Ree-dic-lee-uth

When David was little, he rocked a lisp. So much so that he had to go to speech therapy and practice saying "She sells sea shells by the sea shore" for months at a time. He still doesn't have it quite right, and makes weird whistling noises with his teeth when he's tired. So very charming. 

When Morgan started talking, I noticed immediately that she had inherited yet another trait from her dad. I was initially worried that we needed to get her into a speech class, but her lisp quickly became one of my favorite things about her. Because Morgan talked so early, I took it upon myself to teach her really long and really inappropriate words. My mom was less than impressed when I taught my toddler daughter how to perfectly pronounce "gonorrhea" -  

Now that she's older and actually understands what most words mean, I no longer try to get her to say things that are inappropriate (frankly, she's got that down). Now, we're just working on the English language as a whole, trying to master really complicated words like "ridiculous" - it's proven to be harder than we thought. 

Every one keeps telling me she will eventually outgrow her lisp. I am going to be so very sad when she does. 

Open to Interpretation

We were cleaning out some of Morgan's art work, selecting a few pieces to go in her scrapbook. Now that she's five, I am letting her identify drawings or projects that she really likes. When she finished sorting, I noticed a sheet of paper I hadn't seen before. As I gazed at it quizzingly, she said "Oh Mom, we have to save that one!  I drew you a pair of scissors!!"

Of course we do, because that's exactly what I thought it was.

Cha-cha-change

I quit my job. My last day is Friday. I emptied out my office tonight. I have a new job. I am excited and petrified.

I have worked for the Idaho Legislature for 8 years. It has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I have helped inform policy decisions, made recommendations to state agencies to strengthen their operations, and have played a small, but very important role in helping to improve state government. It has been a privilege and honor (fine, and exhausting at times). And now I am moving on. To Higher Education. Because my husband is a teacher and we should do everything in our power to make sure our daughter knows just how important education is to us. You know, the whole united front thing.

Change is a funny thing. Whether it's planned or unexpected, the prospect of change is enough to cause your breath to catch, your chest to tighten, your eyes to become fixated on the ceiling at 3:00 am. Change is hard. This was my first job when I moved to Idaho, the place where I worked when we bought our house, where I had my daughter, where I grew as a person and a professional. But it's time. I am ready for a new challenge.

When I decided to take my new position, I questioned whether I should take some time off from school. But then my precious, precious daughter reminded me that, "Mom, I want to be a thinking doctor just like you when I grow up." And so I will keep juggling, keep pushing, keep trying to be someone that Morgan will be forever proud of. Even if it costs me a few nights' sleep and a few more gray hairs. Because change is good. I think...

Paying it Forward

When I was little, I can remember sitting for HOURS as my mom rolled my hair into sponge curlers and then sent me off to bed for a very restless and uncomfortable night's sleep. The following morning, I would sit patiently as she removed the curlers, eagerly awaiting the long ringlets that were sure to be cascading down my back. Inevitably, I always looked much more like our poodle, tight curls stuck to my head like little suction cups. My mom would try to brush them out, only to transform me into some version of a walking pom pom. No one should start second grade looking like they've been electrocuted.

As I passed through the grocery store last week, something on the very bottom row caught my eye. Sponge curlers. They still make them. I couldn't believe it. I was going to have the opportunity to pay it forward, to torture my daughter in the very same way my mother tortured me. 

Last night, I told Morgan that we were going to make her hair look JUST like Rapunzel, long and flowing. Not surprisingly, she was skeptical. After a lot of begging crying pleading persuading, she agreed. I wasted no time in rolling those bad boys right up. I then sent her to bed, warning her that if she so much as rolled over in the night, her hair would be ruined forever. No pressure.

She woke up this morning screaming bloody murder, totally panicked because one of her curlers had come loose. As I quickly unrolled them, I could see that her curls were perfect, flowing down her back in the perfect little ringlets I had always imagined but never had.

Get ready, David. I think we both know what I'm wearing to bed tonight.

Lessons

I had lunch with a dear friend last week. We exchanged gifts and swapped stories about what's new in each of our lives. As we chatted, she said, "I'd like to share with you a tender story." This actually meant she was about to tell me something that would make me cry right into my BLT.

She explained that last week was her office gift exchange, a secret Santa. As staff opened their trinkets, she began to empty the contents of her bag. Much to her chagrin, her bag contained just two things, lottery tickets and an ornament. Even more disappointing was the fact that none of the tickets were winners and the ornament was purple...and covered in rhinestones. Not exactly something she planned to put on her tree.

She held up her ornament for others to see, sharing snickers and glances with her colleagues. There is nothing worse than making a good faith effort to bring a good gift and then end up with the booby prize. As she sat down at her desk, a co-worker approached. "So, what did you get?" as he leaned over her cubicle wall. "A bunch of losing lottery tickets. And this." She held out the ornament, waiting for his reaction.

She watched his face, waiting for him to wrinkle his nose in disdain, just as she had. "Oh, you did!?!?" He exclaimed, unable to mask the pride in his voice. My friend paused, confused by his reaction. "My granddaughter made that. She painted it by hand and glued on all of those rhinestones herself. Isn't it beautiful? She takes so much pride in her work." He went on to explain, "She's 12 and she has autism. In fact, she didn't speak until she was six. When she was little, her mother used to pray that she would one day call her 'Mom' -- now she talks all the time. We are so proud."

My friend sat, dumbfounded and embarrassed. She also has a grandson with autism. And he is six, and does not speak. And suddenly, that little ornament transformed into something magical. The strange purple hue was now vibrant and stunning. The awkward rhinestones were now intricate and hand crafted. What had been her biggest disappoint had suddenly become her biggest lesson.

In an instant, that ornament became a reminder, a reminder that things are not always as they appear. In an instant, that ornament became a symbol, a symbol of hope and potential. And in an instant, that ornament humbled her, humbled her in a way that will forever make her pause before she passes judgment on those around her.

And as I sat, indeed weeping into my sandwich, I couldn't help but think how timely her tender story was. As we sit around the tree this year, full of hope and excitement as we open gifts, I will be mindful of her ornament. I will pause to remember that each gift, each token, is a symbol of love and generosity, no matter how small. Most importantly, I will be grateful for the friends and family in my life, and for the people who constantly shower my daughter with love and support. For I know that those are people who would marvel at her purple paint and gush at her rhinestones.

 May your Christmas this year be full of wonder, and may you find magic in the most unexpected of places.