A Letter to My Hero

I wrote a letter to my hero today. It started off most unremarkably, with a discussion about the weather. It seemed silly, because by the time he reads the letter, the weather will inevitably be different, but it seemed like the customary thing to do. Actually, if I'm being honest, by the time he gets it,the weather will not have changed at all because this is Florida and it is always hot here, and humid, with occasionally heavy afternoon showers. Even though it started off like a typical letter (is there such a thing in 2014 as a typical letter?) in my heart it felt like the most important letter I have ever written.

Why was it the most important letter that I have ever written? I think because it provided me a chance to share my heart with my grandfather, Raymond Joseph Osborn. The man that I middle-named my son after. This week, my 98 year old, amazing, inspiring grandfather moved out of his home and into a Veteran's Home. My heart has been so full of emotion thinking about this, from the other corner of the country. I have been talking to my mom,my sister,& my husband about it, but I have needed to talk to Ree Ree. And so, this letter became a huge deal to me.

There was a lot of chit-chat in my letter, for no reason other than my inclination for chit-chat. However, there was also a lot of truth, and that was the part that meant so much for me to say. I told him that I have been thinking of him more than usual this week, knowing that he and my grandmother are going through this big life change. I told him that I have always found him to be the most remarkable man-for his character, integrity, intelligence, and aptitude for so many things like puzzles, fishing, and writing. (I feel like I get my love of writing from him.) Then I told him that I find him even more remarkable now, than at any other time in my life. He is so brave. I know that leaving home and moving away from his wife of 70 years must have felt like the scariest thing, but the fact that he did it even though he didn't really want to- that is courage at its finest. I wanted him to know that. He is not a frail old man now because he is living with more assistance. He is selfless, and brave, and continues to take care of his family by going to a place where we can know that he is best taken care of, thereby giving us peace. I told him that I hope it feels like home there soon. Of course, a home of a different sort, but that I hope he makes friends, and that there are nice people on staff that grow to love the sparkle in his eye and his sense of humor. He has always been kind, and he is easy to be kind to. All he has to do is be himself!

Lastly, I told my grandfather that I love him. That we all do. He knows that distance does not diminish love. He was separated from his young bride to go and fight in WWII, and his love for her was in no way lessened. I reminded him that whether he is just separated from them by a few miles, like he is now from my parents and grandmother, or by hundreds like he is from me and my sister, that is true today like it was for him back then. I also wanted him to know he is not forgotten. He is on my mind now, more than ever. He is in my heart, and most importantly in my prayers. I am so grateful for him.

Home is where the heart is, so now, a little piece of me calls the Veteran's Home my home.

"I will be in touch soon. Don’t feel like you have to write back. It just feels good for me to talk to you. I am sending some pictures from the kids. Taryn, Trevor, and Jayme all send their love.
Love, Jen"

I Cannot Contain Myself

The Container Store is one of the most perfect man-made places on earth.

I have learned from this wonderland that there is nothing that cannot be contained. Moreover, contained precisely in a little perfectly crafted container that no one needs, but yet no one should have to live without. Yesterday was my first trip to this magical place that captivated me for hours, and tricked me into feeling like there is only good in the world.

Every inch of The Container Store made me happy. From the coordinated adorable file folders, to the little white desk that, when you open the drawer, reveals a cheerful Caribbean blue inside. They have pouches, bags, bins, liners, tags, magnets, hooks, cubbies, closets, racks, boxes, and all manner of other containers for anything you could possibly put away.

I am not well organized. I think that is why I love the place so much. They are the "After" to my "Before". The Container Store shows me what could be. I don't suppose it's normal to get so excited about a store full of containers, but if loving precision containing is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

I should maybe quit teaching and work there. I'm only half joking. :)

A Jacky Dory Story

When we were kids, our mom would tell us "Jacky Dory stories" at bedtime. They were always about a mischievous young boy who got into little bits of trouble because he didn't listen to his parents, and they were the stories I begged for at night. They didn't rhyme. This one just came out this way today. (Dr. Seuess-ette I am not). This Jacky Dory story is for you, Mom. Thanks for the memories. Hope you approve.


There once was a boy named Jacky Dory,
who lived with his parents and his sister Lori,
and a bird named Lulu and a dog named Rory,
in a big old house- it was a brown three story.

Jacky always listened, but he seldom heard.
He smiled and nodded, like he'd heard every word,
but his mom might as well just have chirped like a bird.
His actions were always just shy of absurd.

One hot summer day, Jacky climbed up a tree
while holding a button and counting to three,
as many times as he could in a row,
just climbing and counting as high as he'd go.

Mom came outside to look for her boy,
She had thought of something that he would enjoy,
She wanted to take him to buy him a new toy.
But the sight of him high in the tree took her joy.

“You climbed this high when I told you you shouldn’t?
Jacky you smiled and said that you wouldn't!
I thought I could trust you, now I see that I couldn't."
He would never forget Mom’s sad face, he just wouldn’t.

And just like always, Jacky felt bad,
for not listening to Mom again like he had,
for making her face get all scrunchy and mad.
He always intended to be a good lad.

What was worse was that when he looked around,
he saw just how high he was off the ground,
and that his button was not to be found.
Scared little Jacky could not make a sound.

Jacky Dory couldn't get down on his own,
Mom called up Dad. She was mad on the phone.
Dad thought to just leave things alone,
Jacky would get down before he was grown.

Jacky tried to move high, and he tried to move low,
He wanted to move but his feet wouldn't go.
His brain said "Get going!",his legs wouldn't though.
Jacky cried and he shouted so his mom would know.

Soon came a siren, and then he saw the red truck!
Mom had called the brave fire fighter, Miss Buck,
Who was sorry to hear Jacky Dory was stuck
Oh, her truck had a ladder on it -what luck!!

Back on the ground Jacky got quite an earful,
but his Mom wasn't wrong, and his face was quite tearful.
She pointed out that his climb had made them both fearful,
and climbing is better when the ground stays more nearful.

Next time, he vowed that he would do good.
He would think and then act like a good child should.
When mom told him to listen to something he would.
That is, he worried, if he even could.

Mom helped him walk home, for his knees were still weak.
His voice was still shaky, so they just didn't speak.
He felt too sorry to look up, or even to peek,
but when he did, Mom just smiled, and kissed his wet cheek.

“Jacky Dory”, Mom said. I’ll never not love you.
I’ll never not smile at every thought of you.
Sometimes I’ll be mad. Sometimes you’ll be mad too.
If we choose love in our anger, we will always get through.

Everybody's Broken In This Life

I think the difference between amazing people who live quietly inspiring lives, and everybody else is not that they live in absence of pain, but that they have given purpose to their pain.
When we embrace our pain, as still being part of us, we can use it to make a difference. Maybe we can mentor someone facing a similar situation, and help them overcome where we failed. Or maybe we can lead someone down the path to healing who is also dealing with the same crippling circumstances we once faced. The pain doesn't define you, but it does deepen you. It makes you compassionate in a way that you could not be if you had not lived through that hurt. The pain is an opportunity to use your experience to impact the world in a way that only you can, or at least in a way that only people who have walked in your shoes can. It is often said, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger", but we all know that's wishful thinking. Sometimes what doesn't kill you may as well have. Sometimes what doesn't kill you just kills your spirit. It kills your will, and your passion, and your hope for tomorrow, and I think that is probably worse.

I'm not a psychologist, and I don't know the secret to giving purpose to your pain, but in my limited experience I think it has to do with focus and faith. Faith that everything happens for a reason, and that even when we don't understand it, or see it, that there still is one. Faith that we do not know everything, and that while we would not wish this path for ourselves, that good can come of it. And focus, not on ourselves, but on others. If we think of pouring our experience into a greater understanding of others, and maybe even reaching out to pull someone up from the pit they feel trapped in, then we can see beyond our despair. It doesn't mean the hurt stops. It doesn't mean that it sucks any less. Some things absolutely suck, and if you ask me in 50 years I will still tell you that they suck. As I see it, we can stay there, "stuck in the suck", or we can say, "This is the worst thing ever, and it's not fair, and I hate it, but I refuse to hate the rest of my life because of it."

There are hurts I haven't faced, and when I meet people or hear about people who are facing them, I feel like I would crumble under the weight of the pain. I know that the process of giving purpose to the pain might take years, or even decades. Some hurts are so deep that to even think about sharing them knocks the breath out of a person. I don't know how to get there, or who to turn to, but I know that people who are transparent about their pain, who determine to find a way to bring good out of bad, that those are the people who go on to inspire me, and the world along with me. If you are going through something painful. I am deeply, legitimately sorry. I hope it doesn't kill you, and I hope that little by little, it makes you stronger. Maybe right now burying it is the only way that you can get out of bed, but I hope that someday you can share it. Give it purpose, and use it to bring hope to our little painful planet.

"It's okay to be a little broken, everybody's broken in this life. It's okay, to feel a little broken, everybody's broken. You're alright. It's just life."
-Bon Jovi

The Wheel, The Inclined Plane, and Being Nice.

I'm a teacher, so all summer long I pretty much have no idea what day it is. Monday? Friday? That's really neither here nor there. Because of my very untethered lifestyle in the summertime, I sometimes get a version of lost. I have very little schedule confining (or guiding) me, and my free mind runs off to daydreaming about things that represent "freedom" to me- like jumping in the car and driving anywhere in the contiguous United Sates tomorrow. It's always tomorrow. I have so many possibilities for my days, that sometimes I just end up in this mental loop of all of what I COULD do, and before I know it I have done little more than dream the day away. Since I go through this same freedom-dilemma every summer, I made the decision to take action this year. My summer is going to be FREE, but I am also setting goals for each day so that I can live purposeful moments.

I decided early on, that my summer had to have a theme. It could be anything, but I had a few criteria. I wanted it to bring good to my world, to be meaningful, and to help me become more like Pope Francis. Perhaps that's an interesting choice for me, since I am not Catholic. I say Pope Francis instead of saying "be more like Jesus" for a few reasons. First, because Pope Francis is really "cool" right now, second, because when people hear "Jesus" they just stop listening, and third, because the "cool" things that the world loves about Pope Francis are the just big fat JESUS things. The Pope embraces the scarred, he sneaks out at night to feed the hungry, he tells us to take care of this beautiful planet, he washes the feet of juvenile offenders, he condemns the love of money, and his actions back up his words. I'm glad the world finds it all so refreshing and cool. It would be awesome if they knew it's been done before, and even more awesome if all Christians did it so well. But hey, baby steps. Pope Francis is showing the world Jesus, and they like what they see. So, yeah, my theme for the summer has to help me be more like him. I'm not very complicated, and my theme has to reflect that as well.

Here's what I came up with. Every day I am going to make someone's day better. That's it. It's so simple, it just might work! I might be the car in crazy Orlando traffic that lets that pour soul trying to merge get in front of me. I might be the person at the grocery store (always)with the overflowing cart that lets the guy with the eleven items go first. Maybe I will be the mom who plays Superman instead of mopping the floor, or the wife who scrubs the patio doors with Comet to get the muddy dog paw prints off because, after all, they have been there for way too long. I don't know how it will manifest, and I don't want to PLAN it too much because it IS summer. I'm just approaching every day searching for a simple way to make another person have a better day. So far, I have to tell you. It's making my days a lot better too.

I believe simple things can change the world. For example, the wheel, the inclined plane...and being nice.

Lifebomb or #Lifebomb...depending.

Yesterday, while spending a fun evening with two of my favorite friends, a new term was coined. Allow me to introduce to you, the phrase "Lifebomb" (or "hashtag lifebomb" if you are so inclined to speak your hashtags). What is a lifebomb? A lifebomb is awesome. Don't let the word bomb scare you in this particular case, although I still encourage a healthy fear of that word in pretty much all other scenarios. A lifebomb is a photobomb's distant cousin.

Photobombs are famous, or infamous, perhaps. Someone jumps in behind your photo and you don't know they are there, but when you look at the picture you see that they have crept in. They have become an unexpected part of your picture. Well, a life bomb happens in the same way as a photo bomb, but instead of someone becoming an unexpected part of your photo, they become an unexpected part of your experience. They are the people that you notice in life, and for some reason get added to your story. Normally, for me, it is because they were incredibly funny, but sometimes it's someone who is unexpectedly sad, or kind, or just stands out from the crowd.

I can't tell you how many times I have been out with a friend and we have done something ridiculous (usually completely accidentally) and we end up saying, "Well, now those people have a funny story to tell their friends about us". Every time that happens, someone got Lifebombed! One time my friend Jessica and I had been visiting a friend in the hospital upon the joyous birth of her son, and when we got on the elevator to leave she was talking about how familiar the hospital room seemed. A gentleman, a stranger to us, had been in the elevator when we got on, but we just carried on our conversation about who else she visited in that hospital that would make the room seem familiar. Eventually we realized it may have been me- when I had Trevor.

Neither of us remembered if she had come to visit me, but at the same time what kind of a person would she be if she hadn't come?...and so on and so forth. We would hear the guy chuckle every now and then. When he got off she was like, "I bet that was the best elevator ride he ever had. I bet he totally wishes he was our friend." Well, it was either that or he thought we were insane. But either way. #Lifebomb! We wrote ourselves into his day. Other people do it to us all the time too. How many times have you told a story that included something funny, sad, creepy, or amazing that you witnessed a total stranger doing? They are now a part of your story. They Life Bombed you! Today I was life bombed by two grown men on a Vespa. They were driving maybe 35 and they were kind of hunched over trying to get to max speed, and it made me laugh and think of Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber. I was alone in my car, but I literally said, "Lifebomb".

Some great Lifebombs from yesterday's trip to Epcot are worthy of being shared here. One of my favorites was the guy and his (not petite) girlfriend standing in front of a topiary of Rafiki holding up Simba, the way they did in the Lion King movie when he was first born and they were presenting him to the animals. The guy was like, "Here, hold my stuff, and make sure you get Simba in the picture", and he proceeded to recreate that moment hoisting his girlfriend up over his head. His arms were shaking and he couldn't hold her for long, but they did it! It was awesome. #Lifebomb

Then we Lifebombed these older ladies sitting on a bench. See, we were on a mission to stop at the Nikon photo spots around the park and take a picture with the actual sign. Trust me, it was fun. Anyway, the photo spot sign in China was behind this bench occupied by the two ladies, so we walked around behind the bench and took a group selfie behind them. We were kind of, sort of, basically in their personal bubble. They turned around and watched the whole thing, complete with our standing in Epcot foliage which we think may be a felony. I think it was the most unexpected thing they had ever seen. #lifebomb. #yourewelcomeladies


On the way to the car at the end of the night there was a girl sitting in the MIDDLE of everyone walking. She seemed to be just sitting, texting or something. We all commented about how that was a strange place to stop and sit, and Jessica thought she should pretend to trip over the girl, but as we got closer, I heard some quiet sobs and saw an iPhone in more pieces than I have EVER seen. There were at least 6 separate pieces of phone surrounding her. I have seen a cracked screen before, but literal parts were just loose all over the ground. That was memorable, and made me so happy that I have a LifeProof case. #lifebomb

So, there you have it. I hope it catches on because in the less than 24 hours since we invented it, it has basically changed my life. Feel free to make it part of your life as well! I don't own the rights or anything, and you won't regret it.

Cell Phones and Kidnappers...A Mother's Day Reflection

I am too accessible to my kids, and I think it is probably true of my whole generation. When we were kids we had a healthy appreciation for the fact that Mom couldn't be at our beck and call, and what's more, that she didn't really want to be. I'm not sure that my own kids have that same healthy appreciation. (They have apologized before when I didn't "get to" make them breakfast. It seems they think my doing things for them is like my Oxygen). Why the difference from my generation to theirs? Maybe it was because when we were sent out to play it was with the instructions not to set foot back in the house before dark. Perhaps it was because when Mom and Dad would go out on a date, Dad would say, "Don't call unless it is an emergency." And Mom would follow that up with, "An emergency is blood,vomit, or a bone sticking out of the skin". We just knew that whatever Mom and Dad were doing during those times, they were better done without us. It sounds a bit harsh now, but the effect at the time was that we respected that our parents were people. Actual humans who existed apart from us.

Cell phones are partly to blame, for sure. I mean, we are pretty much within reach wherever we go thanks to them. Kids aren't used to the idea that if mom is at work, or driving, or in the grocery store, or out for the evening that she also not available for them. How many times have I heard, "Mom, I called and you DIDN'T ANSWER!", said in an accusing tone like I did something wrong? Too many to count. Apparently there is no place I can be when I am not also supposed to be completely within my children's reach. The result? I feel badly when I miss a call, and I cannot completely invest in wherever I am or who I am with because a little part of my brain is always aware that my kids might "need" me. A need that is usually not one at all.

I think I would be remiss to leave the kidnappers out of the blame game, and so I shall blame them a little bit too. I can't tell my kids to go play until dark like my parents used to do. I have to have my eyes on them all of the time to make sure they aren't being lured into the wood's to help find a lost puppy, only to never be seen again. While I know that this is for my kids' safety, I think to them it is just more proof that I don't like to do anything without them.

The truth? I do like to do things without my kids. I don't ever want to BE without them for long, but on a few special occasions I want to say to them, "We are going out.Don't cry.Don't call unless its an emergency involving blood, vomit, or a an exposed bone. Have fun with Nana and know that us being apart is just as important a part of you growing up as us being together is." I do say that, not quite as blatantly. We do spend time apart. I think I just feel a lot guiltier about it than my parents used to feel, and my kids hate it a lot more than I did. In their defense, they are still little, and in my defense, I really do just love being theirs more than anything else. Still, I have to do better to be officially of the grid when we are apart. For their sake, as well as my sanity.

Stupid cell phones and kidnappers.