Derby Weekend

Growing up in Louisville, the Derby is a major holiday for me. I've had parties some years since moving away, but friends in South Carolina and Tennessee never quite fully grasp the true splendor of the first Saturday in May.

I only went to the Derby once during my growing up years—when I was fifteen, with a friend whose family friend owned or trained a horse running in some race that day (did you know there are twelve other races run on Derby Day, besides the Derby itself?) and so we got to sit in the bleachers on the "back side," across the track from the iconic twin spires, over near the barns. Nonetheless, I've always celebrated Derby. The Kentucky Derby Festival runs two weeks prior to Derby Day, people are off work and school the day before (Oaks Day), and the television coverage runs morning to night on Derby Day. It's a big deal, even if you don't go.

All that said, I was THRILLED to actually go to Derby this year! My parents, aunt and uncle, cousin, and Matt and I had a box in the clubhouse area, donned our hats and had a great day.

One cool thing about working for a Louisville-based company now is that we get Oaks Day off, just like I did growing up in school! And, I took an extra day off to pack and prepare—actually, I spent that day in doctor appointments and therapy with BGC, then surprised the big girls by breaking them out of school early and going to the zoo! An impromptu family fun date was a great way to kick off the "holiday" weekend.

Friday, we headed up to Louisville, and Matt and I took advantage of the grandparent babysitting to go on an all-too-rare date night. We had dinner at an Italian restaurant on the hipster strip, Bardstown Road, then walked off the heavy pasta with a three mile stroll down to the church where we got married, and back! (was wearing the same 3-in. heel wedges I would wear to Derby the next day--good for walking!)

We ended the date with what might seem like an odd excursion (to Kroger!) but I can't believe I'd never made it part of my Derby celebration growing up! The Kroger floral department makes the blanket of roses that is laid on the winning horse, and you can go watch it being made the night before and all through the night!

Race day cometh, and we took the big girls to spend the day with a dear childhood friend and her two kiddos. (BGC stayed with another foster family, back in Nashville.) They wore their own hats for the occasion!

 

We got to enjoy a nice brunch at Papa John's Cardinal Stadium before walking over to Churchill Downs. (My cousin, aunt, uncle, and mom pictured below.)

We arrived at the Downs just before the fifth race. (The Derby is the eleventh race of the day.) I rushed to place a bet on "Jessica's Star" before even finding our seats, and won a quick ten bucks—almost the price of a mint julep, which ran $11, in the non-optional commemorative glass.

As it turned out, Matt and I were the only members of our party to come out on top in the gambling department. At the end of the day, my family members were quite in the hole, but we'd won $84 on $66 of betting, for $18 net. One-and-a-half juleps, in other words.

Actually, our profit was a total accident. Matt wanted to beat the rush by placing his Derby bet earlier in the day. "Can I bet now for race eleven?" Matt asked the betting window guy just before race seven. "Yes," the guy told him. So Matt shelled out $21 in support of horse #1, Vicar's In Trouble (perfect name for an irreverent pastor, eh?)—or so he thought. Turned out, the guy registered his bet as for race seven, so Matt unwittingly had almost two juleps' worth riding on horse #1 in that race, 20-1 filly Street Girl. Wouldn't you know, Street Girl won and we won $64!

 

It was a great day to be with family, dress swanky, drink all day long, and participate in a great Kentucky tradition.

Falling Down #TBTStories

Throwback Thursday Stories is a new link-up series being hosted on The Mom Creative.  
This week: Summer 1986. I was five. 
 
I've got a running theme so far with these Throwback Thursday Stories, as two weeks ago I shared the story of a socially awkward rollerskating party I attended in middle school, and this week I have another rollerskating-related story.

Not quite two weeks ago—two days after sharing that awkward party story, in fact—I took Kate rollerskating. It was her second time skating (fifth or sixth, if you count ice skating), and she still struggled a bit to stay upright. She kept getting frustrated, going so slowly, shuffling along with her little PVC-pipe walker thing the beginners can use, and wanted to sit down for a break after practically every lap.

I could see how discouraged she was getting, despite the fact that there were plenty of big kids, even teens and adults, struggling to keep their balance and falling down. She didn't want to try anymore, because she wasn't succeeding right away.

As she sat on a carpeted bench (not much has changed in roller rinks in 21 years), staring down at her skates, I sat on the floor in front of her and told her a story. It was the story of this picture, in fact.

I got my first pair of roller skates for my fifth birthday. They were the adjustable kind that strapped on right over your shoes. These were metal, though Fisher Price started making those blue plastic ones with the orange wheels around the same time, I believe. I tried them out on the smooth garage floor and my dad took pictures. Somewhere in that first try, I lost my balance. I probably fell down. A few times. I don't know. All I know is Dad caught that blurry photo of me struggling to regain my balance.

I told Kate about that day when I first tried rollerskating, but more importantly, I told her about the day weeks later, when Mom got the photos developed and I saw that picture of me falling down, my blurry hand flailing for balance. I hated that photo so much that I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash can. Then, minutes or hours later, I felt so guilty for having thrown it away that I went and fished it out of the trash, smoothed it out as best I could, and put it back with the other photos from the roll. If you look closely, though the photo has been adhered under a page protector and smashed in a heavy album for 28 years, you can see the creases from that temporary crumpling.

The moral of the story, as I told it to Kate, was that we shouldn't be ashamed of losing our balance and falling down, especially when we're just starting to learn a new skill.

As I flipped through my parents' photo albums last week to find this photo, Mom said it looked like I was just dancing, or waving, not falling. Perhaps that is the case, and my hatred of the photo was based just on its blurriness and the unflattering position the camera caught me in. Shame over falling made it a better story for that moment encouraging Kate to get back on her wheels and try again. But shame over how one looks in a photo—or worse, a mirror—will make that story come in handy again, I'm sure, ten years or so down the road.

East Egg, West Egg

Those town names from The Great Gatsby always amuse me, and they have nothing to do with this post, except that I couldn't think of anything more creative to title this Easter recap besides "Eggcelent Easter" or something equally cheesy.

So here's a little rundown of our Easter. Due to our kitchen remodel (which you can glimpse a bit of in these first couple photos) I didn't do any decorating for Easter until Friday and Saturday, which is probably good, so the fluffy bunnies don't overshadow Lent too much. Friday morning, the girls and I dyed eggs, and then Kate helped me decorate.

 

 

Kate actually created our mantle banner herself, drawing rows of eggs on printer paper after bedtime one night, then asking me the next morning to help her color them, cut them out, and tape the ends of the rows together to make one long chain. (She gets so creative when forced to stay upstairs by herself after bedtime. She's such a night owl. The pediatrician just told us "well, they say the people who run the world don't need much sleep," so we don't make too big a deal of it unless she's keeping Claire up or is still awake when Matt and I want to go to bed.)

The child care worker during our Good Friday service made these cute bunny visors with the kids. Kate was being grumpy about putting it on for a picture, but I love the look on Claire's face here, looking up to big sister as always.

Usually I say the Easter bunny comes on Holy Saturday for PKs, but I finally decided that it takes like five minutes and the girls get up early anyway, so why not do baskets on Easter morning?

 

BGC got puffs and melts (she's doing better with non-pureed solids these days), and some new bibs since the velcro is really wearing out on the ones we've had since Kate was born. All three girls got matching kitty socks, and the big girls got flip flops, a chocolate bunny, Reese's carrot, and the Disney Princess lip balms Kate has been begging for since before Christmas. Typically I don't like to pay for stuff with licensed characters on it (cue my high horse about commercialism, pink-princessification of girls, the price markup for licensing, etc.) not to mention I don't need eight tiny plastic things floating around my house (they only came in an eight-pack) BUT, all that said, I do enjoy giving my kids something fun that I know will please them once in a while—especially when saved for a gift-giving holiday.

Then my girls donned their pastel, smocked dresses and we were off to church! I actually got the big girls' aqua dresses at a consignment sale. I like smocked dresses but will never pay full price for them, so I went back and forth between the 2T and 5T racks, comparing what colors and styles they had, to find two that coordinated!

You can see BGC's hearing aids in this picture. She's had them one month now, and while she still pulls them out sometimes and they squeal a lot, they seem to be making a difference in her cognition and connection with people. I also love how Claire is holding her hand in this picture. Kate and Claire just adore BGC.

I began a children's church program for the kids at our church, starting last week, on Palm Sunday. There are just a handful of kids in the pre-K through elementary age range, but it was time to have something more age-appropriate than the nursery or big church for them. We do a song, lesson, craft or game, and prayer. This is the paper plate tomb we made on Easter. (Anyone looking for Christian crafts and activities should follow my Pinterest board I've started for collecting children's church ideas!)

After church, we had lunch with Matt's family at the nursing home where both his grandmothers now reside. They had a nice catered buffet for all the families of residents to come and eat with their loved ones who can't get out. I accidentally left my camera at church, so no pics from lunch!

We headed home and let the girls watch "Frozen" on the tablet so Matt and I could enjoy a rare Sunday afternoon nap. That was our tradition pre-kids, so it's a nostalgic thing as much as a delightful indulgence. Then we headed across the street to a neighbor's house for an Easter egg hunt and playdate. Kate's the oldest one among this group of buddies, but there's quite a brigade of 2-3 year old girls.

It was nice to cap off the holiday with some neighborhood socializing, followed by a walk/bike ride, during which the girls were terrorized by a family's three or four dogs that all broke free at once. They both have quite a dog phobia, so that was pretty traumatic, but they survived.

My favorite part of the walk, actually, was seeing a bunny (our neighborhood has rabbits the way most have squirrels—they're everywhere) and this bunny was examining a seasonal yard display full of wooden and stone Easter bunnies, as if to say, "What's up with you guys? Why aren't you moving?" Silly rabbit...

Who'd You Come With? #TBTstories

Throwback Thursday Stories is a new link-up series being hosted on The Mom Creative. I've been itching to write—really write—since attending the Festival of Faith and Writing last week at Calvin College. And this story is the one itching to come out.

This week: Spring 1993. I was 11.

Middle school haunts many of us, I imagine. But there's a particular moment that haunts me more frequently than others, because the very emotion of that interaction washes over me every time I go to a conference for work, like last week's Calvin Festival. I've been traveling a lot since getting back into book acquisitions last fall, and these events where my goal is to mix and mingle and meet potential authors are an introvert's nightmare.

Beyond the feeling of "please get me away from all these people and back to the isolation of my hotel room!" is the feeling of social awkwardness that plagues me. And a single moment from a sixth grade skating party replays in my mind as I navigate those crowds of strangers.

"Who'd you come with?"

This question was posed to me by a cooler classmate as we hung around the perimeter of our local rollerskating rink, Champs Rollerdrome. The walls were lined with carpet to ease the pain of impact for less skilled skaters, and above the carpeted portion were oversized pennants featuring the names of many area middle schools. (Champs knew its role as a "safe" drop-off spot for preteens who longed to socialize away from parents' watchful eyes.) I don't remember if our school was featured on one of those neon pennants, but I know there was one with the name of the private school to which I would transfer a blessed sixteen months later—a smaller school, at which a quiet, dorky girl like me could still end up as class president and editor of the yearbook.

My 8th birthday party at Champs. Amazingly, my experiences there could get more awkward than that super-eighties crimped side ponytail.

It was a birthday party for two or three classmates, one of whom I'd been in Brownies with years before and saw fit to invite me even though my place on the social ladder of sixth grade society was a few rungs below her, and even further below her co-birthday-girls.

"Who'd you come with?" another girl asked me.

"Jenny invited me," I said.

"No, who'd you ride here with?"

"My parents brought me," I said, suddenly realizing that apparently it wasn't enough to be included on a guest list. If you really fit in, you would have met up with other friends beforehand and been dropped off together by one kid's parent.

Who makes these rules?

My sense of awkwardness and not-belonging reached a whole new level after that conversation. What a strange society that sees making out on a carpeted bench by a carpeted wall, surrounded by staring classmates (as one girl and boy did, later in the party) less a source of oddity than arriving alone to the party? (I can still picture that girl, with her permed, dirty-blond hair, opening her eyes to see the circle of gawkers while she sucked face with that boy.)

Silly as it is, that question, "Who'd you come with?" runs on repeat in my head whenever 32-year-old, professional me navigates the down time between plenaries and breakout sessions at any conference where pastors, Christian writers, angsty ex-fundamentalists—anyone who might make a good author for us—gather. People walk and chat in groups of two or three, and I wonder if I'm the only one who came to the conference alone. Probably not, but could be. Pastors have colleagues that benefit from the same continuing ed events they do. Maybe they caravan and carpool to the convention center or church hosting the conference. Last week's Festival of Faith and Writing draws many non-professional writers and avid readers, friends who make a getaway of coming to hear poetry readings and insights for getting that novel you've secretly been working on for twenty years out of the drawer and into the hands of an editor who doesn't care that you don't have a platform. (Platform doesn't matter as much in fiction, after all.)

Anne Lamott delivered one of the plenaries last week, and referred to a "toxic self-consciousness" from which many of us suffer, comparing our insides to everyone else's outsides. She called out the two uninvited voices in her head: one that says "You're so much better than everyone else," and the other that says "You are a total loser." (After all, self-consciousness is a double-edged sword. Insecurity and superiority are not mutually exclusive.) Her advice was to acknowledge those unwanted guests and move on with a simple, "Thank you for sharing." Those voices don't need to be considered the truth.

"You look so cute today in your new dress, Jessica. You're so much more put-together than that lady in her mom jeans and fanny pack."

"Thank you for sharing. The Gap outlet clearance rack has some good finds, and I'm sure that lady is comfortable and well-equipped."

"You look hopelessly awkward standing there, twiddling your thumbs, waiting to talk to that speaker. Everybody must be thinking what a dork you are."

"Thank you for sharing. I'm doing my job, and there's a long line. Everybody else is probably more worried about what people are thinking of them than about whether I have self-confidence and an active social life."


I fake confidence and even extroversion fairly well, people tell me. But inside, I'm not too much different than that awkward sixth-grade girl being informed of yet another thing to feel awkward about.

"Who'd you come with?"

Just the voices in my head. But don't worry. I'm learning how to shut them up.

Project Life Monthly (Jan-Feb-Mar)

The last time I blogged about scrapbooking, I mentioned how I've missed doing traditional 12 x 12 pages with all the papers and embellishments, but using the divided page protectors made popular by Project Life and other scrapbooking designers is just such an easy and efficient way to get precious pictures into an album with some journaling and a little flair. So, I try to work in "traditional" crafty elements when I can, alongside and even in the Project Life divided pages. I'm taking the "hybrid scrapbooking" thing up a notch this year with more inserts and  embellishments, getting more creative when I can while keeping it super-simple when I need to.

Rather than using a photo slot for my month label card, like I have the past two years that I've been doing things month-by-month, this year I used 4 x 6 cards (from the Kraft core kit), stamped them for each month, and punched holes so they could go directly in the album as dividers. I think they have kind of a funky, vintage-library feel.

 

 As usual, my album for the year begins with Kate's birthday. I used some of the silver doilies from the party decor ("Winter Wonderland") to embellish the pages, especially since this is the first thing you see when opening the album.

I did a tall 6 x 12 page to feature the invitation, pictures, and some journaling at the beginning of the birthday spreads.

Since this party was more "scheduled" with activities and such than previous kids' parties I've thrown, I included a card with the timeline I had planned for everything (which actually was about how long everything took!)

Our other January activities included outings to the Nashville Children's Theatre and the circus, both with our friends the Pauls. Kate and Natalie had such a fun time at both events!

And, the day after Kate's party, Matt and I took off for a ministry conference in Phoenix, so I have a nice page of pics from our little midwinter time in the sunny desert! I saved the light rail pass and our hotel key card, since they were unique and fun, adding some neat tokens to the page. I wish I'd done the writing on the photo a little nicer, but I do think it's a fun way to get the journaling in with a photo. In fact, I took that pic of the palm trees with plenty of sky space specifically for that purpose! (PS: if you're going to Phoenix, the Clarendon Hotel was very cool, as you can see! The pool courtyard looked like a place Don Draper would have stayed on his Season 2 excursion to California!)

These 8 x 6 cards came with a smaller album I bought, and they are nice for a little mini insert. This one has Kate's writing and sticker-placement, along with a photo and story about a visit to the pulmonologist to investigate Kate's chronic cough (no real answer--it's "asthma-like" but not asthma).

And on the other side, a little page to talk about the girls' love of matching--one another and even me, when they can. I loved finding those leopard-print shoes for Kate since they matches ones I already had!

For February, I had so many Valentine cards and whatnot I wanted to work in, I started adding on to the month-divider card, making it an eclectic insert in its own right!

I always include pics of our decorations and the Valentines the girls make and give out, but I love saving some of the store-bought ones they get, too, as a sort of time capsule as to what kids were into in a given year. Obviously, Hello Kitty, Monsters University, and Tangled were big this year. (I guess Disney didn't make a licensing deal for Frozen valentines fast enough for this year!)

I got a small start on March's pages over the weekend, so here's a quick glance (hasty cell phone pic!) at my St. Patrick's Day pics, alongside some fingerprint clover art the girls did and again an embellished month-card to share some clover Claire colored in school and Kate's memorable quote of the night.

I haven't had much time for getting crafty lately, but it always feels good to throw even a little page together!

So Lucky

I say it every year, but I love St. Patrick's Day. Mainly because minor holidays are super-fun, but also because my favorite color is green, and both the Millers and Kelleys have hefty Irish roots (and English, who were historically at odds with the Irish. I promise that if there were a British-themed minor holiday, I would celebrate it too, as we did with the London Olympics!)

Every year, we take a family pic in all our green. It's a fun tradition, and a good opportunity to take a picture that has not just a child or two, and not just a child or two with one parent, but via selfie or timer, to get us all in the shot. That's so much rarer than it should be, when one parent is always behind the camera!

 As on Valentine's last month, I decorated the dining room and fixed a nice dinner for the fam. I considered doing all green foods, like spinach fettuccine, zucchini, and salad, but my kids don't really care for green foods, and even if the green pasta tasted just like regular pasta, it would be no dice. So, I made corned beef, mashed potatoes, and kale (for Mommy and Daddy; the kids got leftover green beans and sweet potato fries for their veggies).

 

I'm going to keep it real here and confess that, while I love doing fun theme dinners and such, it increases my frustration when the kids aren't automatically on their best behavior and super-polite during said dinner. I was kind of on edge throughout the meal. 

 

Toward the end of dinner, I pulled the old Thanksgiving staple, with a twist: "Let's all say why we're lucky!"

Kate replied: "Why we're lucky."

Why yes, she does have a smart mouth. How'd you guess?

Kate did give a serious answer, though, saying she was lucky to have a sister and a foster sister and a mommy and a daddy.

Claire's answer was simply: "Pie." (May I remind you her babyhood nickname was Hungry Hungry Hippo?)

Hope you feel as lucky as we do—whether it's because of familial love or just a nice dessert. Both are good reasons to celebrate.

Why Fostering Is Like Dating

I wouldn't say I dated a ton before finding my Reverend Charming—one other serious boyfriend and maybe two other relationships that reached the "official" status. (Oh, how thankful I am not to have uttered the term "DTR"—"defining the relationship"— in over a decade!) But those relationships and other steady dates (for lack of a better definition!) brought more than just fun and romance to my life. 

They introduced me to and immersed me in hobbies and characteristics I might never have otherwise given a second thought. And it is that aspect of dating that has come to mind at various times over the course of our first year of fostering. 

I remember the moment my "classic rock education" began, when Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock 'n' Roll" came on the radio while my high school sweetheart and I were in the car, and I guessed that it was Little Richard singing! What followed were many awesome mix tapes that I still enjoy today, and an appreciation for Billy Joel, Paul Simon, James Taylor, and other artists of the 1970s and '80s.

In college, I dated guys with passions for film scoring and musical theatre, and learned a lot from them about Alan Silvestri and John Williams, and a lot of shows less well-known than those in which I played minor roles in high school.

Beyond music, these relationships (and non-relationships) taught me about Tourette's Syndrome (it's not all about swearing), golf, baseball, the Baptist church, the Episcopal Church, cigar-smoking, and various cities around the South from which these young men hailed. Lest this seem like "Runaway Bride," where Julia Roberts doesn't even know what kind of eggs she likes, I hope maybe these fellows learned something about religion, Russia, or language (grammar, linguistics, etymology, etc.) from me. Or maybe not—my interests don't sound as interesting in comparison!

But in our year of fostering, exposure to and relationships with children and adults from different backgrounds and life experiences has taught me things I might not otherwise have immersed myself in. 

Things like:

how African American hair and skin require different care and styling. . . 

how race and poverty are so connected in America . . .

how family members who try to break patterns that fuel the cycle of poverty end up estranged . . .

how the juvenile and family court system works (and where that courthouse is even located in our city) . . .

where education ranks on Maslow's hierarchy of needs (after shelter and stability) . . .

what "white privilege" really looks like (actually, Matt learned that. I'll share that story sometime) . . .

the frustrations of parenting a teenager (oh, curfews and one-word answers!) . . .

the challenges (i.e. multitudes of doctor and therapy appointments) of parenting a special needs child . . .

navigating the prison and criminal court system . . .

how people can have substance abuse problems and criminal issues and still be devoted parents . . .

how thrilling it is to see progress like a 16-month-old child finally able to sit up! (without that boppy, too) . . .

how bizarre it is to get excited over a child nomming a toy or NOT gagging at phlegm in her throat, because dealing with semi-solid stuff in her mouth is a major project in therapy. . .

how vital social services like TennCare and TEIS (Tennessee Early Intervention System) are . . . and more.

BGC gets her hearing aids next week, so we'll start navigating those changes (oh, big girls, please keep the noise down—she can actually hear you now!) and add speech therapy to our weekly regimen of developmental, physical, and feeding therapy.

We're in the home stretch of reunification with BGC's parents, so we're navigating a tricky but very special relationship right now (a double-date, so to speak?) We're going to a training next week about "Working with Birth Parents," and we'll have some positive examples to share, gladly offering a counterbalance to some of the tougher situations our fellow foster parents may have to share.

We entered foster care because we have something to share—a room with a crib and a bed, extra car seats, a modicum of flexibility and openness—but there is so much we gain in the process as well. Namely, a wider view of the world, seeing things that are right under our noses, maybe in a different area of town or different wing of the hospital—so close yet so far away, only because luck and chance and birth have kept it far away.

These relationships aren't forever, but they expand our minds and hearts nonetheless.