This Post Brought to You by the Letters 'E' and 'H'

It's a big job.

Bending over to reach the floor is becoming increasing a) painful b) impossible c) unwise--lest I just fall head over heals to the ground thanks to my odd center of gravity.  This is not good for our general house clean up.  We went from nearly perfect clean up every day (for showings) to disaster zone status in just a week's time.  I am ready to string Caution tape around the whole living room.

I have two perfectly healthy children who are capable of picking up.  They don't.  Either because they don't want to or they apparently don't hear me.

But something had to be done last week so I made it my project to get them working.  Delegation is always harder than just doing it yourself.  I spent much of the day handing out small detailed pick up projects to each child.  Before they could enter another Land of Make-Believe, they had to leave the previous Land clean and put away.

At bedtime my husband was getting the kids ready for bed and was continuing the clean up process for the night.  Dad was carrying clothes from the bathroom (BB's) to the laundry hamper in BB's room.  Then he was picking up some Legos left in the hallway. 

Then as he went to pick up the remote control car, he said, "BB, this is your stuff, why am I picking it up?"
 BB--"I didn't put it there.  My sister did."  (Which I might as well stamp on his forehead right now.)
Dad--"Well, I seem to be the one picking it up..."  muttered a bit under his breath as he finished up.

The kids were both naked.  Hopping and slipping from the bathroom to the hallway.  (I was reading email at the computer.)  Then they were giggling and running between their rooms--doing everything to not be focused on picking their pjs and books for bed.

From BB's room we hear BB call back to my husband, with a voice full of five year old wisdom and a little lilt of emerging humor--"Being a dad's a big job, Dad.  It's a biiiig job."
My husband and I caught each others eye as my he plopped another handful of Legos in the box, and busted up laughing.

"Yes, it is.  Yes, it is."  he called back to BB. 

Holy Vacation

We celebrated Easter this year on the beach--the South Carolina coast.  It was a multi-family reunion, a few years in the planning.  We shared a large house on the beach.  The organization and planning was done mostly via email and facebook.  It was a week that started (for a small few) with a sunrise Easter service on the beach, for a few others by racing to worship at the local Lutheran congregation and for others by sinking their toes into the damp sand.  We had an egg hunt on the beach and ham for dinner.

The rest of the week is a blur of sand castles, wave jumping, beach games, and cooking/eating.  The weather was warm but not oppressive.  An ocean stretching out before you is humbling and powerful.  And there is nothing more calming than the sound of the ocean waves.

When we returned people asked again and again..."Did you have a good vacation?"  Most of them meant it as passing, idle chit chat.  Me being me, can't do idle chit chat well.  Every time I smiled and said, "Good.  We had fun."  I took note of the slight hesitation in my answer.

It was good.  It was fun.  I wouldn't describe it as a vacation.

It was time away from the daily routine and there is a regenerative property in that.  When I'm not engaged in chit chat over coffee, I describe the time differently.  I say it was 'holy.'

The week brought together my Dad and one of his two brothers.  My siblings were there with spouses and children.  My four cousins were there along with their families and 'significant others.'  Our cousins grew up, and live, in the South.  We grew up, and, for the most part, have lived our lives in the North.  Together, we have a handful of common memories.  But we share one story.

It is the retelling of that story that made the time 'holy.'  Every family has a story--of where they came from, what their grandparents and great, great, great grandparents' lives were like.  Some families care more about genealogy than others.  Some families share the story so often they seem to be living in the past.  Others are content to live firmly in the present.  All of us alter the story along the way.  For some there are real scars or chapters in the story best left untold.  I know families that embellish the story making every person or moment grander, more impressive than it could have been.  And, with today's technology and ability to simply 'delete' a photo or video, I often wonder if we are leaving out parts of our own stories...maybe it is only the bad hair days.

Like most people, my siblings and cousins love to hear stories about ourselves.  We delight in watching old home videos of the earlier reunions.  First of all it is just good old narcissistic fun to see how cute you were as a kid....or how delightful your cousins were...or how much the house has changed.  But we are now old enough to take note of the passing of time as well.  Some of us are nearing the age our parents are in the videos.  We mirror the life stage and we take note of who they were and who we are at a similar point in life.  Seeing ourselves as kids--when we still often feel like one--places our own mortality before us.  Reminds us to be grateful and to savor the passing days.

We also watched videos of complied photos from our Grandparents lives.  Theirs is a story, hallmarked by my Grandmothers strength, determination, and her dedicated love to her sons.  My Grandfather died at a young age, leaving behind my Dad and a wife pregnant with twin boys.  It is a story that could easily be retold a number of ways--tragic, romantic, incomparable...   Probably depending on who is retelling it, I have heard it shared a variety of ways over time.  Each variation adds a layer to the story that weaves in to my own story.  Some of who I am is actual genetic DNA from these people, some is the result of a shared purpose, familial code--the story shared from generation to generation.

Story sharing, in all its forms, is holy.  It is what we humans do best, tell a story in such a way as to create a common bond, purpose and direction.  It is how we tell another human who we are and where we come from.  I'm a story teller by professional training, and with nearly every fiber of my being.  Storytelling is essentially the way God's children have remained connected for thousands of years.  It is the primary purpose of our congregations, today.  It is how we create meaning and purpose.  By retelling our past, we create a future.

It is what I want to know about you...not the idle chit chat but the actual story that brought you to this point in time.  If I know that, then I am more comfortable hearing the minutia of your day.  What I often need to be reminded of  is, that it is the seemingly unimportant details that create the larger story that will be told about us decades from now.

This is what I thought about as I sat on the deck watching my siblings, cousins, and my own small family playing on the beach.  I listened to my parents talk with my aunt and uncle--some of it idle chit chat, some, in more hushed tones, was deeper in content.  I am sure they looked out at their kids playing on beach with a certain amount of relief, pride and thankfulness--they are the parents who know the actual stories beyond the snap shot that others might see of people playing on a beach--taking a moment to be grateful to have raised them/us to this point.  "The boys," my Dad and Uncle, joked about people from their past, adventures they shared as kids, memories of my Grandma....

All of the noise, laughter and unsaid words mingled together like incense floating up to God.  Permeating our hair and our clothes.  Sneaking into our luggage.  Coming home with us again.  We breathed it in and added it to our ever growing story.

Moments like this are holy.

Balance

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It has been said before,**elsewhere and in better ways, but I so respect and admire Meredith's career path.  A woman of such talent, poise, humor and ability, who has shown a generation of women (albeit on a very grand scale) what balancing a family and a career can look like.  That a career path doesn't have to have one trajectory.  That it is painful to leave one "family" for the other.  That parts of you from each role you fill, come with you in to the next one.  It isn't done without sacrifice or tears or thoughtful consideration, but it can be done and done well...but mostly done in your own authentic way.

I was a crying mess over breakfast today as I watched this.  Of course, I'm hormonal.  Plus, whenever anyone cries...I cry.  And, I love a grand gesture...so these tribute shows always get me.

 **  Elsewhere...here,   here,   here

Update

Went on vacation.
Came home.
Showed house.
No one bought it.
May 31st, took house off market.
Process of rearranging house so we can live in it.  EG now has a bedroom.  We are getting ready to make BB's room "fancy."
Five weeks until The Baby arrives.  We hope to be ready...

That's the update.  I am hoping to have more posts, especially as the summer heat begins to sizzle and need to stay inside more often.