His Very First Christmas

'Tis the season to decorate for Christmas at our house. Like many others, we drag out dust covered boxes of ornaments to adorn our Christmas tree. Some of these are special treasures that have been cherished for years. Others bring a laugh or make us wonder what we were thinking (let's be honest, the High School Musical locker ornament that sings was a huge mistake!).

There is always one special ornament that washes emotion over me like a tsunami. Most often leaving me breathless for a moment, gasping for air and holding back tears. I am often paralyzed with feelings that it ressurects.

That ornament is a memento of Connor's First Christmas. And, every single time I look at it, I cry.

I'm swept back to the day I realized what my child's first Christmas would really mean. I'd taken a half day off work to start Christmas shopping and catch up on life. But, first I stopped by our house and checked e-mail (keep in mind, I didn't have 24/7 access to e-mail on my cell phone at the time!). There, in the mess of mundane topics was a message from our adoption agency. New photos!

I opened the file and waited patiently while it downloaded (probably about 3 minutes, I love DSL today!). And, there he was!

I've never felt more alone in my life. My baby was going to spend his very first Christmas in Guatemala without me.

This is not how it should go. Someone else had dressed my sweet baby in a goofy Santa hat and posed him for Christmas card photos. But it wasn't me. Someone else had quieted his tears (I could see that he'd been crying in some of the other photos they sent in the group) and kissed away whatever fear he had. But it wasn't me. Someone else was going to hold my baby in the quiet of the night on Christmas Eve and sing Christmas carols softly in his ear. But it wasn't me. I wondered if he'd receive a soft little lamb or doggie as a gift on Christmas morning, snuggled in the arms of one of his caregivers. I hoped that he would, it was his first Christmas and someone should be showering him with gifts and love. But it wasn't me.

Seemingly, I had everything. I was finally a mom. I was married to the love of my life. It was my favorite time of the year, with the hubub of activity that I love. And, yet, I sat at that computer and sobbed for hours. I cradled the 15-inch Gateway monitor like it was my baby. I wiped my tears on that screen, hoping to feel the softness of his face or the squeeze of his fingers wrapping around mine. My heart was ripped completely open, savagely and without warning...all because of that photo and all that it represented.

Later, I shared the photo with everyone. I asked them to pray for him on his very first Christmas, that it be peaceful. I spent some time on my knees too, begging the God that I knew to protect him and somehow make sure that he felt our love on that magical night and every day until we finally met. After all, Christmas is all about miracles, right?

I printed that photo and put it in Christmas ornaments as gifts for his waiting grandparents. Eventually I made my way to the local Hallmark store and purchased the Spanish version of the 2003 Baby's First Christmas ornament.

And, now, every year when we decorate our Christmas tree, as I place that ornament on the branches I whisper another prayer. It is a prayer of thanks for everyone who made sure that my baby was swaddled and loved on his very first Christmas. Those people are responsible for the most amazing gift I could ever dream of, countless future Christmases with goofy Santa hats and softly sung carols in the night. And, the child who makes it all meaningful.

Feliz Navidad from us to you...may the anticipation of your blessings make them even richer.

PS -- the following year our Christmas card portrayed the picture of happiness that we dreamt of through all those tears. Yes, miracles do happen.

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!

Time to take a breather and pay homage to the people, places, and things that made my top 10 for 2010. I learned at a very young age that saying thank you isn't just customary and polite - its required if you want to get anywhere in this world. So, here's my thankful thoughts for the year...

1) Rick and Connor...of course. I'm a lucky girl to have a husband I still love, and even like, after 19 years of marriage! And, we are both blessed beyond words to share our lives with Connor, the 7-year-old whirlwind that makes us reassess every thought and action hundreds of times a day! Thank you boys...always.

2) Mobile Technology...yes, my name is Maureen and I'm a BlackBerry addict. Wow, has this little device changed my life! Clients never know if I'm responding to a business question from my office or the beach...fantastic. Yes, I could go even further down the slippery slope of mobile computing with other devices, but I'm a little fearful that I'd stop participating in real life conversations and simply resort to texts and emails even when the person I want to connect to is in the same room! Moderation, people!

3) My Little Sisters...We became a packaged deal at a very young age, our six older siblings referred to us as "The Three Little Girls." We hated that. But, we love each other. And, they don't call us that anymore...much. We can still share clothes and shoes, but most often we are sharing a laugh, advice, and lots of love.

4) CoffeeMate French Vanilla Sugar Free Creamer...finally! Love this stuff and now I can ramp down on the insulin intake to cover it. Thank you Nestle!

5) Symlin...since we're talking about that insulin intake, I need to give a 2010 nod to my new Symlin injectable pen. Thank you for making better use of my insulin intake. It triggers me to notice that I'm actually full (surprisingly much ealier than I would have imagined - guess that's why those 15 pounds have crept onto my hips over the past few years!) and encouraging more effective digestion of the food I take in. Bravo to all the smarty pants biomedical engineers who worked on this drug. You are helping to make me a healthier person...thanks!

6) NetFlix and Roku...ahhhh, the wonder twins! Thank you for combining forces and bringing so many Scooby Doo movies into my home on command and without charging me for each one. We love movies around here and that can be an expensive obsession. But, the power of technology puts countless movies and tv shows at our fingertips for no additional cost...and Connor can operate it by himself. Joy!

7) Cousins...in general, I have a huge group of incredible cousins, and I love when we reconnect. But, specifically, I'm so grateful for the trio of cousins that belong to my sisters and I. We were each blessed with one child and the three of them have shared many moments in the past seven years (give or take a few months). I'm so grateful that Connor has Ryleigh and Reagan to share his life with - even though they often fight like siblings! That's part of the package!

8) Memaw...she promised my mom that she'd be there for us even after Marcia and her son divorced, and she's more than lived up to that. Carol Nauta is an incredible example of the kind of person I aspire to be. She loves my son like her own grandchildren and makes him feel special just for being Connor. And, she offers a shoulder to cry on or an embrace of love whenever it is needed by me or my sisters. The joy on Connor's face when she surprises him at a football, soccer, or little league game is infectious and reminds me of how much we need her. Thank you, Carol. I'm grateful every day that we got to keep you in the divorce!

9) My 2001 Ford Taurus SEL...what can I say, my old Bessie may be dinged up but she's still got life in her veins! Rick and I bought out my dad's lease on this car when we were waiting to adopt Connor. At the time there was a possibility that we'd find ourselves the parents of twins and my adorable Audi A4 just wasn't going to cut it for double stroller duty! My dad serviced his cars religiously and detailed them incessantly. It was barely broken-in when I took possession. At the time I thought I'd drive it for a couple of years...and here I am! She's given us some concern over the past year, but still doesn't show any signs of needing to retire. And, its funny, but I really love her now and can't imagine myself driving anything else (well, okay, that's a lie - I've got rag top dreams, but we don't talk about stuff like that in front of Bessie, she's sensitive!).

10) Lake Michigan beaches...especially Pentwater, but really, I'm thankful for all of the shoreline! What a gorgeous treat we have here in West Michigan! These beaches are perfect for dreamers, toddlers, crazy teens, and cooler toting moms...and everyone in between. If you haven't had the joy of spending an afternoon or evening on one of these beaches, please let me know. I'm happy to show you around!

The Mystery of Knotted Memories

So often our memories intertwine in a jumbled pile of emotion, smell, taste, visuals, and often music. Its rare for me to think about one singular moment and hold it with clarity, keeping it from becoming tainted by another memory or shooting off on a wild tangent that bounces my thoughts about like a pinball responding to an itchy trigger finger on the lever.

That's why the end of October and beginning of November are always a bit schizophrenic for me. The smell of wet leaves and rotting pumpkins mixed with burning wax always triggers a flashback to the phone call I took seven years ago while tricksters and treaters were haunting my street. My brother, Steve, called to share that his wife Kris was hovering near death. Waiting for a donor liver that met her needs. Today I can't put all of the pieces together perfectly, but I still can smell that crazy jack-o-lantern.

Kris needed a miracle. Steve needed to talk. We had to process the fact that someone who hadn't celebrated 40 years of life would be facing something so immense without a warning. It still hurts to remember his anguished voice, begging for a solution that seemed unreal and that I couldn't provide.

Coupled with that memory is a moment of such euphoria and joy that is seems irreverant to think about it while also remembering Kris' failing health.

Rick and I had just learned that we were going to become parents. We'd received a photo that morning via Fed Ex (only really, really important stuff comes to your home via Fed Ex, that's how we knew it was a big deal!) of a little boy, just over one month old, who still weighed only 5 pounds. He was going to be our son. How could bad things be happening when our most fervent prayer was finally answered?

I remember crying on the phone with my brother that night. Tears of joy, tears of frustration, tears that reminded us both how powerfully we cared for each other and those for whom we cried.

My moment of triumph and ultimate happiness always will be edged with the reality that when you love deeply, you risk loosing greatly.

Those memories are intimately connected to someone I've never met. I don't know that person's story -- someone whose family faced their own loss with incredible bravery. My sister-in-law's life was saved by a liver donor.

These memories are a great example of the emotional journey known as the circle of life, in my case its just all twisted up like a crazy sewing knot. If I could pull apart the threads of each memory and save them as unique thoughts, would I?

Would I treasure the joy of raising my son more if my memory of learning that he was waiting for us weren't tempered with the anguish I recall hearing in my brother's voice on the phone that night? Would I be any more grateful for the blessing of Kris' life if I could smile over it and close out the pain her donor family must continue to experience each year on the anniversary that we celebrate?

Nope. I like things messy. I'll take the jumble any day. The more knots the better...gives me more places to grab on and swing.

PS -- Spare a moment today and give a thought to becoming a registered organ and tissue donor. Details here: http://www.donatelife.net/CommitToDonation/

Broken Promises

It's time I out some broken promises. I've kept quiet for way too long.

I've subscribed to Fitness magazine for about 7 or 8 years. Not only does the magazine arrive in my mailbox, but I READ it every month. I feel like I'm doing my part. Yet, I remain decidedly unfit.

This isn't nonsense. I'm not talking about the lazy girls way out with the exercise videos that you watch while sitting on the couch eating buttered popcorn (who really eats that micro rubbish without adding butter?!) and sipping on a cabernet. No. I am not that lazy. I'm no couch potato!

I stand in my kitchen, near the bag of whole, toasted almonds that are a suggested snack food in my Fitness magazine, and read. I'm engaging my brain. I'm flipping pages. I'm not even sitting down!

I am not any fitter for the effort.

Seems like the perfect time to evaluate a bit of why the magazine is not living up to its promise of Fitness. Perhaps they are overpromising?

If I even remotely resembled one of the cover models I certainly would not subscribe to Fitness. I wouldn't have time to read magazines because when you are that Smoking Hot you don't read magazines, you use them to fan yourself at the beach. Good grief!

Know your audience...your subscribers are approaching deadlines like high school reunions and family vacations. We have middle aged booties and bellies. And, if we've already spent a lifetime finding clever ways to fit in squats while also flossing our teeth with "green" floss that we wove ourselves - we wouldn't need your magazine.

Also, reevaluate all of the resources you are currently using for nutrition tips. When I'm running through my kitchen (I'm using "running" here to refer to the act of crazily scurrying while dodging errant super balls and Lego spaceships that may be strewn about the floor en route to a meeting that may result in a paycheck) I DO NOT have time to "grab a handful of fresh berries and pop them into a wheat germ and banana smoothie." Okay, to be fair, I'm paraphrasing the tip. But, it was unrealistic anyway.

If I grab a handful of berries out of my fridge, first they will need careful sorting to assure that they are not covered in mold (I shop infrequently and rarely eat all of any fresh produce in the fridge, visitors beware). And, secondly, I'm in a rush. There is no time to whip up anything. Those berries are destined to be squashed all over the steering wheel of my car before I get out of the garage. Thirdly, I refuse to buy anything that is a germ, even if it is a wheat germ. Ridiculous.

Who needs these ideas that just make me feel terrible about myself?

I'll probably continue with my subscription...and maybe I'll send in some of my own snack-on-the-go ideas (seriously, who ever has a snack that isn't on the go?). Real stuff like only eating half of the bag of Baked Lays in one drive time...be fit, people!

Transitions

Rick's stepdad, the man who raised him, Richard D. Cook, died last week at the age of 73. Rick had the good fortune to stay with him at the Hospice House in Jackson for his final few days, offering comfort as Dick made this last transition in his life's journey.

Rick does not remember any other father, this was the person who taught him how to pitch a baseball and drive a car (a stick shift VW beetle complete with an ice scraper for the inside of the windshield!). Dick was the primary disciplinarian in his life, and when Rick is scolding our son Connor for some indiscretion I often call him "Richard D. Cook" -- and, yes, oddly, his kids did refer to him by his full name with middle initial. No idea why!


Looking back at Dick's life and his relationship with his children has brought many transitions into focus. The first is obvious -- the day he married Rick' mother and agreed to parent her five young children in addition to his own two boys. Wow! Talk about a transition.

Over the years Dick's relationship with his children made many transitions, following the ebb and flow of the marriage that made them all a family in the first place. Eventually developing into adult respect and friendship. I recall the first trip that Rick and I made to visit Dick at his home in Florida. We were living in the Chicago area and both had just completed our master's degrees. As we sat on the balcony of his apartment, watching the Gulf of Mexico transition from sun dappled azure waves to the smoky and mysterious chop of evening, I had the priviledge of listening as a father told his son just how proud he was of the man he had become.  My father-in-law was not overly effusive. But, in his more relaxed retirement in the Sunshine State, he found the perfect way to offer the highest praise a child seeks. Respect and pride. Nice transition, Dad.

Dick had perfect joy when relating to his grandchildren. He gloated about their every achievement, from phenomenal or just passable sports accomplishments to academic honors or sometimes simply passing grades to cutting a first tooth or taking that first tottering step - each accomplishment gave him more reason to be proud. The transition to grandparent was one he truly loved, all of the love without any of the disciplinary responsibilities! Perfect.

In his final days we talked about where he wished he could be, where he could go in his mind to help remove himself from the pain he felt so intensely within his body. He smiled as I asked if it would be the sugar white sands on the Gulf of Mexico in Florida, kicking back on a chaise lounge chair and watching the sun drop slowly into the diamond strewn water. His smile was so serene as I spoke, I knew he was perfectly in the moment and maybe even feeling that ocean breeze on his skin. In classic form, it was when I suggested that he'd probably be sipping on a pina colada while sitting on the beach that he squeezed my hand for the first time that day.

I like to think that now he's found his perfect piece of paradise on a gorgeous, white washed sand bar and that he'll keep on strumming his guitar and smiling...enjoying the rest of the journey and whatever transitions may be waiting beyond our touch.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game, Baby!

I admit a fondness for listening to baseball on the radio. There's something soothing in that. Reminds me of childhood journeys riding in our Country Squire wagon with my dad at the wheel listening to the Tigers. Or better yet, those isolated evenings when my bedtime came before a game wrapped up and I resorted to sneaking my brother Steven's transistor radio into bed to listen to the crackle of a few innings before I drifted off to sleep.

In my 20s I discovered the incredible combination of baseball, ice cold beer, and a sun-filled afternoon at Wrigley Field. I was astonished that so many wonderful things could be combined in one place. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still hear Harry Caray's singsong voice meander through "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." 

I'll never forget the sensation of butterflies cavorting in my stomach as I stepped out onto that hallowed ball field on Opening Day 2008. I got to high five the team as they cruised past! I stood at attention during the National Anthem (I might have snuck a peak at Mark Grace's backside, but good grief, who wouldn't have?!) right along with the team. And, I got to chat with a living baseball legend, Ernie Banks (aka Mr. Cub) who signed a dugout baseball for me, noting on it, "Keep Smilin' Maureen!" That was a baseball dream day come true (of course I don't have photos because I was there with a vendor and never thought all this magic would take place)!

Now, I've got my own little slugger stepping up to the plate and lasering in on every motion the pitcher (especially when that pitcher is his daddy!) makes, waiting for that moment of pure joy when all breathing stops and you can hear "CRACK!" for miles. Connor made the transition from tee ball to coach pitch this summer and you'd think he was playing for the Cubs and had just won the World Series to hear him talk about playing "real baseball!"

Midsummer we were fortunate enough to share in the ultimate backyard baseball experience with our neighbors, John and Kara Doyle. Together with John's brother, Dave, and his wife Michele, they hosted a Wiffleball Tournament on their own field of dreams. Kids between the ages of 8-11 came from all over the west side of Grand Rapids to send wiffleballs sailing over the home run fence that had been painstakingly constructed to exact specifications. While Connor didn't meet the age requirements for the tournament, he was asked to join a neighborhood team as their bat boy.

At the end of a long day, Connor's team emerged winners. There were trophies and tee shirts and lots of high fives and back slaps. These boys had just earned the biggest honor in the neighborhood and it came without $100 shoes or fancy digital games. Their credential was earned in the backyard with a bat and ball and a lot of tenacity.

I promise you, 20 years from now, my son (and the five wonderful young men from our neighborhood who invited him to share their glory) will recount this experience with pride. He'll probably still posses the tee shirt in a back corner of his dresser. And, the swagger he earned on that ball field will carry him through countless curve balls thrown by life.

Tune in your radio, dust off your sneakers, whatever it takes. Just get out there and play ball, baby!

Family Ties are a Matter of Course

It started as a selfish way to drag my far-flung family to visit Rick and I in our new home. Sixteen years ago we invited all of my siblings and their children and my parents to the northern suburbs of Chicago for the inaugural Fitzgerald Family Golf Outing. This past weekend we gathered again, this time at my sister's home north of Grand Rapids. We rotate hosting duties throughout the family, thus forcing a visit to everyone's current hometown once every nine years! Traditions come from strange places, huh?

It's a simple concept, we meet once a year on the last weekend of June (typically) and those who feel compelled, golf for the ego-boosting claim to hold the traveling Fitzgerald Cup for a year. Later, everyone is invited (well, we do sort of expect the kids to be out of diapers before they join the fray, but otherwise its an open door!) to play in a four-person scramble. The prize? Family honor, bragging rights for one year, and a "Scramble Champs" tee shirt.

When my parents were alive they joined us on the golf course even though neither was a golfer. My mom used to borrow Aunt Elaine's golf clubs, but she was often referred to as a secret weapon because of her gifted putting ability! 

My dad loved that he could smoke cigars the entire time on the course! After a series of strokes left him with limited use of his right arm, he would either meet us at the final hole to celebrate or ride along with one team and tackle a putt here or there.

We're a boisterous group on the golf course. Especially when someone unexpected hits a great shot. But, that is the most wonderful part of the gathering. We challenge each other and we cheer our successes. Trust me, there is a lot of taunting and good-natured teasing, but ultimately it ends up feeling pretty good. Sort of like family life in general.

Generation gaps are celebrated as the youngest of the family group are partnered with the oldest and we all work together to become the Scramble Champs for the next 12 months. I love learning about the life of whichever niece or nephew I play with as we cruise the golf course. We connect one-on-one. With a family our size that doesn't happen often, so I treasure these opportunities.

I remember clearly when one of my nephews commented about the Fitzgerald Cup at that first outing, he said, "Someday I will have my name on that Cup and when I have kids they will too."

Yep. In fact, the Cup was won this year for the first time by a player from the next generation - my niece's fiance, Todd. Sort of a momentous occasion. We took it in stride. An amber ale was poured into the Cup and it was shared by past winners. At the time we were all cheering and laughing, but now that I think about it, that was a big deal.

That's life, the big moments get mixed in with the mundane. Thank goodness we periodically step back and ponder...even if it is on a golf course. We've created something special and we didn't even realize it was happening. Nice job family!

PS - Watch your backs Fitz's, Aunt Mo isn't going to let her golf game get rusty this year -- I'll be back next June and my team will once again reign as Scramble Champs!