifted it in the air. The three of us clapped and stomped along, as I slowly waved my phone back and forth. My face hurt from smiling. 

Apparently I can't do, "What do you have going on later today," but I can do a full blast spiritual hymn in communion with others in the middle of a check out line. There's just no box for that, and I am ok with it. 

(Here's a link for a free personality test. I like this one because it gives multiple personality aspects, and what percent of each you are. I've noticed mine has changed slightly the older I've gotten.)

We never are just one thing. Screw the boxes. 

This week I took my 100th Barre class in St. Louis, commemorated with new socks, and plenty of fanfare. I was part proud and part humbled. Before we left California, I took my final 1373rd Barre class. I thought- this kind of sucks to be starting over.  

As I let my mind get lost in the exercise I realized- When we have experience- we are never really starting over. We are starting from where we finished, and there's a huge difference. Experience counts for something no matter the skill, the job, the life event. We are not starting from scratch, unless of course we are. But even then, I still believe with age and experience comes wisdom. Don't knock the wisdom. 

Since we've arrived in Kirkwood, Grey has been asking to go on a train ride. Seriously- it's daily. He actually doesn't ask, he just tells us, "Let's go to Kirkwood Train Station." Finally on Friday, all his wild dreams came true.

This train station is straight out of a Hallmark Movie. It's been here for 131 years, with a little sprucing up in between and it still has all of it's vintage charm. 

According to Kirkwood City Records, "In 2002, Amtrak was on the verge of closing the Train Station as part of cost-cutting efforts. Not wanting to lose this vibrant and essential downtown icon and meeting place, the City bought the building. It continues to serve as an Amtrak station and Visitors' Center, staffed by a group of dedicated and enthusiastic volunteers." 

I love a good story of community and perseverance.  

As soon as we got there, Parker spotted a darling gentleman with silver hair waiting for his train. "That's my new grandpa," he announced. "What's your name?" he asks his new Grandpa. Ted comes from Illinois once a year to visit his high school girlfriend. It turns out, Ted went to the same high school as my Mom, and they were just a couple of years apart. Small small world. Parker doesn't have any living Grandpas and it makes me so happy (and a little embarrassed) and sad when he frequently appoints one in public.

The excitement of waiting for the train was almost as good as the ride itself. 

For the first time in a month, the snow started pouring down. It was absolutely magical. 

We took a twenty minute trip to Downtown St. Louis and then right back. It was a perfect adventure. 

We are all writing our own story, so let's make it a good one. This week we have big plans, you and me. We will:

Focus on what I can, not what I can not.

Wake up and say, "I choose hope over fear" every damn day. I will remind myself when I forget. 

I will accept myself as enough  the awesome human I was created to be. Enough is not enough to describe you and me. We are more than enough in the best possible way.

I will look for silver linings amongst the hard things.

So much love,

Chrissy