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Why I Chose to Say No This Summer

If  you are familiar with reading music, you know that there is a symbol for rest that means no music is played on that beat. The Merriem-Webster dictionary defines this symbol as a rhythmic silence in music. Musicians know that the rests are just as important as the notes when playing a piece of music. Without the rests, the music would not be the same. We need the silence to hear the melody.

This is my Summer of No.

I know what you’re thinking. That’s right, I name my summers.

I have had the Summer of Peurto Rico. One of my favorite summers of all time, that summer was marked with not only a vacation to the beautiful island, but lots of Latin music in our home, many attempts at food and drinks native to Peurto Rico, and days spent daydreaming about how I could move there permanently.

There was the Summer of Oh Yes We Can Do That, which was the summer after Hugh’s diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes. I made sure we took a beach vacation, participated in all summer activities, and did everything we normally would do just to prove that we still could. It was overwhelming and exhausting at times, but I knew we needed that summer as a family to prove to ourselves there were still happy times ahead.

I have had the Summer of Fun, where I planned secret missions and exciting outings for us to do every week. I hid notes around the house with special instructions or an itinerary for the day. Since the kids were still young, it wasn’t anything too outrageous – the anticipation was the most fun of all.

But this Summer? I chose to name this summer THE SUMMER OF NO.

Last summer (which was the Summer of Adventure if you’re interested), I felt it necessary and absolutely essential to cram every single week with something for my kids to do. Travelling, camps, lessons, paddelboarding (ok, that one was for me) – if my kids were interested, sign us up please. Even if they weren’t interested, go ahead and sign us up anyway. What other way is there to learn and grow if we don’t try it all?

I’m sure some of you can guess what happened at the end of our summer. We were exhausted and cranky. And of course, we all got sick the week before school started. The Summer of Adventure had almost killed us.

At the end of the summer and amidst two sick kids, I remember looking out our kitchen window toward the pool and thinking, “How many times did we get to swim together this summer?” Eight, maybe ten times total. One of our favorite things we enjoyed doing in the summer as a family, and we hadn’t even made time for it. We were too busy to be together.

As the kids entered their 1st and 3rd grade school years, and I entered my 11th year as a teacher, we were all unhealthy, tired, and had very little tans. We continued with health problems throughout the year, and I felt like I was always playing catch up. We ended the year drained, and all I could imagine doing was sleeping for 48 hours straight.

That’s when I decided we needed The Summer of No.

I committed to only three activities for this summer that we felt like were essential for the kids and our family. That’s it. There was not one more thing I put on our calendar that we absolutely had to do.

And let me tell you, it was not easy. I said no to a lot of things we normally would have said yes to. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that by saying no to these things, I was saying yes to a lot more.

No to lessons, but yes to friends and family coming over on almost a daily basis.

No to camps, but yes to spending lazy afternoons in the pool with my kids.

No to extracurricular summer activities, but yes to having the time to read a book and actually finish it.

No to competitions, meets, and events, but yes to exercise and eating healthier.

No to obligating ourselves to one more party or one more trip or one more meeting, but yes to rest and restoration.

I have had the time to cook meals for my family. Amelia and I have made old-fashioned desserts together like lemon icebox and buttermilk pie. She joins me in the kitchen almost every morning for breakfast. Sometimes, if she’s lucky, I let her drink coffee with me and we take all the time we need together.

We have delighted in watching our small garden grow and flourish, and have had fun passing on the bounties of our harvest to friends and family.

We have lingered over long suppers with good friends at our dining room table, discussing our futures as we watch the summer sky fade to night and our kids run in the soft grass of our front lawn.

Scott and I have taken scenic drives with the truck windows rolled down and the music turned up.

I learned how to French braid Amelia’s hair.

I have washed approximately 352, 000 loads of beach towels and swimsuits.

I rode every single stinkin’ rollercoaster ride at Disneyland just so my kids could remember the summer when their mom did everything with them (I hope they remember it too, because I’m done forever with rollercoasters).

I have taken naps in the afternoon heat and stayed up too late and when I feel the urge to get busy and accomplish something, I stop and do a gut check. Am I rested? Yes. Am I healthier? Yes. Am I yelling at the kids or rushing off to another obligation? No.

And the kids? Well, Hugh has decided he is going to write a book. He has started several, but can’t quite finish them (a trait he has inherited from his mother, I’m afraid). Amelia has made friendship bracelets and practiced make-up techniques and designed a million different outfits with matching accessories. They have spent an abundant amount of time with their grandparents and cousins, have had friends over to play, made forts in the backyard, and have told me they are bored on more than one occasion.

Please don’t think that I am implying we have had the perfect summer – the kids have fought with each other and gotten mad at me and I have threatened to go on vacation without them. But overall, we are rested. We are well. And we are happy.

I am not naïve enough to think that all our summers will be relaxing and carefree. I realize that as our kids get older, they will be involved in more activities, and summer is the perfect time for them to hone their skills in certain areas. I am already trying to think of next summer and what I can name it. The Summer of Kitchen Renovation, perhaps???

And truthfully, I am a doer by nature. I like to set goals and then tackle them one by one. Part of me has felt a sense of urgency since Hugh’s diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes to do it all and to prove to him that Diabetes can’t slow us down. One of the hardest things for me this summer would be when I would scroll through social media and see all the great things other kids and families were accomplishing. I would instantly think “Hugh could have done that” or “Did Amelia miss out on something important?” When I would run into friends around town and they would talk about how busy their summers had been with all the activities, I would have to swallow hard and resist the urge to exaggerate at how busy we had been.

In the South, summers can be competitive, and I would often have to remind myself that busyness was not a ribbon I needed to win.

Without the rests, the music would not be the same. We need the silence to hear the melody.

And so it is with life. We need the silence to hear the melody. The Summer of No has given me the rest I needed to hear the music in my life. My music sounds a lot like children laughing, crickets chirping in the cloak of night, splashes of water in the pool – your music might sound different, but I bet if you pay attention to the rest, you will be able to hear yours too. And if all of us listen very carefully and strain our ears to hear, our music might just be reminding us that this life we have looks an awful lot like the life we always wanted.

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My Faith is Broken

 

For years, my Dad has made small wooden cutouts of words during the Christmas season. He generally chooses a word for each year, such as “hope” or “home”, and makes hundreds of these little cutouts to give to friends and family. I have collected many over the years, of course, and have displayed them in different ways. Somehow, in the rearranging or dusting of the words, the word “faith” has gotten broken. Part of the “H” has fallen off and lays pitifully beside it. I dutifully try to wedge the “H” back into its proper place, but it always falls down again. My intentions are to glue it back together one day, but until then, my faith is broken.

It’s funny, but I usually say that to myself as I am dusting or walking by the words.

My Faith is Broken.

And do you know what? It’s true. Not just the word sitting on my shelf, but the faith that I walk in day in and day out.

My Faith is Broken.

It was broken when Hugh was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. It was broken when I had two miscarriages. It was broken when we lost family members too soon. It’s been broken so many times I can’t even count and I’m sure it will be broken many more.

My Faith is Broken.

That’s the thing about faith. It keeps getting broken over and over. And I guess I could throw it away at any point. I could let the “H” fall off, and then the “T”, and then the “I”, until all the letters have crumbled away. But I don’t. I keep working at it and wedging the “H” back in place. I prop it up and display it proudly. I know it’s broken, and I’m ok with that.

You see, I don’t really think we can call it faith until we have seen it broken. It’s in the moments of our greatest despair, when we feel like God has abandoned us and we are all alone, that our faith becomes what it is. Stronger. Bolder. Forged together in hope and love.

My Faith is Broken.

We are all broken, dear friends. Some are hiding their brokenness. Some are moving on. Some are in their darkest moments of a broken faith.

But that’s also the beautiful thing about a faith that is broken. Once it happens in your life, you begin to recognize it in others.

My Faith is Broken.

And maybe yours is, too. But that’s ok. We’ll help you wedge the pieces back together and display it proudly. There’s no shame in a broken faith –  Only God’s Loving Hands, using His Grace to help us glue the “H” back in place, as many times as we need.

 

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We’ve Done This Before

We have a new weather girl in town. She’s young, cute, and perky, and obviously not from Louisiana.

When it came time to prepare for the latest Hurricane to come our way, I have to admit y’all, she seemed a little excited. In all her excitement, she kept remembering things to tell us.

Don’t forget to get extra water.

And stock up on your medications.

Buy non-perishable food items for your pantry.

And don’t forget your pets.

Awe, sweet girl. It’s ok. We’ve done this before.

In Louisiana, we collect Hurricanes like Boy Scouts collect badges. We wear them proudly on our sleeves – Rita, Gustav, Betsy, Audrey, Katrina – and now Harvey. We have stories upon stories of how we survived. We listen to our parents talk of Betsy and Audrey like they are old friends.

So like I said, we’ve done this before.

As a child, I remember Hurricanes as days off from school, my mom lighting tall tapered candles that were only burned when the lights went out, picking up limbs from the yard after the towering pine tress lost their branches in the latest storm.

When I went to LSU as a young freshman with wings ready to take off, I was introduced to two new glorious words when a bad storm made its way up from the Gulf. Hurricane Party. This was a wonderful concept that consisted of throwing huge parties before, during, and after a Hurricane. You have to understand two things to grasp the full complexities of a Hurricane Party: 1) We were young. 2) LSU had just been voted the top party school in the nation and we had a reputation to uphold. I specifically remember my mom calling my dorm room during my first Hurricane in Baton Rouge and asking if I should come home. Not on your life, Mom. Not on your life.

As a newly married couple, Scott and I survived a few Hurricanes hunkered down in our tiny little cottage home with no electricity for several days. One of our first fights was over my Hurricane preparedness strategy that consisted of one thing:

No haters, please. Peanut butter and jelly mixed together just screams Hurricane ready. I mean, what else do you need? It has protein, fruit, and carbohydrates all combined into one.

Scott: Did you get water at the store?

Me: No

Scott: What about bread?

Me: No

Scott: Did you get anything we can survive on for the next few days?

Me: Of course! Peanut Butter and Jelly in a Jar!

Scott: (words I cannot publish)

Scott says we are not survivors, instead we are Die-Firsters. But I don’t care. We’ll see who is on top when he’s craving something a little nutty, yet a little sweet, and there is no peanut butter and jelly in a jar to be found anywhere in town.

Besides the fights we had over my obviously superior skills at preparing for Hurricanes, some of my fondest memories come from Hurricane days. I remember sitting on the front steps of our little cottage, my belly swollen and growing with a baby boy inside, and having friends pull into our driveway. Just checking on you. Ya’ll need anything?

I remember sitting at the kitchen table at friends’ homes, the windows up, the slight breeze blowing the sticky hair off my neck, talking, just talking. Because when there is no electricity and nothing to distract us, words flow more freely.

I remember the food. Y’all, this is something that every native Louisianan knows, but we eat the best during a Hurricane. When freezers start to thaw out and food is at risk of spoiling, we start cooking. Gumbo, fish, chicken on the grill. I remember tables full of food that friends and family had brought over one afternoon. We ate and laughed and ate some more. We knew that there was clean-up to do and hard work would soon start, but good food and good friends always come first here.

Of course, now that I have children of my own and one with medical needs, I take Hurricanes a little more seriously. I rehearse an evacuation drill in my mind like I’m preparing for a Broadway play. I repeat over and over in my head, Glucose meter, test strips, lancets, sugar, insulin. Then I whisper – Insulin, Insulin, Insulin. Remember Sally, he can’t live without insulin.

I admit, I have brief moments of panic when I think about where we would go if our home flooded, what we would do if we got separated, who would take care of my children. But then I remember, we’ve done this before.

We have a history with Hurricanes, but we also have a history of helping our neighbors. We take that as seriously as we take our Hurricanes. We get in our boats to rescue those who may be stranded, we show up ready to work at a shelter, we clean a neighbor’s yard, we tear sheetrock from flooded homes. We bring food to those who can’t cook for themselves, we fill sandbags for the neighborhood school, we read books to frightened children, and we take care of those who cannot take care of themselves.

And listen to me very closely here, because this is the most important part of it all – we never say no to someone who is not the same skin color as us. We don’t turn away those who voted for the other party. We don’t refuse to help someone living a different lifestyle from our own. We never have and we never will. We here in Louisiana know this, but I feel like the rest of the country needs to know this too.

When the waters recede and the media leaves town, when schools re-open and shelters close, when the sun shines again and the rains stop, we will still be here – Helping our neighbors.

We’ve done this before.

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