2014: A Year of Surprises

We stopped sending Christmas cards a few years ago. It's not that we don't enjoy receiving them from others, because we do. In fact, we have a nice little Christmas card display thingy that we hang in a prominent place every December. So why did we stop doing them? I'm not sure I have a good answer or excuse, so I won't offer one.

Instead, I offer this "year in review" of sorts. Think of it as our Christmas card in blog form.

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If I had to choose a theme for the Rogers family in 2014, I think it's best described as A Year of Surprises. Some were good -- some not so much -- but in the end, we were constantly on our toes, and found ourselves to be pretty adaptable no matter what life threw at us.

FEBRUARY -- We're Moving (Again)

I suppose it's a good thing we decided to ask.

On a whim in late February, we emailed the property management company for our rental home in Tampa. We wanted to make sure we could re-sign our lease and stay in the home for another year. The family who owned the house was living in South Africa, and as far as we knew (and had been told several times), they wouldn't be returning to the U.S. for at least another year.

Like I said, it's a good thing we asked. 

We received a prompt response that, no, we could not re-sign the lease because the owners would be moving back into the house on July 1.

SURPRISE!

Just 8 months after moving to Tampa, we'd be moving again. Good thing we never got around to unpacking all those boxes.

With Jack headed out of town for three weeks, we had to act quickly. Although finding another rental probably would have made the most sense (we still own our home in Raleigh), I couldn't bear the thought of moving again only to feel "unsettled." So we decided to buy.

Our new home in Tampa

Our real estate agent went into hyperdrive and within 24 hours had lined up six showings in one of our target neighborhoods. The only problem was that, the same day we found out we had to move, I had oral surgery. The surgery in itself was no big deal -- but the reaction I had to the post-op antibiotics? That was ugly.

The accompanying nausea was so bad, in fact, that en route to one of the houses, Jack had to pull over at a busy intersection so I could jump out of the car and puke. Not one of my finer moments.

At each and every house we toured, the story was the same. I would tell our agent and Jack to go ahead of me while I stood in the front yard and threw up.

I just hope none of our new neighbors witnessed it.

MAY -- Two Houses, No Water

For those of you not familiar with Florida's west coast weather, let me acquaint you. The month of May can be hot. May can be sticky. May can be nasty. May in Tampa can remind you of an armpit.

And the weekend we moved into our new house, Tampa was doing its very best imitation of an armpit.

With temperatures and humidity high, so was our stress level. And it didn't help that to save money, we had decided to move everything ourselves -- everything but the very heaviest furniture pieces.

It was slow, arduous work, but we muddled through. By dinner time on the first day of our move weekend, we were making great progress. We stopped to order pizza for dinner, and as I stood in the office and looked out the window adjacent to Jack's desk, I noticed a steady stream of water pouring down the driveway.

Huh.

I raced out to the garage to find the hot water heater spewing water everywhere -- including all over our not-yet-loaded boxes and furniture.

SURPRISE!

Now Jack and I were the ones going into hyperdrive, desperately trying to locate the water shut-off valve. And because it was a rental home and we'd never thought to ask, we had no idea where it was. After 20 minutes or so, we finally found it. But a call to our property manager, and then to their plumber, revealed the earliest the water heater could be replaced was Monday -- if we were lucky.

Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink at our new house.

No big deal, we thought. It's so hot outside we can make do with cold water, we thought. Until we realized that all the faucets in the house were both cold and hot, meaning they didn't work at all.

No water.

Again, no big deal, we thought -- we already closed on our new house. We'll just shower and cook over there. Until we realized the county screwed up and shut off our water instead of transferring it to our account.

So we had two houses but no water. And it was Friday night. There would be no water until Monday.

So how did we get by for the next three days?

Showers at the gym. 

Eating out instead of cooking. 

Dogs drinking Perrier.

Just like we planned it.

JUNE-- Adventures in the Amazon

Although I never finished posting all of my journal entries from our week-long trip to the Peruvian Amazon, it is pretty well documented here on my blog -- both in words and pictures.

Jack with village children in El Chino, Peru

Certainly, the trip to the Amazon was not a surprise -- we booked it the previous October and knew well in advance what we were getting into (sort of).

The SURPRISE! in this case was that we actually went through with it. All four of us.

And we didn't get eaten by a giant anaconda.

Or stung by a bullet ant.

And we not only survived it, but we absolutely loved it.

We joked on the way home from Peru that any family vacation we take in the future will be incredibly boring by comparison -- and it's true.

LJ on the canopy zipline in the Peruvian Amazon jungle.

On how many vacations do you zipline through the a jungle canopy; swim in the Amazon surrounded by pink dolphins; fish for (and then eat) piranha; canoe through nearly impassable river ways surrounded by monkeys, sloths, and tropical birds; and hike through a forest so dense you can't even see the jaguars who are watching you?

A few days ago I asked Julianna to tell me the highlight of her year and she didn't hesitate with her answer.

"Well, duh," she said. "Our trip to Peru."

Duh, indeed.

SEPTEMBER -- The Marriott Miracle

One bonus to living in Tampa is that we have three NFL teams in Florida. That is, of course, if you count our hometown Suckaneers as an actual professional football team. (They are 2-13 as I write this).

As a side note (or rant) ... in the two years we have been Bucs' season-ticket holders, I have seen the team win in our home stadium exactly 1 time. Yes, once. In two years. And that's why we call them the Suckaneers.

Luckily, the not-much-better-than-the-Bucs Jacksonville Jaguars play just 3 hours from where we live. Why is that good? Because they happen to be in the same division as our beloved Indianapolis Colts. And that means, at least once a year, the Colts come to Florida.

LJ at the Colts-Jags game

For the second straight year we bought tickets to the Jags-Colts game. And for the second straight year, we randomly chose a hotel that wasn't too far from the stadium and where we could also use our hotel points and not have to actually pay for the rooms.

When we arrived at the hotel, the place was buzzing. There were lots of people lingering in the lobby. There were temporary black drapes hanging in front of the elevator vestibule. There were security guards sitting near the hallway.

The hotel was so busy, in fact, that we were told there was no way we could get two rooms that connected to each other.

When we pressed for a reason, we were told that the hotel was completely full. There was a wedding happening on site, and there were people in town for the Jags game (like us), and there was also a football team staying at the hotel.

"Which football team," we asked?

"The University of Pennsylvania," the desk clerk said.

I became suspicious. The guys milling around the lobby were way bigger than most college players I knew. And they were certainly a lot bigger than the guys who would play at a Ivy League school like Penn.

These were ginormous, massive human beings. Absolute beasts.

And I was pretty certain that not a single one of them suited up for the mighty Penn Quakers.

Then I noticed a local news guy with a TV camera.

Curious.

Then, some teenage boys asking one of the players to autograph a helmet.

A Colts helmet.

More curious.

Julianna, who was done with all the speculation, decided to take matters into her own hands.

She marched confidently up to one of the players, looked him in the eye, and said, "Excuse me, but do you play for the Indianapolis Colts?"

Julianna and Colts' Head Coach Chuck Pagano

The side of the player's mouth curled into a smirk, and he just nodded his headed up and down slowly.

Julianna stood there, staring at him, mouth agape, and said, "Uh, okay."

SURPRISE!

We had inadvertently chosen the same hotel as the Indianapolis Colts. Who knew they would stay at an unassuming Marriott in an office park just off the highway?

During our brief stay at the hotel, the kids were able to say hello to future Hall of Fame kicker Adam Vinatieri, get a glimpse of Andrew Luck, and even pose for a photo with Head Coach Chuck Pagano.

Oh, and incidentally, the player Julianna questioned in the lobby? That was the starting running back, Trent Richardson.

Best of all, the Colts won big over the Jags, 44-17.

At least a good team plays in Florida once a year.

DECEMBER - Beneath the Surface

In September I had a small spot on my face biopsied. Really, it looked just like a tiny red patch of dry skin on the side of my nose. But the results came back positive for two different types of skin cancer -- basal cell and squamous cell -- and combined they are known as a rare type of cancer called basosquamous.

SURPRISE!

Thanksgiving dinner, pre-surgery

Without going into too much detail, I'll give a quick update of where things stand now. Fortunately, the cancer did not metastasize. And in early December I had two surgeries -- one to remove the cancer, and another to graft skin to fill in the giant hole the cancer left on my face.

The good news is that, although I am probably months away from looking "normal" and going outside without a band-aid over my face, I will be fine.

We've done our best to face this with humor (no pun intended). My Christmas gifts included some fashionable Colts band-aids to cover my wound.

And as LJ so eloquently put it before the surgery, "Mom, this is one time you really DO need a hole in your head."

Touche.

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The events recapped here are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to an eventful year for our family.

There have been plenty of highs, a few lows, and clearly, lots of surprises.

Here's wishing you and your family a wonderful New Year in 2015 -- one filled with love, laughter, and surprises -- but hopefully only the good kind.

But What About Me?

Now that LJ is a teenager, I never know what to expect when it comes to conversation.

Many days, our only interactions consist of him rolling his eyes at me and taking deep, exaggerated, annoyed sighs.

Okay, maybe we both do that.

LJ tells me that I nag him too much (hence the eye rolling and deep breathing), so I have begun to tread lightly when it comes to poking and prodding him about the details of his mundane day-to-day activities.

As we navigate "the drama years" of teenage-hood, LJ and I seem to have come to an understanding: if he's awake by noon, wears deodorant, and does most of his homework, I should not ask questions and just stay the heck out of the way.

This arrangement seems to be working quite well for us.

But today, as I picked LJ up from his Javascript programming camp, I was feeling curious. I was feeling brazen.  I was feeling ... well, maybe I was feeling the three cups of coffee I had during my staff meeting.

Whatever the reason for my feelings, I decided to throw caution to the wind and ask LJ the always combative and often controversial question ...

"How was your day?"

I braced for impact. And eye rolls. And deep, exaggerated, annoyed sighs.

Instead, I got a flurry of excited, non-stop words. Actual words that didn't include, "Go away" or "close the door behind you."

Instead, LJ preceded to gush about how awesome his camp counselors were, and how they were going to personalize the next day's lesson just for him.

When I asked LJ to explain what he meant, he said that much of the camp's curriculum was centered on self-directed web-based learning. LJ knows that passively watching something on a computer screen is not how he learns best -- he learns by doing and prefers to have a "guide on the side" to lead him down the correct path.

LJ told his counselors about his learning preferences and, lo-and-behold, they responded by saying they would tweak their program to make sure he was getting what he needed.

*******

The parent in me was thrilled to hear that LJ is enjoying camp and that his counselors are making sure he has a positive experience.

But the school administrator in me began to consider the greater meaning to LJ's interactions with his counselors.

LJ has been fortunate to attend two schools (Ravenscroft and Academy at the Lakes), that encourage students to advocate for themselves and recognize that each student has a unique learning style.

But what if all schools (and all classrooms) looked like this? What if all students were empowered to say, "That's not how I learn best."

And what if all teachers, classrooms, and schools were equipped to answer, "Then let's do it your way."

What if? 

What could learning look like? Especially for the students -- like LJ -- who know themselves well enough to articulate that they don't learn by staring at a screen or a whiteboard?

What if all students like LJ could do, touch, and feel their way through their educational journeys?

What if?

*******

I realize that this is a meta-existential-uber-level hypothetical question with no real answer.

But as a parent and as a someone with a passion for education, it sure is fun to consider and dream what it could look like for our students.

Just imagine if more students weren't moved to roll their eyes, or take deep, exaggerated, annoyed breaths when we asked them to learn in a way that fits like a square peg in a round hole.

Just imagine if all students never had to ask the question, "But what about me?" 

Amazon Adventure: Day 2 - Termites, Poison Frogs, and Bats

On the Rio Blanco, en route to Terra Firma 

Today, it gets real.

Today, we're going hiking in the Amazon jungle.

We each are issued a pair of rubber boots so as not to introduce foreign microbes into the jungle with our own shoes. We also are told to wear long pants, long sleeves, bug spray, sunscreen, and hats.

I have a bit of an allergy to mosquitoes, so I'm not taking any chances. By the time I am dressed -- in the 90 degree heat and 95% humidity -- I feel like I am sporting full body armor. And I look ridiculous ... sort of like a cross between Panama Jack and Martha Stewart in her gardening clothes.

We head out in the motor boats for Terra Firma or "dry ground." This elevated area is one of the few places that does not succumb to the rising waters during the Amazon's wet season.

Soon, we veer off of the Tahuayo River and onto Rio Blanco or "White River."

The White River gets its name from the color of the water within its banks. It's really just a muddy, brown color -- nothing close to white. But where the Tahuayo meets Rio Blanco, you can actually see the water change from nearly black to light brown.

It's not that either river is dirty -- far from it -- there is no visible litter in or along the rivers. The dark water colors come from the sediment in the river and the decomposition of the jungle's plants.

After about an hour on Rio Blanco, we unload into a clearing and split into two groups for our jungle hike.

LJ at the foot of the Terra Firma trail

This time our guide is Cesar (pronounced Say-czar). Through his thick Peruvian accent, Cesar tells us he's been a jungle guide for nearly a dozen years.

I calculate that if Cesar's been in the jungle a dozen years and he's still alive and well, then I should feel pretty good about my chances of coming out on the other side.

As long as I don't lose sight of him. 

Also guiding us is Celeste (pronounced Suh-lest-eh). I learn that the word Celeste, in Spanish is a color -- essentially what we would call "sky blue" in English. She's only been on the job about 9 months, and appears to be in her late teens or early 20s.

I try to remember what I was doing when I was 20 years old. I'm pretty sure it involved a fake ID and some poor decisions. But I'm also fairly certain it didn't involve machetes, anacondas, and tarantulas.

*******

The humidity in the jungle is oppressive. The air is so thick it feels like a weight bearing down on my upper body. For a moment I wonder if I can possibly survive hiking like this for three hours.

But as I begin to focus on my surroundings and not just my sweat-soaked clothing, I am enthralled by what I see.

I have been on jungle hikes before -- both in St. Lucia and Belize -- but there really is no comparison.

The richness of biodiversity is evident from the moment we step onto the trail. Cesar points out a variety of native trees, including those used for medicinal purposes like the iodine tree, as well as those used for household purposes like the rubber tree.

WHACK! 

Cesar strikes the trunk of the rubber tree with his machete, and a white, milky-looking sap begins to ooze. Cesar places a bit in my hand, and after rubbing my palms together for just a moment, a rubber band appears where the sap once was.

Next, Cesar stops our group at a huge dirt ball that clings to the trunk of a tree.

WHACK!

Bug spray for the brave, aka termites

Suddenly, hundreds of small, red termites swarm from the mound. Cesar summons Jack to the tree and tells him to place his hands over the termites.

This is definitely one time where I'm happy not to be picked first.

Cesar instructs Jack to smash the termites in his hands to make a paste, and then spread it on his arms and neck.Why? Because termite mush makes an excellent homemade bug repellant.

And we Americans think termites are just wood-eating, house-destroying nuisances.

*******

The elusive poison dart frog

One reason we came to hike at Terra Firma is to find poison dart frogs. They are supposed to be plentiful in this part of the jungle, but this has to be a hundred times worse than finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.

While brightly-colored (yellow, red, blue, etc.), poison dart frogs are no more than about a 1/2-inch long. So after a lot of searching and even more sweating, I am beginning to feel like this is a hopeless quest.

And then, Colby, one of the boys in our group, spots it.

How, I have no idea. The teeny tiny yellow and black frog was clinging to a tree, camouflaged by leaves. Carefully, Cesar catches the frog by scooping it up with a leaf.

But now, the frog is hopping up Cesar's arm -- and he's NOT in long sleeves. And now it's moved to the nape of Cesar's neck.

And he's cringing.

And you can tell he wants that frog off of his neck -- NOW.

Cesar with the dart frog on his shoulder -- before it lands on his neck

This is because Cesar knows that the poison dart frog -- depending upon the species -- could be carrying a very toxic substance on its back.

One of our group members is able to shoo the frog off of Cesar's neck and back to the jungle floor.

Crisis averted.

Cesar laughs and seems very relieved. He'll live another day -- maybe even see year number 13 as a jungle guide.

I ask Celeste whether she's ever touched a poison dart frog before.

Yes, she tells me. Once she got some of the poison on her hands, and after touching her mouth, could not feel her lips for four agonizingly long hours.

Crisis averted. Truly.

*******

My little super hero braves the "Bat Cave"

Eventually, we approach an enormous, rotting, hollowed-out tree that is sprawled across the jungle floor.

Along with two of the older boys in our group, Julianna -- without hesitation -- crawls inside.

No big deal, right?

Except that this tree is home to a colony of BATS.

Fruit bats, fisher bats, long-nose bats, and even vampire bats. Dozens upon dozens of them hang from the top of the tree's inside.

A closer look at a group of long-nose bats

Despite wading through ankle-deep puddles of bat guano, Julianna emerges no worse for wear.

But I cannot believe what I just saw.

Is this really the same 11-year-old girly girl who's afraid of houseflies?

Amazon Adventure: Day 1 - Plumbing, Pauraque, and Rats

Daytime at Tahuayo Lodge

We arrive after dark at Tahuayo Lodge, and are greeted with a welcome drink of purple corn juice. Delicious. Sweet and syrupy, it leaves a deep violet-colored mustache on LJ's upper lip.

Despite being immersed in the Amazon basin, there is electricity and plumbing here, but it's not quite plumbing as we know it in the U.S. Our introduction to the lodge includes a plumbing primer, which was most definitely eye-opening.

Our showers have only cold water, because, as stated on the lodge's website, "in the Amazon rainforest, (hot water) will become a soup of mycobacteria ... (which) can be be inhaled into the lungs and cause a serious, tubercular pulmonary infection."

Alrighty then. Cold showers it is!

Also, we are implored not to flush any toilet paper in the toilets because as the signs posted around the lodge warn us, "If you think it's difficult to get a plumber at home, just try doing it in the jungle."

Fair point.

We then head down one of the piers to our room - an elevated palm-leaf covered hut with four beds and a simple bathroom.

Dim, ceiling-mounted LEDs (one per hut) light our way as we unpack, and we get settled just before the drum bangs signaling that it's time for our first Peruvian meal.

Our dinner surpasses anything I could have imagined. We enjoy a feast of rice, vegetables, and meat, finishing our meal with a honey-flavored cake.

I'm beginning to think that my plan to lose a few pounds during this vacation may not materialize. 

*******

This bird didn't stand a chance.

Our first excursion is led by our guide, Nelly, who has worked for Amazonia Expeditions for three years. It's a pitch black, cloudy sky, and we head via motor boat in search of nocturnal creatures. Armed with only a headlamp and a machete, Nelly, who grew up in the the villages that pepper the jungle landscape, fearlessly leads us down the Tahuayo River. 

Everyone is silent as she signals to our boat driver to slow down and kill the engine. 

Nelly has her eye on a small bird that is sleeping amongst the brush along the riverbank. As our boat approaches the bank, she crouches on the bough of the boat, slowly reaches her arms to the bird, and then grabs it with both hands. 

Nelly's prisoner is a common pauraque, a nocturnal bird that's native to the tropics and sub-tropics. Right now, it just looks petrified.

After telling us a few fun facts about the bird, Nelly gingerly places the pauraque back where she found it, and we head off in search of more creatures.

Edible tree rat

Just up the river we come across a Peruvian tree rat. It's the stuff right out of nightmares as it's three times the size of any rat I've ever seen before.

Rat fact: Did you know that there are two different types of rats in the Amazon? The kind you can eat, and the kind you can't. Nelly explains that certain tree rats are poisonous to eat because they consume toxic flowers.

The one we have found, apparently, is edible.

I consider this for a moment as we head back to the lodge. 

I suppose it is best to know which is which if you are a connoisseur of rat.

In this case, I'll just take Nelly's word for it. 

No need for a taste test.

Amazon Adventure: Day 1 - The Arrival

View of the Amazon River as we land in Iquitos

My high school Spanish is failing me other than simple words like "nombre" and "pais" -- I'm having a very difficult time deciphering the declaration ticket for Peru. Between the four of us - and with a little guesswork - we piece enough together that I feel comfortable that I won't be detained by the Peruvian immigration authorities. At least I think I won't ...

*******

Long, long customs wait

After an hour-long wait at customs in the Iquitos airport (there was just ONE official working and he was painstakingly thorough), we board the bus and head for our boat to the jungle. The bus ride is both fascinating and sobering. Iquitos, which is the fifth largest city in Peru, is not what I expected. 

I expected a more modern city, but instead, the population of 400,000 seems to be very impoverished. Stray dogs roam the street, many citizens wander barefooted, and the majority of the homes look uninhabitable by American standards.

The kids' reaction? SILENCE. Until now, there were lots of questions, excited chatter, and a few complaints in the customs line. 

Now? Nothing.

For Julianna, who is outside the U.S. for the first time, and for LJ, who probably doesn't remember much about his only other trip abroad, I am pretty sure they are in shock. 

Iquitos sure is a hell of a lot different than the "bubble" they've known in North Carolina and Florida.

Julianna says she was expecting a city with skyscrapers. LJ says he thought the city would be in "better shape."

Iquitos homes

That aside, LJ does manage to find silver lining.

"Mom, there is something WAY better here ... the stoplights actually have a countdown so you know when they'll turn green."

Hmmm ... we could be in for a long week.

No doubt this is a kid who loves to know exactly what is coming next. 

But I'm thinking the only thing he may be able to count during this adventure is that there will surely be surprises at every turn.

Iquitos is the largest city in the world with no road access. You can only get there by boat or air.

A Letter to My Son

As part of a family history project for Jack's 7th grade Language Arts class at Academy at the Lakes, parents were asked to write a letter to their child. If you haven't ever done this for your own child, I strongly encourage it. What a wonderful gift for us both.

Jack, I have so many good memories of you that I hardly know where to start. But how about I start with Halloween night -- October 31, 2003?

You were not quite 3 years old but there was no doubt what you were you going to be that night. Your favorite TV show at the time was Bob the Builder, and I can remember watching it with you every afternoon in the den of our home in Greensboro, N.C.

Of course, you chose to dress up as the man himself, Bob the Builder. This was a man who was in charge, knew how to get things done, and was never too busy to lend a hand to friends and strangers alike.

As the theme song says, “Bob the Builder, can we fix it? Bob the Builder, YES WE CAN!”

Donning your blue jumpsuit and yellow hard hat, and with a hammer by your side, you were ready to conquer anything that came your way while trick-or-treating in our neighborhood, Adam’s Farm.

That Halloween, the street of Old Fox Trail filled with children and their parents as they trick-or-treated up and down the road. With you and Julianna being so young, your Ladybug sister sat in a stroller, and you rode in your green and grey Little Tykes Wagon.

What is most memorable about that night for your dad and me was how, at each house we visited, you eagerly jumped out of the wagon, navigated the steps to the front door, and before even asking your neighbors for candy, boldly declared to them, “I am Bob the Builder. I will fix that for you!”

And then you proceeded to hammer their front porch.

Cute story, I know … but why does this particular one stand out for me?

I think it’s because even at the young age of 3, we were beginning to see the type of young man you would become: straight to the point; caring; a “fixer”; and someone who is always was willing to help out a friend or stranger.

Today, I see those same traits in your willingness to help your sister with her math homework; in your genuine love and concern and for all animals and those people closest to you; and in your ability to help me conquer any technological or engineering task.

You’re my go-to guy -- the one who I know can get things done. I can always count on you to “fix it for me.”

Jack, although you are only 13 years old, I have already collected a lifetime of memories: birthdays and holidays; sports games and chess tournaments; talking football on the ride to school; racing at the annual Woolly Worm Festival in the mountains; riding rollercoasters with you until you are satisfied and I am sick … I cherish every moment -- even the ones where I’m nagging you to get out of bed or put away your laundry.

As I used to tell you when you were 3, I love you more than a million hippopotamuses.

And I can’t wait to remember the rest of what’s to come. 

A Teenager's Lesson for Vince Lombardi

"Winners never quit, and quitters never win." - Vince Lombardi

Vince Lombardi (Photo from Sports Illustrated)

If anybody could speak to being a winner, it was Vince Lombardi.

As the coach of the Green Bay Packers, he won two Super Bowl titles and five NFL championships. And the Hall of Famer never experienced a losing season as an NFL head coach.

But thanks to my 13-year-old son, Lombardi's quote now rings a bit hollow for me. Just a few weeks into his first season of conditioning workouts with the school's football team, LJ quit on his coach and his teammates.

And I support it.

In fact, not only do I support it, I can say that I watched my son mature and grow through the process -- even as he pronounced himself to be a quitter.

First, let me say that I absolutely love LJ's football coach. He's the right blend of tough and tender; cares deeply for his players; and always puts academics first. He holds his players accountable for their actions and choices, and as a parent, that's really all I could ask for.

LJ's issue with football wasn't the coach. And really, it wasn't the football.

It was everything else.

Although LJ just began workouts in January, he was already feeling the pinch on other areas -- wanting to participate in activities like Science Olympiad and chess, while also juggling his regular academic load in school. He arrived home exhausted after workouts, and started to feel the effects in the classroom with forgotten homework assignments and careless mistakes.

LJ wondered aloud how he would possibly manage it all when the "real" season began in August with even longer and more frequent practices, late night travel on game days, and an equally tough course load.

But Jack and I encouraged LJ ... told him his grades were fine (which they were), and that he could do it all if he just put his mind to it and just wanted it enough.

The mantra?

Our children will not be quitters.

Winners never quit, and quitters never win.

LJ kept a positive attitude through it all. He didn't complain about sore muscles. He talked excitedly about being part of the team and "earning" whatever minutes he might get on the field. And he began to develop a deep respect for his coach.

But earlier this week, I found LJ in my office after school, when instead he should have been at football practice.

I asked him why he was in my office, and he said, "Didn't you check your email, Mom? I sent you an email."

Irritated and feeling like I was about to hear some lame excuse, the mantra went through my mind:

My children will not be quitters.

Winners never quit, and quitters never win.

I started in on LJ, but his expression spoke volumes, so I opened my email:

Subject title:  I have Decided to Quit Football

"The stress produced from football far outweighs the benefits. This stress has prevented me from performing my best academically. I'm sorry I have had to make this decision but I am too stressed from football to continue."

And then I looked at LJ, curled up in the armchair in my office, and I simply said: "Okay. You can quit."

Future football dreams ... dashed.

With some cajoling, LJ talked to his coach in person, and gave him the same reasons for leaving the team. To his credit, the coach sensed LJ's anxiety, agreed that academics have to come first, and left the door open for him to join the team in future years.

As we walked back to my office, the relief was tangible. LJ's mood was lighter and he couldn't stop smiling.

Watching your child quit something -- walk away without remorse -- now that's a humbling moment. 

But on the inside, I was smiling too. 

Once again, my child had been way smarter than me. He knew his limits, knew when he'd reached the tipping point, and knew when to quit and be okay with it. In this case, quitting equated to winning. 

At least for LJ.

"Mom," he said, "I feel like half of my brain has just cleared out. I can think again."

Not exactly sure what was in the other half of his brain, but I didn't want to press.

Instead, I just gave him a hug and kept my mouth shut.

The NFL Hall of Fame may not be in LJ's future, but this was most definitely a Hallmark moment.

2 States + 650.2 Miles = 1 Common Passion

Exactly one year ago today, my family was wrapping up a whirlwind trip to Disney.

The fam at Disney (2013)

In our four days in Florida we traversed all four Disney parks; braved every coaster worth riding (including Everest three times); took the obligatory photos with us each donning mouse ears; watched a fake Indiana Jones blow up some fake stuff and outrun a fake boulder; rode (and got stuck on) the onetime state-of-the-art monorail; enjoyed over-priced, over-cooked burgers and under-cooked turkey legs; and reveled in the mystical magic of the creepy, squawking birds of the Tiki Room (yep, it's still my favorite attraction after all these years).

It was an exhilarating, exhausting, and sometimes exasperating vacation. But as we left the sunny, 80 degree temperatures of Orlando to return to the dreary, rainy 30-somethings of Raleigh, I turned to Jack and said, "You know, I could really get used to this."

It was a throw-away statement. And I didn't really give it another thought until today.

But today, precisely one year after that family trip to Orlando, I found myself at a Disney resort again -- this time for professional reasons. 

As I was walked to my car after the National Association of Independent Schools (NAIS) Annual Conference, those same, sunny, 80 degree skies greeted me.

And again I thought, "You know, I really have gotten used to this."

Beautiful weather not withstanding, this had a much deeper meaning. 

Since last year's family vacation to Orlando, an unexpected chain of events quickly dominoed into me taking a new job in Tampa -- just a one-hour drive from the Magic Kingdom. And thanks to my supportive husband and children, we all have landed on our feet here in the Sunshine State. 

Except for the Newf -- he's landed flat on the floor. He barely gets UP on his feet here. It's just too damn hot.

Newfs hate Florida

These last couple of days at the NAIS Annual Conference, not unlike our Disney vacation, have been exhilarating and exhausting -- but in a very different way. 

It's given me time to reflect on the last year and on how my career path rapidly wound its way a full 650.2 miles between my home state and my new state. 

I'm still not sure I have all the answers as to why this move made sense. And just like our Disney vacation and the NAIS Conference, this journey has been both exhilarating and exhausting.

But this conference did affirm why I have enjoyed, and continue to love, working in schools.

This conference, much like great schools, pushes you to ask tough questions and examine your own work under a microscope. And I was just one of thousands of people at this conference who were focused solely on making education better for our children, now and in the future.

We hear constantly how our educational system is "broken" and how we're getting passed by other countries in the way we prepare our children for tomorrow's challenges.

2014 NAIS Conference

What was happening at this conference, though, was everything that is right with education. Collaboration, creativity, critical thinking, communication, and most importantly, improvement -- on behalf of all our children.

As with any job -- any career -- some days are better than others. There are ups and downs, frustrations and disappointments. But these days and moments are the exception and not the rule when you work in a place that is filled with people who are passionate for their mission. 

I see the rule each and every day at my job -- in the students my school serves -- and in my own children, LJ and Julianna, who have been blessed to attend two outstanding private independent schools and learn from dozens of passionate, exceptional educators.

No doubt, our schools -- both public and private -- are not perfect. Certainly, we're far from it. But a passion for putting children first?

We could all really get used to this.

I'm the Proud Parent of an Aspie

April is Autism Awareness Month and today, April 2, is World Autism Awareness Day. Seems like the perfect time to share our family's story.

You know those bumper stickers? The ones that say "I'm the proud parent of an honor roll student?" Or some crap like that?

Facebook has become the auto bumper of parenthood. And our status updates are the bumper stickers.

Now I realize that I'm just as guilty as other parents for filling your timeline with tales of my children's triumphs. I too share videos, photos, and updates about my two amazing kids winning chess matches, singing on stage, and well ... practically everything else they do.

After all, LJ and Julianna are incredible kids, and despite my best efforts to ruin them, they are going to turn out just fine.

But something changed in our family a few months ago that has given me a very different perspective about what parental "pride" is and how we identify our children's true successes.

In December, LJ was diagnosed with Asperger syndrome, which is a developmental disorder that is considered to be at the "high functioning" end of the autistic spectrum.

Anyone who has met LJ knows what a smart kid he is -- but they also might have noticed that he's shy, often withdrawn, and might even seem rude -- sometimes he won't make eye contact, shake your hand or answer your questions. He often gets along better with adults than kids his own age.

We've been searching for answers for awhile, which for years came as a long list of diagnoses from a longer list of doctors -- ADHD, OCD, SPD, dysgraphia, and general anxiety disorder.

Finally, in December, it all came together when a doctor told us he wanted to evaluate LJ for Asperger's.

Every single day is a challenge for LJ: keeping organized, making and keeping friendships, following instructions, working with others, waiting his turn, noisy cafeterias at school, crowded hallways -- all of this creates an unbelievable amount of anxiety for an Aspie.

Teenage drama is hard enough for the average kid. For one like LJ it can be unbearable.

Through it all, LJ has shown unbelievable character and resolve.

He has played in the band, slogged through two advanced classes, found a hobby in electrical engineering, and carried himself with grace and dignity when his peers fail to understand him.

And he got his first-ever D last quarter.

And I don't care.

My respect and love for my son are not impacted by his test scores, his chess trophies, or his stats on the basketball court.

Every night when we get home from school, I am thankful for his smile, his perseverance, his desire to "know more about himself", and his pure, innocent heart that aches to not be "different" anymore.

I'm convinced the world needs more LJs -- "quirky" as he may be. It sure would be a boring place without kids like him.

Yes, I am the proud parent of a child with Asperger syndrome.

I think I'll put that on a bumper sticker.

I Can Do Anything You Can Do ... Better

We all want to be better parents than our own were. It's human nature that we hone in on the little things our parents "did wrong" ... things that, as parents ourselves, we vow to do differently -- BETTER.

My parents made two enormous, perhaps even unforgivable, mistakes when I was a child:

1) I didn't always have clean socks to wear.
2) I wasn't allowed to eat sugary cereals.

GASP! 

Now, as an adult, I realize how ridiculous it was that these petty things seemed like such injustices years ago.

At the time, of course, it was all about me and what I wasn't getting, not the abundance of everything that I did have.

I am acutely aware of my own shortcomings as a mom -- I yell too much; my eyes roll back into my head when I'm forced to watch the Disney channel; I'd rather chew glass than clean out the guinea pig cage; and I'll buy a new pair of pants before I'll learn how to sew on a button.

And, yes, there also have been plenty of times when LJ and Julianna have frantically searched for a pair of clean, matching socks as we should be leaving for school.

But last week, with Jack out of town and me scrambling to remember which day of the week it was (much less worry about clean socks for the kids), Julianna gave me an early morning wake up call I won't soon forget.

As I was on my way upstairs to finish getting dressed, I heard a cry from LJ, who was downstairs in the kitchen. He had spilled a whole glass of milk on the counter and desperately wanted my help to clean it up.

I muttered something under my breath, and turned toward the stairs so I could go to LJ's rescue.

Julianna, who was right beside me, grabbed my arm and firmly said: "Mom, STOP! He can do this himself. He NEEDS to do this himself."

I was stunned ... mostly because my daughter was absolutely right. 

I smiled and said: "You know what, Julianna, you are 100 percent correct. He can do this himself."

"You see, Mom," she said. "I've learned that sometimes you have to clean up your own messes, both physically and emotionally."

Spoken like a typical 9-year-old.

I yelled down to LJ that he should take care of it, and of course, he did.

As I finished getting ready with my little girl nearby, I said, "Julianna, I hope you know that someday, you are going to be a much better mom than I am."

And I meant it.

Julianna may not care about sugary cereals or clean socks when it comes to her own kids, but it won't matter.

She already knows what I should have been focusing on all along ...

Sometimes refusing to hold your child's hand every step of the way is the very best thing you can do to support them.

Clothes Make the Man

As LJ marched into the gym for his fifth grade graduation ceremony last Friday, I couldn't help but notice that -- although he looked extremely handsome in his brand-new shirt, first "real" tie, and freshly ironed pants -- he was the only boy in the entire grade who was not wearing a blazer.

Or a belt.

And he was probably the only boy sporting navy socks with his black pants and black loafers.

It was actually a minor miracle that LJ was wearing pants at all that morning. Suddenly, his black pants no longer fit him. And these were the same pants that, when I bought them just months before, were so big his ankles were practically swimming in the cuffs.

Now, just 30 minutes before he needed to be at school for the culminating experience of his elementary school career, we couldn't even get his pants to button. 

Zip, yes -- never mind it required a metal captain's hook and the strength of 10 oxen. But the button just didn't want to budge, and I had serious concerns that I would tear the button from its tenuous threads if I pulled much harder.

Divine grace intervened ... or perhaps God just got tired of hearing me curse in Yiddish ... and the button somehow found its way into the hole.

After I made LJ swear that he wouldn't cough, sneeze or bend over until after the graduation reception, I handed him his belt.

Now, I should have known the belt -- which I bought more than a year ago -- wouldn't fit anymore, but it simply didn't cross my mind until it was too late.

And the navy socks? Well, I can't really explain that, except to assure you that I will be having my annual eye exam sooner rather than later.

As I helped LJ get ready that morning, I found myself panicked that we wouldn't make it to school in time, or if we did, my son would be sans pants.

But then, as I watched Jack show LJ how to put on his first "clipless" tie, I realized that these clothes did indeed make the man. 

Baggy pants to barely buttoned.

Brand new shirt that hardly stretched across his broad shoulders.

Belt that was more suited to my waist than his.

My oldest child is hardly a child at all anymore.

Despite his lack of a blazer, belt, and matching socks, LJ didn't miss a beat at graduation. He confidently strode in with his classmates during the processional, glided across the stage to receive his certificate, and even turned to the camera and posed when he shook the Head of School's hand -- just as he had been instructed to do during rehearsal.

For those of you who have been through a "milestone" experience with a child, you'll understand why I had to choke back the tears as he processed in and out of the gym. And you'll also commiserate with me on the "how did time fly so fast" sentiment. It may be cliche but could not have rang more true last Friday.

It's also true that LJ's first 11 years have gone too quickly. I haven't taken enough photos, scrapbooked enough pages, or captured nearly enough memories. I am, however, comforted by knowing that we still have Middle School and Upper School ahead of us. That's seven more years of moments I have to look forward to and memories to make ... and it's plenty of time to get him a pair of pants and a belt that actually fit.

Photos by Steve Abrahams

You Must Be THIS Tall

Life is measured in milestones. First words … beginning steps … birthdays … graduations. And while I certainly use the same technique to measure my own children’s growth and development, I also use a different system. I call it The Tweetsie Method.

As we walked along Main Street during our most recent visit to Tweetsie Railroad, I wondered if my son, LJ, now 10, and my daughter, Julianna, 8, would still find the same magic they had on previous trips.

The kids made a beeline for the Turnpike Cruisers, and LJ confidently marched up to the You Must Be This Tall to drive alone sign. Last year, he came within an inch or two of clearing the mark, and this time it wasn’t even close. He stood proud and beaming as the ride attendant waved him through to his own shiny green car.

I, on the other hand, had a flashback. I saw the 3-year-old toddler who sat wide-eyed as I bumped around the track. I pictured the 5-year-old Kindergartner who gripped my hands in his as I steered the path. And I envisioned the 7-year-old little boy who jerked into the safety wall as he managed the steering wheel and I controlled the pedals.

And then I watched. I marveled as this young man – my son – maneuvered easily around the turnpike, focused intently on the path ahead, never once looking behind.

It wasn’t a first word, a birthday, or a major life event. But to me, this was a milestone. A Tweetsie Milestone.

And there have been many. Staying awake long enough to watch Tweetsie’s Fourth of July fireworks from the car rooftop; moving up from the kiddie rides on Miner’s Mountain to the big kid rides at the Country Fair; LJ and Julianna getting up the nerve to enter the Black Hole at the Ghost Train Halloween Festival; and me getting up the nerve to let them ride the chair lift by themselves for the first time – that was a big one.

I remember visiting Tweetsie when I was a child, and now, it’s become an annual tradition for my own family. The beauty of the park is that, although it remains frozen in time with the steam engine, arcade games, and good old-fashioned Southern hospitality, there’s room for children to grow and discover new adventures each and every visit.

I can only hope LJ and Julianna continue the tradition when they are parents someday. What a Tweetsie Milestone that would be.

Note: I wrote this post specifically -- and happily -- for the Tweetsie Railroad blog.

Independence Day

I didn't hear my phone ring, nor did I hear the buzz of the text message. But when I realized there were two messages from home awaiting me, I knew it couldn't be good news ... and it wasn't.

LJ's consolation prize

Hoppy II, the replacement for LJ's African dwarf frog that died two weeks ago at the paws of Indy, had also, well ... croaked.

The text message also said that LJ wanted to talk to me, so even though it was well past his bedtime, I left my co-workers at the dinner table to call home.

After few words of reassurance and a promise to bring home something special from my business trip, LJ was fine.

Nearly 1,000 miles away from home, and I couldn't be there to hug LJ, wipe his tears, or tell him there would be many more amphibians in his future. It made me feel sad -- even a bit guilty -- that I couldn't be there to console him when he needed me most.

But, there was another twinge ... some other feeling lurking beneath the surface. It sounds callous, I know, but I felt just the slightest pang of happiness. Not that the frog died, of course. But it felt good that I was needed. LJ needed me to call home. He needed to talk to me.

Fast forward a few days and I was in my bathroom at home helping Julianna get ready for the day.

As I started to brush some tangles out of her hair, she immediately grabbed the brush and admonished me.


"No, I don't need any help with that. I am trying to be INDEPENDENT!"

If my coffee hadn't already kicked in that morning, then the tongue-lashing from my 7-year-old little girl did the trick.

There's nothing like a daughter's verbal rebuff to remind you who is really the queen of the castle. And it stung.

Seriously? Independent?

Is this the same girl who insists someone always be upstairs with her because skeletons might jump out of the closet? Is this the same girl who thinks it's impossible to spread the peanut butter on her own crackers? Is this the same girl who sleeps ensconced in a hot pink Snuggie and a pile of stuffed animals?

Yes, this girl is one and the same.

UFC

This girl -- my "baby" -- doesn't need me like she used to ... doesn't want me to do her hair ... calls me "Mom" instead of "Mommy" ... is embarrassed to hold my hand in public ... thinks Barbie dolls are too babyish ... reads the OpEd section in the Wall Street Journal each and every day ... just informed me of her new naval piercing ... and only likes watching television if Ultimate Fighting Championship matches are on.

Okay, so not ALL of those are true.

But even though it hurt for a moment, there was also another twinge ... some other feeling lurking beneath the surface. It was happiness. Or maybe pride. It was hard to quantify but most definitely there.

It was the realization that THIS was the moment that all parents strive for. We want our children to grow up to be well-adjusted, independent and self-sufficient. It starts when we wean them from a bottle to a sippy cup, and it ends when we hand them the keys to their college dorm room and remind them to call home ... every once in a while.

How paradoxical it is - the contrast between LJ and Julianna - the yin and the yang - the dead frog and the hairbrush. As parents, we want our children to take flight ... and yet, we don't want to let go.

I always swore to myself that I wouldn't be one of those ... one of those helicopter parents. The ones who need to be needed so badly that they stand smack dab in the way of their child and his or her independence.

But here I am, hovering perilously on the edge of the helipad ... just waiting to take off ... yearning to swoop in for that phone call, that hug, that need.

I know I'm not alone in this. If I look over my shoulder I'm sure to see a line a mile long of moms and dads who aren't sure which way to go. NEED vs. INDEPENDENCE.

Deciding which path to follow -- and striking the right balance -- is a daunting challenge. And it's one that all parents can empathize with -- no matter how young or old their child.

There's no right or wrong, open or shut, black or white. It's a monumental battle and it's one I may not be truly ready to face.

Now that I really think about it, you better save me a paper bag on that helicopter ... because it's gonna' be a bumpy ride.