Good Ole Rocky Top

If you don't want to read a blog about how great Knoxville and the University of Tennessee are, click this link. If you're ready for that or fun stories about Amelia, read on.

Today we took Amelia to her first University of Tennessee football game. It's always good to go to the General's quarters, but today was particularly special...even though it was against Ohio University. No, not The Ohio State University (whatever that means anyways!). Katy and I both love the Vols, and we were very excited to share the experience with Amelia.

I have to begin by thanking our friend, who will most likely not read this blog, but he hooked us up with tickets in the Tennessee Terrace. Think suite level seats at a first class venue. He also gave us his parking pass for the game, which meant that we didn't have to deal with walking around downtown Knoxville with a toddler. 

We arrived in time to see the Vol Walk, but I guess they decided to do it a little early. So, we then moved on to the Band March. Amelia loved this! We saw the flags off in the distance approaching the new route, which takes the Pride of the Southland across a new pedestrian bridge to salute the hill. We sing Rocky Top on a semi-regular basis in our house. So, the song is familiar to Amelia, but to experience the band playing it and tens of thousands of orange-clad friends singing along made it even better. The highlight was seeing 3 Smokies leading everyone into Neyland Stadium. I really think this blew Amelia's mind.

We walked into the stadium, and perused the concourse amazed at the amount of friends holding pom-poms. Therefore, Amelia must have one...DUH! The Tennessee Terrace is a sight to behold for any fan of the Big Orange. Everything is top notch. Our seats were 1 yard shy of the 50, but the only thing we could complain about were the heat and sun. Amelia loved marching with the band, and watching the formation of the Power T. Mostly she loved watching Smokey run around on the field. 

She may have gotten a little overheated, and had a minor meltdown in the 1st quarter, but once the shade appeared with the start of the 2nd quarter, everything got better. Everyone was a little happier, even our friends seated around us. 

At halftime, the Ohio band put on a show, but the star, of course, was the Pride of Southland's tribute to Pat Summitt. They played, and sang the Tennessee Waltz and Amazing Grace. It was beautiful.

The start of second half produced more of the same for Amelia. Celebrating touchdowns, wondering where Smokey is (maybe he's going potty?), teaching some sportsmanship when encouraging injured players as they walk off the field, letting Amelia know that it's not ok to shake your pom-pom in your neighbor's face, signing Rocky Top, learning the first down signal, etc. A fun time was had by all.

The best part is that we got to share this with our daughter. Was it hot? Yes. Did she miss a nap today for it? Yes. Was there a meltdown? Yes. Did strangers question our parenting based on a 5 second timeframe of Amelia's actions? Yes. Was it hard? Yes. Would we do it again? Unquestionably....YAAAAAASSSSS!

Also, if you clicked that link, you're welcome for learning about the Surrender Cobra!

Welcome to New York

Five years and almost two weeks ago, Adam and I got married.  We've been married longer than we were in high school, longer than we were in college, longer than the time between two Olympic games.  Half a decade.  It's one of those things that simultaneously feels like it's been forever and not long at all.  Five years does feel like an accomplishment; not everyone makes it this far and not everyone makes it this far as happily as we have.  Five years of marriage, one kid, one dog, one apartment, two houses, two jobs a piece, hundreds of typical days, and here we are, still in love, still best friends.  So, this year, for the milestone that it is, we decided to celebrate with a long weekend in New York City.  I'm sure you've already guessed that this is another sappy rather than profound post.

Anyone who knows us won't be surprised to hear that we did as much as we could in the time we had.  We also basically followed Amelia's nap schedule and relaxed in the hotel for a couple of hours each afternoon.  Anyway, here are the top ten highlights of our trip (as always, in no particular order):

1. Ellis Island - neither of us had done this before.  The museum was interesting and showed the sad parts as well as happy parts.  It was also a little frustrating to think that we feel like we can't allow in refugees now, but we were able to accept all of that immigration in a time when it was nearly impossible to vet anyone.

2. Statue of Liberty - this was part of the tour with Ellis Island.  We just walked around the island; I had forgotten that it was an actual park.

3. The Today Show - we were there on a day when most of the anchors were at the RNC, so it was different than it would be on most days; however, I hadn't ever done it before.

4. Radio City - this is an air conditioned tour and it's fun to see all of the backstage stuff.  I did feel sorry for the Rockette that had to answer all of our questions at the end of the tour though.

5. When Harry Met You've Got Mail Tour - made up and orchestrated by Adam.  Adam had researched and found some places we could see from both "When Harry Met Sally" and "You've Got Mail."  In spite of what it sounds like, we felt the least tourist-y during all of this.  We spent most of the day walking around the Upper West Side.

6. One World Trade Center/Memorial - Adam wanted to see this, but it ended up being a nice memorial.  We didn't end up going in the museum though.

7. Central Park - I had forgotten how pretty the park itself is and how big it is.  We walked a lot, saw a lot and ate at the fancy Boathouse restaurant.

8. Matilda The Musical - fun and the kids in it were so impressive.

9. Waitress The Musical - the most serious play we saw and Jessie Mueller was amazing.

10. Something Rotten - just as funny as it's supposed to be and also fun.

We may have entered the Hamilton lottery for every possible show when we were in town and lost every time.  Even so, we loved the musicals we did get to see; we couldn't have asked for more variety.

This was the perfect way to celebrate five years.  Not only did we get to see musicals, visit museums, see sites, use public transportation, and be in a city with restaurants and stores, but we were together. Like I said, Adam and I are still best friends, we're still in love and I am so thankful for the marriage we have built so far, as well as the marriage that is to come.  Who knows what's coming next?  It won't be easy, the last five years haven't been easy, but they have been life.  Most importantly, and at the risk of making a cheesy joke, they have been life together.  Here's to the next five years and here's to us!

This Wild Life

When you tell other adults that you spent a week of your summer chaperoning a youth trip, you get a mixed bag of reactions, ranging from an exclamation about my level of bravery, to lamenting over my “misfortune,” to questions about how we got through the trip.  For me, it’s genuinely fun.  It isn’t a hardship to me; it’s something I got to do. 

Last week, I chaperoned the youth trip to Passport Choices in Greensboro.  I’m definitely no stranger to Passport or to youth trips in general.  I am, however, a stranger to going on a week long youth trip as a 32-year-old with a toddler at home, who kept telling her daddy that she felt mad because “mommy left.”  Two-year-old guilt trips aside, both Amelia and Adam handled the week wonderfully and I am so grateful to a husband who is a wonderful, capable father.  I won’t insult him by implying that it’s more impressive for him to keep her alone for a week, just because he’s her father rather than her mother, but I am grateful to him as a co-parent, a husband, a friend and a support.

Anyway, it has been a decade since I chaperoned a trip to Passport.  My Passport story is long and probably more than you want to hear right now.  So for now, suffice it to say that I’ve been on the other side of things, in many ways, and honestly, it was tough to turn off the skills that have become more familiar in that setting.  For that week, I did my best to just be a chaperone, to concentrate on our youth, to be low-key, to enjoy.  

The week itself was a good week.  I am grateful to Passport, as I always am, for their commitment to reaching youth.  They are able to have experiences that remind them that they are precious for who they are, as they are, both to us and to God.  Passport provides a setting in which youth are not emotionally manipulated, language is intentional, and they are able to experience new things and meet new people.  This is not the case with all Christian youth camps.

This particular week, the youth I chaperoned all bought in and all had a wonderful time, even the ones that were hesitant about going to begin with.  Because we went to Passport’s Choices camp, some of them visited an international supermarket and a mosque, some learned how to sumo wrestle, some wrote a song, some made art, some found a place on stage, some learned how to check oil, some learned that people with disabilities can still be great dancers and all of them played games, sang songs, prayed, shared with each other and lived together for a week.  Everything came together to help them answer the question; “what will you do with your one wild and precious life?”

I could give you the details of how camp happens; I could tell you the small complaints that happen during a week of living on top of each other.  I could also go on and on about why I love camp and Passport specifically, but for now, I’m going to leave it at that. I hope that you’ll take the time to hear stories from youth you know who had experiences like this.  I hope that you’ll think about what it meant to you, if you were lucky enough to have a similar experience.  And, I hope that my Passport life isn’t over yet; it may look a little different, but it isn’t over.  I am grateful for that. 

Amelia Turns 2!

As June 5, 2016 neared, I went back on my assertion that we weren’t going to throw a second birthday party for Amelia.  I did my best to go for a more simplistic party, but it did end up being bigger than I anticipated.

This year, Amelia’s birthday was on a Sunday, so the celebration began before her actual birthday.  We had time with each set of grandparents and a mini-celebration at her daycare.   The joys of being an only child and the only grandchild on both sides continue. 

On the day before her birthday, we did have a party for her.  We celebrated at the church again, this time on the playground and we invited more friends this time around.  Amelia and her friends played on the playground and as two year olds seem to do, they alternated between hugging each other and screaming at one another.  The ups and downs of toddlerhood seem more intense than those of teenager-hood.  We ate purple, green and blue cupcakes, opened presents, sang happy birthday, tossed beach balls and saw family and friends who are so important to Amelia and to us. 

While it sounds like a typical birthday party, to me it was epic.  My Amelia is two years old.  We are so grateful to have been able to celebrate her in this way.  We are so grateful to all of our friends and to Amelia’s friends who chose to spend their time celebrating with us.  We’re also grateful that they ate cupcakes.  We’re grateful to our families who came to celebrate and to those who weren’t able to make it.  We are grateful for your support, your patience, your laughter and most of all, for your love for our little girl. 

Right now, I won’t even pretend to say that we won’t celebrate somehow next year.  A month after her party, all of the worries about it have disappeared and been fully replaced with the memories of her smiles, her “thank you”s, her play, and her joyfulness.  That’s more than enough. 

It’s been over a month since her birthday and we still include, at Amelia’s insistence, her “birthday last week” in nightly prayers.  More than anything else I’ve said, I’m grateful for my Amelia.  She has become a precocious, loving, friendly, talkative, curious, and amazing toddler.  I am so grateful to have been able to celebrate her and I’m counting the days until our next celebration-worthy milestone, whatever that turns out to be.

                                               

All Aboard

While he is crass, I will not hesitate to admit that John Oliver is hilarious.  In addition to his “news” segments, his made-up church and his British accent, he has a segment on his show called “How is This Still a Thing?”  As I’m sure you immediately realized, there are so many things that could be featured.  Living in this small, mountain town has its perks, but it also has more than it’s fair share of things that make you wonder, “How is this still a thing?” 

           

One of my favorite things that fall into this category is Tweetsie Railroad, a very small theme park that centers on a steam engine in between Boone and Blowing Rock.  Don’t get me wrong; we proudly bought our season passes a few weeks ago after our first visit.   However, before this year, I had not been to Tweetsie since I was a small child and I can tell you that not one thing, from the rides to the plastic fake horses to the pink cowgirl hats for sale to the train rides, has changed in the twenty plus years between my visits.  Partly because of the lack of updates and partly because of the portrayals that are arguably not politically correct, I find myself wondering as soon as we enter the park, “How is this still a thing?”

That being said, right now, Amelia is Tweetsie’s biggest fan.  More than a few weeks ago, we went on a Sunday afternoon and she was immediately hooked.  It takes her a few minutes to warm up, especially if there’s a character in costume hanging out just inside the gate, but after that window, she’s full-blast.  Whenever she rides a ride, she puts on her most serious face and concentrates fully on whatever she’s doing; as soon as she exits the ride, she asks to do it all over again.  Right now, she’s too small to ride everything, but we love the cars, the carousel, the chair lift, and, as much as I hate to admit it, the Mouse Mine (which should be named the Cheese Mine, but that’s another story).

On our first trip to Tweetsie, we did ride the big train.  It’s a ride around the park and out into some of the space around it, complete with two short stops, where the “cowboys” (and sometimes “cowgirl”) perform a little show.  This show centers on fights, some with “Indians” and some with other “cowboys.”  You see now what I meant by not-politically correct portrayals.  While I don’t necessarily agree with this view of the “old west,” that’s not where I’m going with this today.  During these shows, the cowboys fight; they also fire guns and even a cannon at one point.  We did know this going in.  We sat at the front of the train and tried to prepare Amelia beforehand. 

Amelia adored the train.  She shouted “choo-choo” repeatedly as the train left the “town.”  She was bouncing on our laps and clapping her hands.  At the first stop, her opinion of it all changed.  The second they began to fight, she was nervous.  The gunshots put her over the edge.  She started by exclaiming that she didn’t like it and then progressed to loud wails, accompanied by shouts of “hitting is not nice!”  That became her mantra throughout the rest of the ride.  She didn’t stop saying, “hitting is not nice” until we got off of the train.  Even now, a few weeks later, she still says, “hitting is not nice on the train” every once in a while.  It was probably not my best decision, to let my twenty-three month old ride the train when I knew what was coming.  In her short life, this was genuinely the most fear I have ever seen her show.  I felt horrible.  I couldn’t shake it.  It was completely my fault; I put her in that situation.  On the other hand, I want her to try things.  Who knew that it would scare her so much?  And, obviously, it hasn’t changed her opinion of Tweetsie in general; we would be there every single day, if she had her way. Just like the Mouse Mine song though, one person can only take so much Tweetsie. 

Anyway, that experience got me thinking.  I realized that this was Amelia’s first experience with guns, even fake guns like they use in the show.  She has seen weapons in cartoons or other movies, but not guns.  Even when she’s seen weapons, mostly they haven’t been used to hurt other people.  She hasn’t seen many movies at all and none of them contained guns.  There were a few small boys in our train car and they each had cap guns with them.  They were vigorously firing them at the actors as they had their “fights.”  They were laughing and joking about shooting people.  I know the idea is that it’s all in fun, but that makes me sad.

I couldn’t help but wonder if that first encounter with a gun was partly why Amelia was so scared.  It was a complete unknown for her. Then, I found myself feeling a little sad that we only made it to twenty-three months before she did meet guns.  Along those same lines, I’m also sad that there are so many children who have many earlier experiences with guns than my Amelia.  Our society is inundated with violence.  I know we all know that.  Everything feels different, more personal, though, when you see it through the eyes of your child.  We teach our children that violence is not the answer, and yet all of our pop culture is full of it.  I’m guilty of patronizing movies and TV shows and books that have violence, so I know I could do more to fix the problem. 

All I know for sure is that I am not going to teach Amelia that it’s ok to treat other people poorly.  You may be rolling your eyes at me, and that’s your choice, but right now, Amelia can’t understand that they are pretending or that they’re all actually ok.  Honestly, I’m not sure that I’ll feel differently when she can understand that. 

Today, here we are again, mourning the loss of another person at the hands of a gun.  This happens entirely too often; and, as far as I’m concerned, once is too often.  We cannot stand by and allow this to happen.  This particular loss is, of course, not only a gun issue.  Until black lives do matter, obviously, all lives do not matter.  As I said before, I don’t have the answers, but we must make changes.   We must mourn, yes, but it cannot stop there.  Action must follow.

"Love is love is love is love is love."

We have had so much going on lately.  We have celebrated Amelia’s second birthday, gone to Atlanta for the weekend, watched my favorite awards’ show of every year - The Tony’s, and I finished up another school year.  I had plans to write about those things.  To share with you, readers, what it feels like to celebrate and mark another year of Amelia’s life and the absolute joy that has come with that, to ramble endlessly about my Hamilton obsession as well as my obsession with all things musical, describe Amelia’s first baseball game in the sweltering Atlanta heat and to reminisce about the school year with emotion that can only be brought about by the first day of summer break.  My plans changed.  You will still read about all of those things (I hope), but for now, I cannot allow myself to write with anything other than heartbreak.

On Saturday night, well, technically, Sunday morning, fifty people were violently murdered as they danced.  More were injured.  Let me say that again – as they danced.  Not as they fought, as they argued or even as they protested and not that their actions, whatever they were, would justify this massacre – as they danced. These were people having fun, being who they were, and living their lives.  I could say that they were someone’s daughter, son, friend, father, mother, cousin, co-worker, etc, etc, etc, and that is true, but what should matter to us, above all else, is that they themselves were someone. 

I could complain about gun regulation, mental health problems, terrorism, and any number of other “explanations” we want to give, but what I see in this is hatred.  Yes, all of those things are problems, but hatred is what spurred this.  This should be undeniably and unequivocally unacceptable.  And yet…

I know that no sane person would claim that they wanted this to happen.  Perhaps, no one would admit, even to themselves, that by not being a part of an active solution, they are perpetuating the problem.  I am not pointing fingers at people or at specific solutions.  I don’t know how we fix this.  But I do know that we are called to fix it.  We cannot continue this way.  We cannot raise our children in a world where hatred is this commonplace.  I will not do it. 

I am tired and I know you are too.  I’m tired of being inundated with stories of violence in so many public places, in so many homes, of rape behind dumpsters on college campuses with the perpetrators not being held responsible, of politicians who will say whatever it takes to get a reaction, of misguided and vocal groups of people and of hatred, in its many forms. 

I do not know how to solve all of our society’s problems and I am definitely not the most eloquent writer, but I do know that love is the answer and above all else, love is active.  Love is not a passive statement, but a way of life. 

Loving others does not mean we can pick and choose which people to accept, to comfort, to protect.  Love means accepting and respecting all in their lives and not just their deaths. Love means choosing the battles that truly matter. Love means actively teaching our children love, in all of it’s forms.  Love means that we work for change, rather than just changing our status on social media.  Love means standing together, to make each other stronger, to help each other keep going.  Love is remembering those we have lost, those who suffer, the families who face a new “normal,” the outcasts, the confused, the angry, the hurting, our neighbors, our families, our children and ourselves.   Lin-Manuel Miranda, so eloquently said in a timely sonnet/acceptance speech, “love is love is love is love is love.”

I'm Feeling 32

On Tuesday, it was my birthday.  As I have repeatedly told you, I adore special occasions and I am lucky enough to be married to a man who helps to feed that adoration.  Adam undeniably spoils me on my birthday, my birthday eve and my birthday week.  I hope that I take advantage of the opportunities to spoil him too, but right now, I am still basking in the reverberations of birthday week 2k16 and I know, that I don’t ever do it as well as he does.  Today and every day, I am thankful for Adam. 

Anyway, this year I turned 32.  To sort of quote the immortal words of Taylor Swift (and by quote I mean change to fit my situation), I’m feeling 32.  At this moment, I mean I’m feeling it in all the ways possible.  I am feeling 32 in that my body has suddenly started to feel 32.  On the other hand, I’m feeling it in that so far, it’s a good age.  Since I’ve been 32, I’ve played babies, I’ve dried tears, I’ve laughed, I’ve celebrated a graduation, I’ve been on a road trip (albeit a short and familiar one), I’ve had cake, I’ve said thank you, I’ve taken pictures, I’ve sung songs, I’ve continued building some cloud castles and as always, I’ve taken stock of things as they stand on my birthday.

While both nostalgia, embarrassment and possibly even regret have their place and time, I don’t think birthdays are that time.  To me, birthdays are a celebration; a time to mark the successes of the year.  Remember the good times, the laughter, the love, the wins and to simultaneously acknowledge the triumph over the failures, the sadness.  Triumph includes just facing another day, even if it’s an ongoing struggle.

I’m currently planning Amelia’s second birthday party.  This one is going to be as low-key as I can handle and I’m intentionally making it less work than last year’s one-year-old bash.  Even so, it makes me think about birthdays in general.  I hope that I’m teaching Amelia that birthdays are an occasion to celebrate, with the people that are important to you, no matter how old you are.   We get caught up in begrudging ourselves for getting older, when really; we should be excited for another year.  I would never give up any of my previous years in exchange for being younger.  I am proud of my age and all that I’ve done in the 32 years I’ve been given.  Of course, there are things that I want to do better in the coming year, dreams I want to realize, hopes I want to encourage, interests I want to foster.  It isn’t that I’ve been anywhere near perfect.  It’s that I am thankful for my 32 years and I am thrilled to have been 32 for almost a week and for 51 more weeks. 

Birthdays are not about the cake, the presents, the attention; it’s about being given another year, the possibilities of the future, the relationships formed in that year and what you can share with the world – tangibly or otherwise.  And, right now, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 32.