Confessions, Coffee, and Miraculum

365

(Real. Raw. And probably wildly unpopular by modern society’s standards.)

“The night is nearly over, and the day is near; so let us discard the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light.” Romans 13:12

I didn’t want to write this blog post. I actually put it off every time I thought of it. But there is power in our broken stories and hope for those who still pray broken prayers. So I wrote it anyway…

365

Three hundred sixty five days ago, I intentionally chose more.

More life, more peace, more God, more happiness. After an entire adult life of choosing to believe the lies that alcohol tells, I said, “enough.”

I left “mommy wine culture” and brunch mimosas without a second glance back. Instead, I chose peaceful mornings and restful sleep. I chose presence over fogginess. I chose my children over what society deems “normal.” I chose real life over alcohol’s promises.

Society elevates alcohol on a golden pedestal that makes you believe it is good and normal and needed. Ads and social media convince us that we need drinks with dinner, wine glasses for elegant events, and champagne to celebrate. I used to believe all of that.

Now, I know better.

I have uncovered the secrets of those messages and see the ugly truth hiding behind Oz’s curtained booth. Fancy wine glasses might make for cute photos, but they’re detrimental to quality memories. Champagne might seem to elevate the occasion to “core memory” status, when in reality it is robbing us of crystal clear memories that we can hold on to. Alcohol makes everything fuzzier, and after an entire year of bucking against what society says is “normal” I can guarantee you that there is not one single benefit that alcohol can offer you.

Do I miss Friday night happy hour? Not even a little bit. Do I long for fancy wine with dinner? Nope. Do I feel like I’m missing out on “fun”? I really, truly don’t.

What do I feel? I feel sorry for those who haven’t felt the way I do today. I feel at peace every single night and morning. I feel like rejoicing at the fact that there are no longer these gross feeling chains that hold me captive to what society says is “normal.” I feel sorry for those who are still imprisoned by pretty lies, foggy memories, and mornings of regret. I feel free.

Do I ever plan to drink again? If you had asked me many months ago, I might have wavered in my answer. But now? I can’t imagine even one single reason why I would ever desire another drink. It adds nothing of value to my life, and it expounds misery, heartache, shame, and regret. When I look back now, I wonder how I ever got ensnared by such a hideous monster. I have no intentions of ever making that same mistake again.

Society tells us that alcohol belongs in every situation. Had a hard day? Have a drink. Celebrating a promotion? Open a bottle of something expensive. Dealing with grief, sadness, happiness, boredom—any and all emotions accept alcohol as a suitable solution.

The enemy loves those lies, but I no longer believe them. Instead, I wake up each day embracing what is true and real: God is good. I am blessed. And life is too precious to waste.

I can’t tell you that giving up alcohol solved all of life’s problems. I didn’t lose any weight (rats!), and I don’t have one of those “before and after” photos showing anyone how my skin is brighter now and my eyes sparkle. I still consume way more caffeine than I should and eat way more sugar than I should. I still get anxious over small things, overthink everything, and replay conversations in my head on repeat. I still have awful, rotten days. I still get sad, and boredom sometimes takes over. But instead of numbing those feelings out, I just sit with them. It’s hard sometimes, but we were never promised easy. We were promised that we would never fight those battles alone. I can also attest to that being true.

I can’t tell you that alcohol robbed me of everything good and sent me spiraling into rock bottom because that is far from the truth. But I can tell you that my past holds things that aren’t as pretty as all those social media pictures would lead you to believe. I can also tell you that if you, like me, have ever wondered about the things alcohol is stealing from you, then you are not alone despite what society says. And when the day comes that you, too, decide that alcohol is done stealing from you, I’ll meet you on the other side with open arms.

Be grateful, water your own grass,

And drink coffee.

The Beauty of the Almost-Lasts

Another year, another dance recital in the books. This year marks 12 years of dance for our (not so tiny) dancer. That adds up to around 20 recitals and too many competitions to count.

We have purchased somewhere around 150 costumes, and countless pairs of tap shoes, jazz shoes, pointe shoes, and hip-hop shoes.

We’ve bought earrings and makeup and tights and accessories. We’ve traveled hundreds of miles, slept in many hotel beds, and cheered from the audience in a lot of different venues.

Through it all, she continues to smile.

This year has brought some new challenges and hurdles as well as some wonderful accomplishments.

She danced most of this year injured with an overuse and muscle imbalance issue affecting both of her knees. She’s spent nights with ice packs as her friend and mornings popping Advil before tackling another day of school, dance, rinse, repeat.

Despite this unexpected hurdle, she refused to give up dance. (Her physical therapist will be her BFF this summer!)

She spent her year hitting some new goals and achieving some wonderful things. She began teaching classes at her studio and found a love of being a teacher and choreographer for the little ones.

She performed in her first ever Nutcracker performance with some amazing company dancers and a fellow studio friend.

She secured and fulfilled her role as an ambassador for one of her favorite competition companies. She worked backstage, rubbed elbows with the judges, and met a whole lot of new dance friends from Florida to Virginia.

She won her first title crown and earned her highest solo score ever.

She wowed us on the stage every single time…

She also grew in humbleness. She had some great performances and some that left her feeling disappointed. She held herself to impossibly high standards and found that on any given day, her turns can be less than perfect, her jumps won’t feel quite right, and someone else can out dance her.

Yet she didn’t stop. She worked harder, focused sharper, and left everything she had on the stage.

She danced her final recital of the year this past weekend feverish and sick. Yet no one in the audience was any the wiser because she still delivered her best.

Watching her on that stage dance number after number, I was just as amazed as I was watching her first ever performance. Although our girl has grown and transformed from tiny, uncoordinated cutie to beautiful and graceful on that stage, I still see a three-year-old tapping to “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”

She no longer needs me to tie her shoes, organize her costumes, or do her hair and makeup, but you still won’t find me far from her side.

I know these dance recitals won’t last forever. We have only a few of them left, and I can’t fathom the idea watching her take that stage for her last performance. So for now, I’ll soak it in.

I’ll continue to cheer the loudest and cry the hardest each time she performs. I’ll keep taking pictures and driving her to cold, loud venues to spend my weekends watching her tackle goal after goal.

I’ll be her biggest cheerleader, her chauffeur, her financial planner, and anything else she needs me to be. I’ll soak in these final few years of performances like the dessert soaks up summer rain because soon my days will be empty and my weekends won’t be booked. I won’t have schedules to balance, costumes to pay for, or competitions to plan for. I’ll have an empty calendar and enough photos of her to fill every single day many times over.

So, as this dance year ends, I remind myself to enjoy every single minute. I revel at the strong, courageous daughter we are raising, and I hope one day that I can be as fearless as she is every time she walks onto that stage.

I am not raising someone who shies away from hard work. I am raising a girl who breathes fire and knows her worth. I am raising a dancer.

Be grateful (for all the moments), water your own grass,

And drink coffee.

To be the Best

Tomorrow morning, my dancer girl takes the stage for the first time this year. Her solos this year will once again challenge her and stretch her in new ways.

As the competition season gets underway for her, there are things that I hope she remembers.

To my beautiful and hardworking dancer,

Remember, it was never about the winning.

Dancing was never about winning. When you walked into that studio at two-years-old, it was about moving and laughing and nailing new tricks. It was about proving you can get on a stage and show your heart to everyone.

No, it’s never been about winning. It’s always been about passion.

Over the years, your hard work has brought you many accomplishments. But accomplishments don’t build character. Defeat builds character, and you have had plenty of that over the years as well.

Tomorrow when you take the stage, don’t worry about the failures or the accomplishments. Worry about the passion.

Also, I know it is a competition, but don’t let yourself fall into the comparison trap. You are only truly competing against yourself. It doesn’t matter where you place or how you score. What matters is the way you feel when you leave that stage tomorrow. If you have done your best and tried your hardest to show the world the talent God blessed you with, then you are successful.

Don’t be tempted to take part of jealousy or pettiness. Remember that every dancer on that stage tomorrow is bringing their best. They may be better than you or they may struggle with technique that you have already mastered. It doesn’t matter, because their best is good enough, too. Whether they are better or worse than you today is none of your business.

Remember to clap for others and cheer them on. Remember that at the end of the day, everyone is going home and tomorrow the dance studio will call again. Every dancer you competed against will show up and put in the work again. Just like you.

In a week, the medals and pins and trophies will already be forgotten on a shelf, but your integrity and character will not be forgotten. The dancer that struggled? She will remember your kind words. The dancer you hugged after the performance of her life that outscored you? She will remember that, too.

Remember to build others up and remain humble. Don’t forget that your goal on that stage is to let others see the goodness of God’s gifts through you. Let others be brought to tears as they watch your heart pour out on that stage.

While I may dream a mother’s dream for you to stand in the spotlight tomorrow and be recognized for your hard work, the truth is that even without the stage and the spotlight, you still steal the show for me.

Above all, don’t ever forget that you are a dancer. A hardworking, determined, dedicated, kind, humble dancer. Tomorrow, the Marley will call you back regardless of what the weekend brings, and you will pour your heart out again and again.

And that is what being the best is all about.

Be grateful, water your own grass,

and drink coffee.

Christmas Like Clark

Have you seen National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation recently? If you haven’t, you should. In fact, we should all give it a watch.

We should all strive to look at Christmas like Clark.

Despite challenges and hiccups and stress, he never faltered. He never lost his cool. (With the exception of the light incident.) He never forgot that Christmas is about family and happiness.

We should all be so lucky to have his outlook, his love of family, and his generosity.

If the Christmas stress has gotten to you and the pressure feels like too much, remember Clark. He welcomed everyone, looked for the positive, and refused to let minor (or major) problems ruin his spirit of Christmas.

His Christmas vision wasn’t about perfection. The meal was ruined, the house was crowded, and even his big Christmas surprise was seemingly ruined by work and financial problems.

There were no fancy gifts, no matching decor, and the house was busting at the seams with people.

Do you know what else it was busting at the seams with?

Love. Wonder. Family.

We should all be so blessed.

So tonight, forget about the hope you had of perfectly wrapped presents to mark the space under a color coordinated tree. Forget about the illusion of a perfect Christmas morning.

Instead, focus on the perfect baby being born in Bethlehem. Focus on the family who is perfectly suited for you. Focus on the perfect feeling of love that will radiate from children who will remember the memories more than the gifts.

Tonight, do Christmas like Clark.

Be grateful, water your own grass,

…and drink coffee.

Fearless

This past week, as I took my morning walk on my normal path through our neighborhood, something big dawned on me.

I used to be fearless.

I was walking down one of the many streets in our neighborhood that line the woods and marsh. I always catch myself looking out into the trees and wondering about the paths that I see worn through certain areas of the dense forest.

I wonder if there are kids who are brave enough to go play among the trees with the snakes that I know are lurking there.

It dawned on me that once upon a time, I WAS that kid.

I grew up on a farm with dirt and mud and trees that made great imaginary houses. We had our fair share of poison ivy and rattlesnakes, but we also had places that BEGGED to be played in. There were a few areas in particular that we used to make our “houses” when I was younger.

We made mud pies and played all sorts of imaginary games in the branches of the big deciduous trees and under the protection of the evergreens. I bet you might still find a few teacups and toys if you ventured into those trees today. You might even find some boards nailed to the trunk of a few trees that served our “stairs.”

This past week in my backyard, I almost stepped on a Copperhead.

It terrified me, and now I am fearful with every step around my yard that I take. But when I was younger on the farm?

I was fearless.

I knew there were snakes…and poison ivy…and poison oak. As well as ticks and spiders and mosquitoes. But we never cared, my siblings and friends and I. We played in summer, spring, winter, and fall. Snakes or not, we were exploring and imagining.

Sometimes I miss the freedom that comes with being fearless. I wasn’t worried about how far away the hospital was or what would happen if I stepped on a snake.

I just…was.

I existed and lived in that very moment. The pressures of tomorrow never crept in, and worry and fear were nonexistent.

I miss being fearless.

These days, there is SO much that I fear. I fear stepping on snakes in my backyard, of course, but there is so much more to fear than just snakes.

I fear that I’m not doing enough of what matters. I fear that I’m not good enough—in my relationships, my work, my aspirations. I fear that I’m not setting a good example for my kids when I show weakness to my vices. I fear that life is passing me by while I worry about if I need to vacuum again or if my kitchen counters are dirty. I fear oversleeping, my house burning down due to some freak dryer issue and whether or not my house has mold growing inside because of the humidity here.

Fear is everywhere.

But this weekend, I witnessed something that reminded me what life is all about. I took my dancer daughter to a dance training event for a role that she has undertaken this year. She did not know a single soul in the room. Yet, she was excited, brave, and fearless.

She put herself out on the “stage” all weekend. She made new friends, worked to impress the owner of the company, and spent long days learning.

There were no snakes involved, but in the urban jungle that we both navigated, I think there were some big takeaways.

In life, snakes might come in many shapes and sizes. God will protect us from all of them if we just trust.
Doing new, scary things can be fun, and discovering new places is exciting.
When all else fails, just dance.

I know that I still have much to learn in life, but I think I will try to embrace fearlessness for a while. While I don’t plan to explore any dense forest landscapes, I think there are plenty of areas of life to explore that don’t include snakes.

While we look for bravery, I’ll be over here with my coffee, cats, and books just trying avoid snakes.

Be grateful, water your own grass,

…and drink coffee.

Ripples

I’ve never thought of my life as a journey to affect others. I suppose that my life as a journey of purpose to some specific goal was never exactly on my radar. Rather, I’ve always felt like I’ve been on a journey to discover myself. At a young age and even as a 45-year-old, I’ve been searching.

Life has never been about finding my purpose, and yet I feel like it reveals itself to me weekly.

54

That is the number of teachers that I have worked with this school year as they complete their clinical practice teaching and apply for their teaching license.

This month, I will have ended another three classes of clinical candidates. These are wonderful humans who have decided that teaching children is their passion. It is a mix of those new to the career and those who have credentials that far outweigh mine.

Throughout the past fourteen weeks, I have been blessed with the chance to connect with them, learn from them, and (hopefully) guide them to be teachers who radically change the lives of those around them.

I never pretend to be an expert. I am honest and transparent with all of the candidates I teach. I have my experiences that make me knowledgeable to give advice, and they have their experiences that allow me to learn from them and grow in my own way. I don’t pretend to be an expert art teacher, P.E. teacher, or high school math teacher, and yet I’m afforded the opportunity to guide these candidates as they impact others.

The three cohorts I am just finishing with have expertise from pre-K to high school government. They work with students who are just in the beginning stages of learning English and students who are fluent in multiple languages. These teachers are teaching global issues through art education, conflict resolution through physical education, and architecture through fourth grade math.

They are phenomenal.

Most of them are juggling a full time teaching position, a full graduate work load, and a family and personal life that is sharing their time with the professional responsibilities that come with a program like this.

I am PRIVILEGED to spend an hour a week with these humans who change lives daily.

When I left Arizona and decided to leave the classroom for “a year”, one of my parents told me that they hoped I would return to the classroom soon. They said something to the effect of me having a gift that needs to be shared. (I will never forget that heartfelt comment, Marie.)

I hope that in choosing this different educational path, I have not disappointed. I hope that I have affected many by my choice to influence those who hold the future in their hands.

I will never forget the life changing moment in my career that led me to the desire to work with teachers.

It was relatively early in my career. I was teaching third graders in a community that already battled teacher transience in the classroom. When my principal approached me about an academic coach position at the school that they were trying to fill, he said (relatively verbatim as best as my memory serves), “You can remain in this classroom and affect these 30 students, or you can leave this classroom and affect 800 students.”

That perspective rocked my world.

At that moment, I chose the 800. I left my third graders mid-year (which ripped my heart out), and I took the position as academic coach to support other teachers. To this day, I don’t doubt that decision.

Did I impact 800 students that year? Most likely not. Did I make an impact on enough teachers and students to make a difference? I pray that I did.

That position gave me the confidence and the perspective that allows me to confidently log into a virtual platform each week and guide teachers from Beijing to Seoul to Washington state and everywhere in between as long as technology reaches.

After spending fourteen weeks with these teachers, it is honestly hard to let them go. It doesn’t matter that they are adults. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never even spoke to them in person. They have played a part in my growth, and shifted my perspective in countless ways.

While the summer doesn’t bring a break for me from classes, it is a break from supervising candidates as they complete their clinical practice teaching. I will use this time to reflect on my own teaching practice, develop better class slides, create more engaging activities, and consider the ways I can be an even better instructor for my future candidates.

I will take a bit of time to follow my own advice to them as I rest and reflect on another year. I will be thankful for all 54 candidates and the rich experience they afforded me. I will pray that I was able to positively influence their teaching practice, and that they, in turn, influence countless student lives.

Ripples.

We will make ripples together. And then? We will drink coffee. Lots of coffee.

Be grateful (for teachers), water your own grass,

…and drink coffee.

A Well-Rounded Dancer

A well-rounded dancer by definition (according to AI and other sources) states that said dancer has a well balanced education in technique and exposure to various different styles. They have a diverse background of experience and comprehensive training in many different areas.

While I don’t disagree, I have my own definition of what a well-rounded dancer means…

A well-rounded dancer is one who takes risks. She pushes herself to try styles and combos and skills that intimidate her. She puts herself on that stage in front of her peers knowing that she might fail. She does it anyway.

She knows how to balance fun with seriousness and how to juggle school, friends, church, dance, and chores. With grace.

She has learned how to navigate tricky friendships, frustrating situations, and extreme exhaustion without breaking a sweat.

A well-rounded dancer can throw an aerial, complete a complex turn sequence, and still slip and fall on the simplest pivot turn. But what makes her who she is, is the way she responds in that moment. Being the strong dancer that she is, she will get up, continue dancing, and plaster a sassy smile on her face so bright that you will doubt if the slip even happened.

A dancer who is balanced will have training in ballet, tap, jazz, and countless other dance disciplines. But in my book, this dancer has also been taught the art of compassion for the dancer who forgets her routine on stage. She has true excitement for her friends who out score her, and she exudes patience and positivity when costumes, choreography, and scores don’t turn out the way she imagined.

A dancer’s empathy and attitude are as important as her technique and execution in my book. Perfect pirouettes will only get you so far in life. But perseverance in hard times? That will serve you well. Being able to improvise when life throws unexpected circumstances your way? That is a life skill.

A well-rounded dancer knows that you don’t always get to choose the music, but you can ALWAYS influence the dance. You can dance a song with enthusiasm that infects others, or you can be a negative pull that draws others around you down into a well of black.

A well-rounded dancer is a role model for her younger peers. She encourages and sets a good example not only in dance form but in life skills.

A dancer who has a diverse background knows that everyone on that stage is equally as important as she is. Every moment of the song needs every dancer on the stage to be perfect. It doesn’t matter if you are in the front, in the back, in the lift, or running for your life behind the backdrop to hit your spot on the other side of the stage. You. Matter.

A well-rounded dancer never places blame and always assumes that every team member is pulling their weight. The dance depends on the trust of everyone to do their job, and this dancer places her trust in her friends. She knows that everyone is doing their best, and their best is always enough.

As the dance year ends, I urge every dancer parent to look at the “real stuff.”

Look at the stuff that matters. I beg you.

And then, build that up in your dancer. I promise you, dancers who know that their worth lies in attributes outside of competition accolades are worth their weight in gold. These dancers truly understand the value in being a well-rounded dancer.

As this dance year winds down and I watch my dancer on the recital stage, I will sit back and enjoy the show because I know without a doubt that my dancer daughter has spent another year learning what it truly means to be a well-rounded dancer. For this, I will be eternally grateful, for she has learned skills on this stage that will create a future filled with possibilities.

Be grateful, water your own grass,

…and drink coffee.

A Tribute to Dance Moms…

On this Earth, there are many different types of moms. There are moms who pack special lunches with heartfelt notes, moms who work three jobs to make ends meet, and moms who make everyone’s child feel as special as their own. There are moms who make schedules and organize everyone’s life, moms who put gourmet dinners on the table (spoiler alert, that mom is NOT me), and moms who are always on time.

There are moms who plan extravagant birthday parties and moms who show up late and wrap the gift in the car before going inside said party. There are moms who have ten children, moms who have one child, and moms who have lost children. There are moms who help raise others’ children and moms who give their child to another because it means they are giving them the best life in the best way they know possible.

While you may know moms like this and even relate to one of these descriptions, YOU are much more than any of these alone.

YOU are a dance mom.

Being a dance mom is not for the faint of heart. It takes patience when your child is frustrated in between costume changes that must happen in 30 seconds between numbers. It takes tough love when you see your child give anything less than their best and call them on it. It takes a loud voice to cheer from the audience and silent tears to cry when they fall on stage. It takes money. Good Lord, does it take money. But you give it up willingly because you know that you are investing in the future of their character.

Being a dance mom comes with a set of unwritten rules. Always have hairbands and bobby pins handy. Don’t talk to your daughter right before she goes on stage. Don’t take a picture as she comes off stage. Don’t bring snacks that leave fingerprints. Don’t question her taste in solo music. Don’t spray hairspray on the Marley. Don’t expect to eat, sleep, or travel at normal times of the day. Don’t show up late. Don’t leave too early. And above all else, don’t let your daughter see you fall apart. Despite your headache and your exhaustion and your anxiety, don’t let your dancer see you exude anything except encouragement.

The unwritten rules are always the hardest.

You spend weeknights chauffeuring your dancer to and from the studio and weekends sitting in loud performing arts centers trying to keep track of what number they are on. You buy costumes and shoes and tights and bras and countless other things your dancer needs to be put together on the stage for two and a half minutes. In addition to chauffeur, you take on the role of seamstress, cosmetologist, and marketing director. YOU are the glue that holds this whole thing together.

I see you.

But tonight, as your dancer packs her dance bags and you double check it by playing 20 Questions (or by verifying with your own two eyes), remember that these moments are fleeting. Remember that although the busy schedules of rehearsals and performances are exhausting, they won’t last forever. The weekends spent cheering on your dancer will eventually come to an end. Soon, they won’t need you to do their hair or their make-up or even to drive them to the dance studio. Soon, the pictures and videos and memories are all we will have of this crazy time.

So, this weekend, I encourage you to embrace your dance mom era. Laugh, cry, and break some of those unwritten rules. Take the pictures of your daughter rolling her eyes at you because you’ve already taken 20. Let your daughter see you fall apart and cry with her if the day doesn’t go as she planned. Jump up and down and scream with her when it does. Be really daring and try to give her advice before she goes on stage. Bring dangerous snacks (and Tide wipes just in case). Break the unwritten rules. (Just don’t be late. You don’t want to break that rule unless you want to unleash the wrath of a studio owner who is functioning on just as little sleep as you are.)

Besides, you won’t want to miss even one second of the action because your daughter is going to steal the show up on that stage.

To all the dance moms out there, I see you, and you are amazing.

Be grateful, water your own grass…

And drink coffee. Lots of coffee.

Larger Than Life

A tribute to a man whose life cannot be expressed in words, but whose presence lives on in stories, feelings, and moments that won’t ever be forgotten.

“Life is full of grief, to exactly the depth we allow ourself to love other people.”
—Orson Scott Card,
Shadow of the Giant

Death is a scary thing.

We may all talk about it as if it’s natural and eventual and something we need to accept, but even that doesn’t change the fact that it’s scary.

How do you say goodbye to someone who served as the thread in your childhood and the pillar in your adulthood?

How are we all expected to sit by and watch and mourn as those we hold so dearly to our heart suffer and wither and fade away so much sooner than we were ready for?

How do you capture in words the essence of a man who commanded the room with his life stories and flooded his family with love, food, and memories that will forever remain regardless of time here on Earth?

I barely have authority to talk about the kind of wonderful man that was my husband’s grandfather, but I shall try for the sake of the wonderful legacy he leaves behind.

When I was lovingly welcomed into this family after meeting my (now)husband so many years ago, I knew immediately that Grandpa A was both a force to be reckoned with and a pillar of strength upon which his family was built.

This week, the world lost a legend.

I don’t have the kind of bittersweet and sepia toned memories to share that my husband has, but I definitely have abundant memories of this great man.

He left our world as a storyteller extraordinaire, a husband, a father, a grandfather, and a great grandfather. Through all of those roles, he lived a life larger than this world could contain.

The stories of his career as a high end businessman were only a part of his repertoire. His stories also included mischievous shenanigans with the neighborhood cronies that he grew up with, tales of safaris and explorations and adventures with his wife, and retellings of unbelievable pranks, fishing expeditions, and traditions.

Yet, through all of the life that he lived and stories of all the places he visited, one common thread ran through his life.

Magic.

It didn’t matter if you were having a cup of afternoon coffee in the backyard paradise of his quaint home or sharing a glass of wine as he whipped up his signature vinaigrette; every moment spent in his presence was magic.

It really didn’t matter if you were two, nine, twenty, or old enough that you had stopped counting your birthdays. You still felt his magic.

He had this aura that drew you in and begged you to sit for a while. Once you became enamored with his presence, you were already a goner. You could bet that whatever story he was weaving would forever be embedded within your heart.

If you were fortunate enough to see his art, you would have understood that there was always a part of his soul that tried to show the world what beauty was.

Now, it may be true that his definition of beauty and that of those that never understood the allure of his “mask room” may be different, but I assure you that his creative soul far exceeded the realm of simple art.

No, Grandpa’s art included the seasonal dressing of Celeste (their resident living room mannequin), tributes to both people and precious animals he loved, and, of course, the cat nemeses that he so painstakingly created to keep the felines off of undesirable surfaces.

(You will not be surprised to hear that we have had many cats over the years, and have since had to retire and preserve our own cat nemesis, created by the great Grandpa A, since our beloved past cat decided to chew off the sharp points of the nemesis, thus forcing us to repair and retire the device for more calm felines who can appreciate his artistry without eating it.)

The thing about a losing a family icon like this is that you still feel his presence and love and personality so fiercely that you just know there must be something more than the end.

I won’t pretend that I know what forever holds. I can’t persuade you to believe that death isn’t an ugly and terrifying word.

What I can attest to is so much more than those.

I can give testament to the value that a strong family pillar provides. I can swear to you that family gatherings involving tradition and food and laughter are worth investing time in. I can promise you that photos are worth the taking and that you won’t ever forget the memories that center around the stronghold of your family.

While facing this world without our beloved Grandpa Arnold may be tough, there is no doubt that the family foundation he built and the memories that sustain it will last forever.

Be grateful (for your family), water your own grass…

And drink coffee.

To the moms behind the scenes…

Today, my tiny dancer daughter had a moment in the spotlight. She won an amazing honor at her summer dance intensive.

I clapped. I took pictures. I was so incredibly proud. Her first comment upon seeing me was, “Are you crying?!”

No! (Yes…I cried.)

This mom life can be tough at times, and dance mom life? Don’t even get me started.

There are the late nights of normal dance class, the long weekends of dance competition, and the many hours of hair and makeup and calming nerves.

And then, there are moments like this.

There are moments when you feel your heart burst out of your chest because the world recognizes all of the things that you see in your child on a daily basis.

In these moments, we feel our essence of being a mom the greatest. We feel that the world recognizes that of which we are most proud—our children.

It doesn’t have to be a “dance mom moment.” It doesn’t even have to be a moment that the rest of the world sees. It can be a moment that just happens randomly, but in those precious seconds when you see your child beam, you know that your heart’s mission has been fulfilled.

As a mom, you are destined to be the side line cheerleader, the packer of lunches, and the finder of missing uniform pieces. You will be their alarm clock, their chauffeur, and their money investor.

But you will also be the voice of reason. You will be the calm to their storm and the peace when they are stressed about that big race/game/competition/test. You will be their constant.

And that will be your biggest privilege and most honorable challenge.

Just remember that when the lights of the ball field fade, the stage lights disappear, and the cameras stop clicking, I know you are there.

Behind the scenes are where us moms know the terrain the best. We wish for nothing more than a beaming smile and hug.

But once in a while, the universe conspires to assure that we are captured and eternally remembered. For in those rare moments when a mom is captured, you will see pure and exquisite joy. Abounding joy.

In those moments, I want you to realize that being a mom on the sidelines is an honor that some will never know but all will honor. In those moments when you feel insignificant, remember that you are anything but small.

You are love embodied as something greater than the human eye can see.

Be grateful, water your own grass,

…and drink coffee.