A Passion for Tradition

I wonder sometimes where my passion for tradition was born. When did I become a person who created annual events, who choreographed seasonal field trips, who craved and searched for and then made the exact same recipe year after year after year? Certainly my childhood was not filled with that kind of consistency. Each year as the seasons changed, so did my environment. Beginning life with two parents, then shuffling between one and another, then finding myself sheltered in the homes of various extended family and friends as I grew older, there were no annual traditions. Life was constant change, completely beyond my control.

Somewhere along the way, I started to create anchors for myself. I began to build my own traditions. Now it did not matter where I lived or who I was with, the traditions came with me. The annual stomping of the leaves that fell in my school courtyard, the celebration of the first cup of cocoa each winter. There were recipes I made and gave to friends as an expression of the idea of home, warmth, nourishment, goodness. Occasionally, my traditions did mirror positive moments spent with my own family. Like Old Testament altars, I stacked stones together in places where I had reasons for thanksgiving, something to help me remember and find my way back to what was good. 

When I was about eleven, I remember making a trip to a pumpkin patch with my brother, stepmom, and baby sister. We walked around, climbed on hay bales, took pictures, and brought home pumpkins. We painted faces on the pumpkins and set them outside, waiting until the time was right to carve them.

Pumpkins carved a prior year.

It was cool and damp on the day that was set to carve the pumpkins. A windy day, where wet leaves fell and became glued to the pavement, creating a colorful, slippery collage on the ground. My aunt and cousin came over to join us for the fun, bringing big orange pumpkins of their own. We had newspaper ads spread out on the dining room table, the overhead lights turned on brightly, the day growing dark outside the patio door. The grownups were chatting and laughing as we did the work of scooping the guts out of the pumpkins. Pulling the long, stringy pulp out, heavy with seeds. We received instructions on how to separate the seeds from the pulp, with the promise of a salty, roasted treat to eat after the carving was done. I remember drawing the face on my pumpkin once, twice, three times, trying to get it absolutely perfect. I wanted the classic jack-o-lantern, perfectly circular eyes, a triangular nose, and big jagged teeth in a gaping, open-mouthed grin. The boys were nearly done carving, and I was still retracing the lines one more time, trying to get it just right.

It was warm in the house, with the oven going, and everyone gathered in so close. We cleaned up the mess and moved to sit at the pink Formica-topped breakfast counter, waiting to have our warm from the oven pumpkin-seed snack now that the dirty work was done. 

As we sat there, swinging the oak bar stools back and forth, something shifted in the room. It was as though the air and light were sucked out of the space. A spark had been lit, and my dad was turning to fire, as he did so often those days. Everyone held their breath as he pulled all of the oxygen to himself. I don't know what started the argument. I didn't hear it escalate. I only heard my aunt trying to reason with my dad, and I heard him tell her to get the hell out of his house. She held out her hands towards him while he shouted, as though her upturned palms could ward off the brutality in his voice. I saw the shift in his body, the motion of his arm moving into her, and saw her double-over when his fist sunk into her belly.

It's a mystery, the moments our brain chooses to remember, the shadows that lodge themselves in our mind, the events we cannot forget.

When I think about it now, I have to really focus to remember much about what came before it all fell apart. I recall holding my baby sister at the pumpkin patch, trying to keep her still, and smiling for the camera. I know that I was squinting into the bright midday sun. I remember the fresh smell of just cut pumpkin that night, the slimy and rough feel of the strings of pulp slipping through my fingers. I reach for those moments, the happy ones, the place where everyone is smiling and laughing at the countertop, just before it turns. Because the darker memories come more easily; the trauma is harder to forget.

So in my life now, I am forever striving to find my way back to the altars, cling to the anchors, to carve out memories for my own children. I don't want them to have to search to find a joy-filled moment like the ones I knew before the room filled with fire. So we turn everything into a tradition. We do all we can every season, each year. We go together as a family to annual events and we fill our life with moments where the room is full of light and warmth and the voices of those we love.

We go apple-picking.

We eat snow cones and try the bounce house and pose for pictures.

We pet the ponies and the goats and look at the chickens.

We milk the cow.

We take the hayride.

We run the corn maze.

We get hot and sweaty and cranky, and not every single moment together is filled with warmth and laughter and perfection. But some of them are.

And the world doesn't break apart. The earth doesn't spin off its axis. The memories don't burn up in a fiery rage. I pray and pray that even though we get it wrong sometimes, my little ones won't have to search too deep to find the good parts. So we make the traditions happen again, season after season, year after year. And every time one of my children asks me, "When are we going apple picking this year?" or says, "It's about time to make hot cocoa," or reminds me, "We need to start making holiday cookies soon," I add a stone to the altar of my gratitude, and my heart heals a little more.

As the years pass, and time stretches out behind me and marches on in front of me, I don't have to search so far or look so deep to find the happy memories. They are growing all around me.

*We are especially grateful to the Down Syndrome Guild of Kansas City and the Albert Pujols Family Foundation for helping to make our annual trip to the Red Barn Farm one of our many family traditions.

First Downs for Down Syndrome and a Moment of Awareness

Today our local Down Syndrome Guild hosted an amazing event that we were happy to attend.  Members of the offensive line of my favorite football team (no fair-weather fans here!) signed autographs, held babies, and smiled for the camera over and over again at a local KFC.  Football is definitely another of my many favorite things about Fall.  It was all part of First Downs for Down Syndrome, a non-profit organization that teams with members of the Kansas City Chiefs Offensive Line to raise money for Down syndrome organizations, raise awareness of Down syndrome, and create positive images of those with Down syndrome.  So this meet and greet photo op was kind of the perfect lunch-date for Day 2 of the 31 for 21 challenge, right?

This event was crammed right into the middle of a very busy day for me.  Those times--when babies are squawking in high chairs and preschoolers are bouncing in booths, when I have to go back to the counter twice to order food because my brain doesn't work well enough to figure out how much I need for myself and two kids--those are the moments where I find it difficult to maintain an awareness of the watchful and vigilant type.  I am glad I took pictures and have the opportunity tonight to reflect a little bit more on our outing.

I enjoyed seeing other babies, toddlers, big kids and even an adult or two with Down syndrome having fun, eating lunch and getting autographs.  They were all pretty excited to meet the players, who towered over almost anyone else in the restaurant.  Some of the younger gentlemen found the cheerleaders to be the most appealing.  (I need to get some of those pom-poms!)  Although Asher wanted to be sure to tell the "girls" he liked their dresses before we left, his favorite was definitely the KC Wolf, our beloved mascot, who I've heard is an all-around pretty great guy.  (Note that Brynnlie was not convinced.)

In the midst of all this fun and chaos today, I had an opportunity to spread awareness of the knowledge type.  I wish I could say I had seized the moment, but I did not.  So I will share it here on my blog and hope that I am bold enough, aware enough, and sensitive enough, to share it in person the next time I have the chance.  A sweet woman came into KFC looking for some lunch, having absolutely no idea the hullabaloo she was entering!  As she stepped up to the counter, she glanced around her bewildered and asked, "What are they doing here?"  I was nearby, and so I replied that it was an event with First Downs for Down Syndrome.  "Oh, Downs!  OK.  That's great.  I was a teacher for years, and I always loved those little Downs kids."  It's funny how much different that sounds to me now than it did a year ago.  

When this sweet woman says she loved those little Downs kids, I am sure she means it in the most positive way.  But my Momma ear now hears her refer to my baby as one of "those" kids, and no Momma really wants her baby labeled into a broad category that is ultimately made up of so many very different individuals.  Brynnlie Grace is not a "Downs kid," she is a kid who just happens to have Down syndrome, among many other unique and special traits. If you would like to build your awareness by learning more about the importance of People First Language, and the correct spelling and punctuation of Down syndrome, please click here.  This knowledge has definitely made me more aware of the labels we place on one another, and how limiting any label is for truly knowing a person.  We all possess so many different gifts and abilities, and it is the whole, not just one part, that makes us who we are as individuals.  For now, I will just say that I promise not to refer to your beautiful and unique child as one of "those" kids, if you promise to do the same for me, no matter how harmless the label we put upon them may seem.

Thanks to this amazing article I read today, I'm including this photo, although it is difficult for me to do so.

The Mom Stays in the Picture

Tomorrow I hope for a shorter post, or there's no way I'll make 31 for 21!  I'll be watchful, like this guy, and find time to be aware of something new.

Loves!

Welcome, October!

My one-and-only Pinterest creation!

October has always been my very favorite month of the year.  It is my birthday month, and I have always been just a little spoiled on my birthday!  It is also the time of the year in the Midwest when the stifling heat begins to give way to cooler breezes.  The humidity level finally drops, and the cicadas cease their deafening cries.  The relief from the heat has never been more welcome than this year, after a very hot summer of drought, with parched grass and cracking earth.  As the thermometer finally falls below 80 I feel as though the world is becoming a little more quiet; perhaps the noises are muffled by the leaves falling to the ground.  The back-to-school buzz has passed and we finally take a breath, reconnecting with our routines.  Twilight begins to darken just a moment earlier, calling us to make the most of gorgeous evenings while they last.

I could go on for hours about the goodness of Fall.  I delight in the flavors of pumpkin spice, caramel apple, and creamy cocoa.  I am in awe of the changing leaves, golden grasses, and sweeping landscapes that are evidence of an incredibly artistic Creator.  Tonight my heart was lifted by a quick walk with my littles--there was a cool breeze blowing, red and gold and orange leaves turning and peewee-football-practice-whistle-blowing in the park.  We followed up our little walk with the first caramel apples and cocoa of the season.  A perfect way to say, "Welcome, October!"

One year ago, I learned I had yet another reason to love October.  October is National Down Syndrome Awareness Month.  I was five years old when President Reagan signed a proclamation enacting that in 1984, yet my first knowledge that such a campaign existed was last year, when I was still learning all things new about my own Baby Girl with Down syndrome.  The common definition of awareness is having knowledge   Prior to last year, I had very little knowledge about Down syndrome, or that National Down Syndrome Awareness Month even existed.  I have learned many new things, and I would say in the last year that my knowledge has increased.  There is, however, also an older definition of awareness.  The more archaic definition of the word is simply vigilant; watchful.  I am intrigued by this concept.

This October, I want to be aware of Fall as it unfolds around me during a very busy month.  I want to breathe deeply the scents, taste the flavors and enjoy the coolness of this month of reprieve.  I want to be vigilant in exploring our world as it changes each day, watchful of the leaves as they subtly color and fade over time.  I also want to develop a better awareness of what Down syndrome means to me.  I want to engage in vigilant, watchful contemplation of my daughter, and explore my thoughts and feelings about her life and ours.  It is not always breezy walks at twilight and cozy cocoa sipping around our house.  I want to develop more appreciation for and awareness of those moments, but I also want to explore the deeper current of how I have been feeling since my precious girl was born.  I want to notice and learn more about other individuals and families with Down syndrome.  I want to do more than just see these incredible people, I want to become aware of them.  

I hope to record and share on my blog throughout this month of exploring and cultivating awareness, and I hope you will join me on this journey of celebration.  Cheers!  Here's to National Down Syndrome Awareness Month, to Fall, to caramel apples, and to hot cocoa mustaches!  May your October find you vigilant, watchful, aware...

After posting this, I learned that many people choose to blog throughout October as a way of raising awareness during this special month.  What a wonderful way for me to get my blog off the ground and to stick to my plan to be vigilant and watchful during National Down Syndrome Awareness Month.  I am joining the blogosphere in posting 31 times throughout October to raise awareness for our special friends with extra copies of chromosome 21.  31 for 21.  Thanks for sharing the journey with me.  To learn more, or to join the 31 for 21 challenge, visit Big Blueberry Eyes.

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