Practice

"Why Me?"

2011-08-15T05:29:00.000-07:00

There have been times in my life when I've felt like I was at the end of a rope asking God, "why me?" Why has this (is this) happening? What have I done to deserve this?

I realized this yesterday when we had an overwhelming amount of friends show up to help us load our things from storage, and unload them at our house. Maybe those "why me?" times made yesterday that much sweeter when I thought about how amazing these people are (just in general-not because they helped us move), and how lucky I am to have them (and many more) as friends.

By day two of our three week leave, I was anxious to come back to this little town. I was excited about moving into our home. Proud that we could own one. Ready to get started on the work that we want to do. But most of all, I just wanted to come back because it's an infectious place to be.

The first five years of living here, I wanted to leave. We are surrounded by very flat land, with corn and soybeans growing all around. We are near the University of Illinois, but if you want to find something exciting to do, you might as well go out to the fields and listen to the crickets chirp. People live here so that their kids can go to wonderful schools. We are competitive people with high standards-and that turns some people off-I guess that for a while it turned me off.

But then I decided to open my heart. I have met so many wonderful people: some who have spent their whole lives raising their families here, some who stay for a short time, some who are working to provide for their families, some who are following their dreams. All of them have pasts, many of them are mindful of the future, all of them have hearts, many of them will share their if you lend an ear.

Maybe I will over time, but right now I can't tell you how hard this summer was for me. When we left, I couldn't wait to get back because the majority of the people who live here make me feel like I am at home. They know my head is always in the clouds, but they make my heart want to be here.

I told a friend yesterday that I am the happiest I have ever been. My kids are such individuals, and amaze me with their creativity, their spirits and the love they share with me every day. I made the choice that changed my life when I married my best friend 11 years ago. We've bought the house that we still want to be in when we're 62. And we live in a community with friends who make us feel like we belong.

Maybe I can still ask God, "why me?"

Design I Love

2011-08-08T18:00:00.000-07:00

If all continues to go well, we will be in our new spot on Thursday. While most people would be bubbling over, I am cautious and detached. After years of looking for a house-years of not finding anything that fit our needs on our budget and being rejected for financing- I have learned that when I get my heart wrapped up in things, I am disappointed when those visions don't come true. So, I am cautiously optimistic that this whole deal will go through.

I can see it, though. I can see us in that house, making it our own. Quite honestly, that "making it our own" will require drastically changing the whole house over the years. Aside from painting the blank canvas, we're going to overhaul the living room/dining/kitchen area first.

Let me say this: this house is kind of like what life has been like. I always pictured Andrew and I picking out dark hardwood flooring, white cabinets, medium shade walls, light furniture, very matchy matchy. This process of deciding what we can afford and what we like has led us to make choices like light bamboo floors, darker furniture, things that are unexpected. It's not what we expected, but it's a process of finding out more about ourselves and each other. Luckily, we agree on a lot.

So, without talking at you more, I'll show you some things we're liking a lot:

Light Bamboo Flooring

We walked around some high-end opened houses the other day and loved the tile throughout.

We also like straight border as opposed to the tapered that we are used to. It's also a little thicker and taller.

I've been trying to describe my "style" to my mother-in-law and aunt while we've been visiting. We went to Captain America the other night, and I remembered how much I loved the Untouchables, and that 1930-1940's style. I've been saying modern eclectic, but I really love Art Deco or Mid-Century Modern. I love the lines, the character, even the glitz that goes along with it. I'm hoping that as we reinvent this house, it will become art as we make most of the things in it. I can't wait to get home and start making things again.

I love these rooms.

I can't really tell you what draws me to this room, but I'm drawn to it.

This room has my heart wrapped into the table, the lights and the art piece.

While looking in the Crate and Barrel magazine, we saw a fireplace with the mantle underneath the fireplace opening. I can't find a picture of it right now, but we really loved how unexpected that idea is. If we can figure it out, that will fit in the space really well.

On the couch front, it wasn't feasible to ship the sectional from Omaha to Illinois. So, we've decided to go with a couch from Big Lots. I know, I can't believe we're buying a couch from Big Lots, either, especially one that is called a metro-sectional. But, a sectional is what we like, it's not made of real leather, which is good because I don't want to be the kind of mom that won't let her kids be on the couch with their feet. It's affordable, so in a few years when the kids are older, we can get one that we really want. So, the metro-sectional it will be:

Just one more thing, which isn't very art deco, but more Bancroft, Nebraska; we will be bringing this piece home from my in-law's house. Andrew's grandpa bought it for a quarter when it was painted red. He stored tools in it. Joan has stored miscellaneous things in it. I'm not sure what we'll put in it, but I will be proud to have this as part of our home. We don't have any family pieces yet.

In One Week

2011-08-04T16:38:00.001-07:00

If all continues to go well, we will be in our new house one week from today! We've wanted to buy a home for three years, but haven't been able to. And it's a good thing because we would have just been settling for something that we would have grown out of and weren't in love with.

We couldn't have been luckier to find a house in Briarcliff Subdivision. The subdivision is mature with trees, the Sangamon River nearby, a community lake, next to Lake of the Woods Forest Preserve and there are just a variety of really nice people there.

So, here is the floor plan and link to pictures of the house.

After renting for three years, we're ready to make this spot all our own! It's pretty much a blank canvas right now, so Andrew and I are going a few days ahead of the kids (who will be in Iowa) to paint before we put the furniture in.

For 10 years we've taken what we could get as far as cheap furniture and hand-me-downs, so we're excited about making this into an adult space: something warm and inviting where friends will want to come to play and hang out. We are very modern people who don't like a lot of clutter.

We have visited many furniture stores. Today we spent a few hours at the Nebraska Furniture Mart. This couch is my favorite, but we can't afford it:

So we have narrowed it down to these two sectional couches, which give us a lot of seating and durability with the kids (we don't want to get something that they can't sit or lay on):

We will also have two rugs that look like this:

And while the mirror broke in the shipping box, this frame is made of Taiwan ship parts, and I'm excited about having it in the house:

This is just a start. We have so many more plans that I'm excited about sharing with you!

Choosing JOY

2011-08-04T07:42:00.000-07:00

When I started blogging about three years ago on Orange Salad and Pecan Dressing, I decided to do so because I wanted to connect with other creative people. I had been blog looking for quite some time, and I wanted to be a part of that. It's not that I was a photographer or a crafty girl, but the pictures I saw everyone share made me feel alive. And when I started to try to make my blog that, I began to feel like a fake: because I am a writer.

I named my blog Orange Salad and Pecan Dressing for two reasons: 1) because I had written a poem about unloading my mother's groceries only to find more alcohol. It was my reminder to not become my mother. But at the same time 2) I decided to write when I was a teenager because I thought my mother had wanted to be a writer. When I was 15, I was searching through some boxes, and I found a poem in her handwriting, which I'm assuming she wrote when she was a teenager. I don't know much about my mother's life before or even during me, so it may have just been something I made up for her. I've never told anyone that before. I thought writing would help her be interested in me.

I've asked myself why I've felt this push to start blogging again. What am I looking for here? And the only thing that I can come up with is that I'm tired of hiding behind words. When I was writing my column the truth about my heart would get published, but the story behind how I got there was left in my drafts.

Now, I agree. The old blog isn't the place to put all those stories. I'm going to go to therapy for that. When I started blogging my heart was going from hard to learning how to be soft. And this summer, I feel like I am reverting back. I have been consumed inside my head worrying about how I'm going to raise these kids. How they are going to not turn out like me. And there's my answer: me. My kids are fine. I may not have the slightest idea of what I'm doing, but I'll bet there are times for every parent where they believe they have no idea what to do. And then they figure it out, and make it happen for their kids.

I'm not a child anymore. And I need to stop living there. I am a blessed 31-year-old woman who is getting ready to purchase a home in a town that makes me feel loved and alive. I have a husband whose hand I hold while I fall asleep, kids who want nothing more than to be around us, extended family who is proud of me and friends that light up my world.

The hardest part of telling my story is knowing that no matter how insecure I feel, there are people in my story who don't feel loved. They either reject it or don't understand it.

While I can relive who I am through events that happened long before I became a real person, I know that my insecurities have nothing to do with what happened or what continues to happen. The truth is that I am scared to be me. I am scared to be attractive. To go through the hard work it takes to get there. I am scared to be an adult. I am scared to let go. Somewhere deep down I just want to hold on because I think that if I let go I will miss out on something.

Maybe I just wanted to revisit this space because I want a space to not be overbearing, but to peel back these layers and just share. I want a space where I can talk about all the things that truly interest me without feeling ashamed of them.

There is a lot to happen over the next couple months. And I feel like while my word for this year was strong, I haven't really been that. I've crumbled. And while I can look to those closest to me to pick those pieces up, it's really me who has to do that. I know this because I've been there before. This is my choice: JOY.

Hiking to Rainbow Falls

2011-05-29T12:27:00.001-07:00

(Written in my head while hiking to Rainbow Falls) April 4, 2011

Ella,

I like how you say salamander. Before we left on this trip, you spent a whole afternoon with your dad looking at pictures of the 30 species of salamanders that can be found in the Smoky Mountains. So, I love how you squat on boulders in the rushing cold stream to hunt underneath rocks for them as if you’re searching for a long, lost best friend.

You’ve got the eyes of a hawk, and the spirit of an eight-year-old girl who has the whole world to discover. You hike as if we have the whole day to waste looking at acorns that have been saturated with water, and ones that have lost their tops to take root in the ground. And while I can’t answer your questions about if they’ll actually turn into trees (because it’s really hard to grow a tree), you’re constantly looking back at me to see if you can keep climbing on rocks or how far you can venture off the path; testing your limits to see how far I’ll let you go or who I will let you be.

We have to keep moving forward before the weather changes, so you collect acorns on the side of the path, peeling off their shells because you like the pink tint of the nut inside. You know when your hands get full I will be there to lend some extra storage in my pockets so you stop to gather every one you see.

You don’t care if you’re in the lead because the one in the lead only cares about walking on the roots of the trees on the path. You are the one that stops to listen to their old bones creak in the wind, to see the scars on their trunks and to wonder how some trees survived the fire that charred the bark of others. You know that even the young trees are reaching for the heavens. There are so many stories among the trees. They watch the animals, rocks keep them company and when they fall they grow fungus. And you know that Rainbow Falls will still be there waiting for you to discover all her secrets when we get there.

This is our first hike of the season. You’re carrying the camera you asked Santa for to capture moments like this; to show the world that you conquered the rocks by being “King of the World.” You know that everything is worth capturing and revisiting later.

It’s important to document that you were on this mountain because we did not get to see the rainbow on top of the mountain before the sky turned grey. And while there were tears in your eyes, you know that if we hadn’t turned around, our legs may have been too tired to stop later and climb upstream where you found the abandoned snail shell sitting like it had been left behind just for you.

Being from Illinois, I expected you to be captivated by the mountain’s elevation or to search for bears. But you constantly remind all of us to pay attention to the seemingly small things in life. It’s true that snail shells and acorns and salamanders can connect different landscapes.

Thank you for always being you. I love you more than words can say.

Mommy

Going Above

2011-05-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

Dani Tietz
May 26, 2011
mahomemama

A child’s school day consists of roughly seven hours of instruction. The students begin each new school year touching up on what they have learned previously, then as the teachers work to ensure each student can meet standards defined by assessment tests, the kids end the year stronger in math, reading, writing and science.

For some teachers, this is their job. They are content with making sure that the students know what they should know.

Each of us holds a special teacher somewhere in our hearts. The ones who didn’t make sure we’ve just met the standards, but who were influential parts of our lives by pushing us past our personal limits. The ones that we remember after the study hours and tests because they helped us grow.

With two daughters in the Mahomet-Seymour elementary school system, we feel like our children have been pushed to grow academically, socially and personally as a result of the time they’ve spent with some amazing women. Seven hours is a huge chunk of the day, and during those hours, we know that they are being loved.

This year, my oldest daughter’s education began before she even reached her classroom. Instead of going out to morning recess, my daughter has found a retreat with Mrs. Mougey.

My daughter first met Mrs. Mougey as an incoming third grade student in her class at Lincoln Trail Elementary School. Making the change between Sangamon Elementary School and Lincoln Trail was a rocky time. It was during the time after school, while the kids wait for car pickup, that Mrs. Mougey began making an impact on my daughter.

She allowed the kids to help her with some of the after-school responsibilities, like erasing the dry erase board or chalkboard. She listened to their stories, making them feel important.

What Mrs. Mougey knew was that the kids enjoyed this one-on-one time with her. And to be honest, I believe Mrs. Mougey enjoys that time with the kids, too. This year, as a fourth grade student, my daughter just needed that extra boost of security in the morning. So, each morning (except Tuesdays), my daughter goes into her classroom while Mrs. Mougey uses those final minutes before her students arrive to prepare.

Mrs. Mougey has special responsibilities set aside for my daughter, like vacuuming, taking down posters or grading papers. Mrs. Mougey’s open door policy has made my daughter welcome, and this time they spend together gives her something to look forward to, purpose and confidence to start each day. She knows that Mrs. Mougey is thinking about her before she even arrives.

More importantly, Mrs. Mougey listens to the stories my daughter tells her, and has taken the time to get to know her so well that she can read her body language. She has taken the time to identify my daughter’s strengths and encourage her interests. Mrs. Mougey has been a good teacher because she hasn’t just let my daughter settle in to who she is or who she thinks she wants to be, but has inspired her to become something more.

I don’t have to hope that one day my daughter will believe all the possibilities Mrs. Mougey has believed for her because over the last two years, I have seen an eager confidence arise in my daughter. I have seen that change that will catapult her and shape her in the years ahead.

Mrs. Mougey has taught for 28 years. I know that she has spent countless hours with students instilling the same principles as she has for my daughter. Because while some teachers set out to hit academic standards, Mrs. Mougey brings out the best in her students to help them grow in all areas. I don’t believe that it is something that she sets out to do, but it is just part of who she is.

We are sad to see Mrs. Mougey go. I know that my daughter will miss seeing her almost every day. I will miss seeing her welcoming smile when I walk in her classroom. But I don’t believe that we won’t see her again. I know that my daughter has built a friendship with Mrs. Mougey that will continue to grow for many years to come.

Learning to Listen

2011-05-29T11:38:00.000-07:00

Dani Tietz
June 1
mahomemama

Learning to Listen

A few weeks after being hired as the editor of the Mahomet Citizen, Crystal Ligon agreed to meet with me as a potential writer. Our mutual friend Laura Bice suggested that we meet over lunch to discuss some of the ideas I had.

This was my first time meeting Crystal. I knew nothing about her, and I wasn’t sure what she knew about me. In these situations, I’m usually a passive observer. But I wanted to appear confident, willing to take on any stories she would let me cover.

As she looked through an array of writing samples, I chatted up a storm. I told her about writing as a guest columnist for the Citizen in months past, some website ambitions I had, my schedule and my kids. I talked through, over and around everything that was in my head. After noticing I was the one filling up our time, I apologized for being so talkative, and for at times cutting off her thoughts.

What struck me most about Crystal was that she just sat across the table from me, listening in a way that no one had ever listened to me before. She made eye contact, asked open-ended questions, then waited for me to finish talking, no matter where I went with my answer.

Over the past year, I have had a lot of ideas, I’ve asked things that others may not have asked, I’ve rambled from time to time, but no matter how busy Crystal is, she has never seemed distracted or annoyed. She’s never had an agenda when talking to me. She’s an observant listener who doesn’t interject her thoughts until it is her turn to talk.

I know. She’s a journalist. It’s her job to ask questions and listen. Journalists can’t be off in another world because they have to get their facts right on paper. And editors have to be in the moment because their moments are so fast-paced.

Most communication classes teach people how to speak. Few teach people how to listen. I think you can be trained to ask the right questions, and that you can practice listening. But you can’t fake interest. It takes a special person to be genuinely involved in discovering who people are.

Whether they agree with you or not, active listeners listen with open hearts and minds. They are respectful and patient. Through this, people want to share more and more of themselves because the listener gains their trust.

Crystal’s job has been to gather information, edit and produce a paper, but through earning the trust of both the community and the staff at the Citizen, people have felt comfortable their sharing ideas, writing and stories with her.

I am going to miss working with Crystal every week. She has helped me stretch my comfort zone, has encouraged me to follow through on my ideas, and has been an effective leader. I know that as she follows her ambitions, she will continue to touch more people’s lives with the way she simply listens.

I would also like to take these last few words to let you know that this will be my final column for now as I am going to explore some other options, too. I have been so blessed to have this opportunity, work with these incredible people, and to meet so many people within the community.

I have been bitten by a writing bug, one that I can’t explain. But the kids and I have a writing project we want to work on this summer, and I have other writing ideas I would like to pursue. Mahomet is my home, and I hope to continue to bring people together within this community, so I hope you’ll continue to join me on my website at www.mahomemama.com or on Facebook.

Living With an Open Heart

2011-05-13T16:19:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
May 18, 2011

Living with an Open Heart

There’s not a whole lot I remember learning in kindergarten, but I remember that I had trouble drawing a heart. My hearts looked more like toast. At my teacher’s concern, I spent a whole afternoon at my parents’ red kitchen diner table learning how to make the hearts I drew point at the end.

Drawing is about the only heart concern a six-year-old has. I didn’t think about the condition of the heart again until my grandpa died of a heart attack when I was 8. My mother said a clot in his leg shot up to his heart while he was sleeping.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, heart disease continues to be the leading cause of death in Americans. Because the heart distributes vital blood to other organs in our bodies, it is important we take care of it by not smoking, drinking, or doing drugs, eating a healthy diet low in fat and cholesterol, and exercising. It’s about life and death.

But even with knowing all of this heart-healthy advice, the wears and tears of life can make our hearts a mangled mess carrying hurts, burdens and scars. I used to have a friend who hurt so much that she said she felt like she could just disappear into her heart.

While our eating habits and drug problems may be a result of our unhealthy hearts, they aren’t the source. Most hurt doesn’t come from the strangers we watch from afar. Many times, the people who hurt us the most are the people who are a part of our everyday lives.

Well, being hurt by people who are supposed to love me is enough to make me skeptical of everyone. There are some things that I can’t forget. Some things that I know I’ve been burned on before; the things that make me watch my back. And so in this cycle, it is easy to put up a guard, to protect my heart with rose thorns, to only offer so much of myself to
others.

It was easier for me to live with that preemptive mentality toward everyone than it was to work through my issues. Because the truth is that they were mine. The things I held onto hurt me. They inhibited me. They held me back from discovering all the good things people have to offer. But once I took the time to let myself feel, to let myself grieve over the things that had happened and my losses, I was able to understand the healthy benefits of forgiveness.

I can say that in one sentence, but it is a lot of hard work. Sometimes it’s hard work that comes every day. There are some people I have to forgive as soon as I wake up every morning and before I go to bed at night. But I make the choice not to carry it with me.

The first thing I had to understand was that I can’t change other people. I could only work on me. Taking a step toward letting go of those layers of anger toward myself, I had to apologize to those I knew I’d hurt. Let go. And then move on with the person I knew I was meant to be. There were some scary things that I had to ’fess up to, but recognizing those imperfections helped me realize that I am just like everyone else.

I’m not an expert on forgiveness by any means. This process is still something that I have to practice. But for me, once I made a decision to work through the things that have happened in the past, I have been able to accept others for who they are.

Forgiveness has been less about condoning unhealthy relationships, but letting go and moving forward with what is instead of holding onto unrealistic expectations of what will never be.

Because of this, I have let my guard down. I have gone from trusting no one to seeing the good in everyone. And while no relationship is ever perfect, I have been blessed with meaningful ones.

It’s all because I stopped believing that I was being hurt all of the time. It’s all because I stopped living with self-pity. And through that, I am able to respond to difficult situations with kindness and compassion.

I can forgive because I have been forgiven. I can believe in someone because someone else believed there is good in me. I can extend grace even when it hasn’t been asked for. We’re all human. We all make hurtful mistakes. Even knowing that my feelings may get hurt in the process, I believe it is good practice to live with an open heart.

Listening Isn’t Always Easy

2011-05-13T16:16:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
May 11, 2011

Listening Isn’t Always Easy

It was around 9 a.m. when I arrived at the Omaha airport for a three-hour layover between Chicago and New Orleans. I grabbed a Coke in the quaint café area in the middle of the terminals, and had just started working on some poetry for a class I was taking when a gentleman in his late sixties or early seventies with a black toupee, dentures and the bluest eyes I had ever seen tapped me on the shoulder.

“Could you show me Omaha on this map?” he asked.

With my pinky, I pointed. He looked outside the windows to the left, “Those. Out there. Are those mountains?”

I said, “No. They are just bluffs. Nebraska is kind of hilly around here, but mostly flat.” Looking disappointed, he sat down at a table nearby.

A little bit later, he came back over to me with his plane ticket, not able to read what time his flight left. He was headed on the same flight to Las Vegas. He sat down next to me, and introduced himself as Arthur.

He said, “I’m not really sure what’s going to happen, but I’m going to Las Vegas. I was in Fort Lauderdale, then Chicago. Before that, I was in a trailer park in California for three months. But I’ve bought this ticket to go out and meet this guy Anthony knows. He’s a construction worker. He’ll meet me at the airport. I don’t know if I’ll stay with him or with this lady I know named Joyce. She’s a millionaire and has six houses, so I think I could stay with her. She would take care of me. That will help me out. But I still have to find a job.”

Arthur may have been a little hard of hearing, so my end of the conversation just got ignored.

“My ex-wife’s mom is a very bad woman. She took me for a lot of money. So now I’m trying to figure out what to do. My cousin lives in California, so I stayed with him for a while. They got kicked out of their house, so they wanted $500 from me, but I couldn’t give it to them because I have bills I have to catch up on first,” he said.

Arthur pulled out a manila envelope that was all torn on the top. He said, “These are my medical records, my bills. Everything is in here.” And in a black trash bag, he had his winter coat and a silk blanket that he had found.

“I went to Florida because I thought that when my dad passed away, he might have some assets. He didn’t. But I got his old Buick. I stayed down there for six months. There are just beaches. I love beaches, especially at night. But I didn’t want to stay down there. There’s nothing. No work. So I’m hoping to find something in Las Vegas. What do you think about valet parking?” he asked.

“It’s great,” I said.

“Maybe I could do that,” he said. “Do you know what Anthony’s problem is? He smokes marijuana and cocaine. I don’t do that kind of stuff. He’s got a little boy who’s four. I thought Anthony was dead for a while. Then he called six months later. He told me he got arrested, and that they took away his little boy. They gave him to his sister, I think. The judge won’t give the boy to his mother, either, because she smokes, too. He’s just wasting his life away. What do you think makes people do that?”

“Maybe they are sad,” I replied. I watched how lost he looked, and saw how much he cared for Anthony.

“It’s got to be a mental illness,” he said. “You’ve got to have something wrong up there to do that. He’s just addicted. I bailed him out three or four times. It cost me about $10,000. So what does that say about me? That I’m a nice guy? I was in Chicago for about two weeks. His sister wanted to call the cops on him. I begged her not to ’cause he’d get locked up for a long time. So she didn’t call.

He took a long pause in his conversation like he was searching for answers on where to go and who to be with.

“When I get to Vegas, I’ve got to get a cell phone. I had one before someone stole it. Have you heard about Cricket?” he asked.

As I shook my head no, he pulled out a pamphlet from his wallet, all folded and worn. “I’ve tried to call my phone, but it says that all my messages are full,” he said. “I’ve also got to get my license renewed. And I need a car. I had three of them, you know.”

“I had a Ford Mustang, my dad’s Buick and a BMW,” he explained with his head down. “I should have kept my dad’s Buick. It only had 57,000 miles on it, but I sold it. Then my BMW broke down. Anthony took it to this shop. He said he put $7,000 into it. I don’t know how he got that money, but he told me he worked for it. I called the shop, and the guy said I couldn’t have my car back.”

Arthur paused his story to watch “The Price Is Right.” He got excited watching the contestants being called down from the stands.

“When my mother was alive, she would say that I should go to Boston. Do you think it’s cold in Boston?” he asked.

“It’s pretty far north, Arthur,” I said as he leaned closer, claiming his ears were still plugged from the plane ride.

“Do you think there are more than one million people there? Do you think it’s pretty there?” he asked. “I bet there are a lot of beaches. But if it’s cold and if there are more than one million people, I don’t think I could deal with that.”

“When I get to Vegas, I’ve got to get some shoes. When I dress up,” he said, shaking his head like he was sure of himself, “I really dress up. What kind of cell phone do you have? Do you like your service? Can I call my mom?”

“All right, Art,” I said. “You can use my phone, but don’t talk long, okay?”

So he dialed the number and yelled hello a few times. I tried to explain to him that the signal wasn’t good, but he asked me to try again. As I was dialing, that number rang back through.

He answered, “Hello. Hello. Vinny! Vinny! Do you still like me as a friend? Have you heard from Anthony?” And then the call was lost again. Or Vinny hung up.

“Well, that’s all right. When we get to Vegas, let’s get a cab and go to Wal-Mart. I’ll buy some new shoes,” he said.

But I turned him down. “Art, I can’t go with you. I’ve got family I have to meet when I get there.”

“Maybe sometime you and I will fly out to Boston,” he said.

I looked at him sternly. “Arthur, I’m taking a trip from my husband and kids right now. I can’t take another trip with you. Besides, I’m married and my husband isn’t going to like that.”

Not long after, when our conversation had faded even further into “The Price Is Right,” I went to the bathroom to call my husband. I will admit I wasn’t sure if I should be there with him any longer. I knew Arthur needed help, but at that time I had nothing to offer him. After a two-hour conversation, I could tell that his heart was good, but that his life was a mess.

My encounter with Arthur has haunted me for three years. Part of me wishes that I hadn’t left him before we boarded the plane. And other parts of me think that maybe I was there at that moment because I would be there in that moment with him, willing to listen to the story he needed to tell.

Please join me at the Daily Grind on May 21 from 7 to 9 p.m. for open mic night. Bring your musical, writing or comedian talents or just come to listen to others.

Establishing Priorities

2011-05-13T16:10:00.000-07:00

Published Mahomet Citizen
May 4, 2010

Growing up in Indiana before the state’s one-class system became a five-class system, basketball was more than a sport. In Indiana, it seemed that basketball was a way of life. I don’t know that it was actually every kid’s dream to play high school basketball, but there definitely was a rich basketball history that came with just being a Hoosier.

Basketball was the game that I loved. I wanted to be around the game so much that my eighth-grade year, I not only played on the girls’ basketball team, I decided to volunteer as the boys’ basketball manager. Our science teacher, a 5-foot-8 bald man who demanded attention to detail in the classroom and on the court, coached both teams.

He didn’t mess around with try-outs. He had a point system that measured our ability to run, jump, shoot, dribble and pass. Everyone knew that his practices were exhausting, but everyone who tried out wanted to be a part of the team.

The great thing about growing up in an environment like this was that we knew that even before we were a part of the team, we had a responsibility to the team. Basketball wasn’t just an in-season sport. We spent the off-season working on our shooting percentage, playing in the heat and snow, making sure that we kept up on our game.

We sweated discipline, work ethic, teamwork and goal setting. We genuinely loved the game.

I can’t remember if the boys had done something in school that had gotten them in trouble or if they were practicing baseball during basketball season, but one day, he sat all 15 of them—both the “A” and “B” team—down on the bleachers to explain what their responsibilities were. He told them that their priorities should fall in this order: 1) God, 2) family, 3) school, 4) basketball.

He may have been a man that demanded the best of our abilities, but he also didn’t have expectations that were unreal. He had priorities.

I hadn’t paid much attention to that talk until a week ago, when I organized our May calendar.

My kids are too young to be a part of a school athletic team, but my daughters look forward to going to dance class each week, and my son loves the sports he is old enough to play. We try to teach them that when they start something, they need to finish. And when they are part of a team, people are counting on them to be there.

My daughters do have a responsibility to the dance studio; to their instructors, who are trying to teach the girls the fundamentals; and to the other girls who are depending on them to fill their spot in the recital dance. It turns out that one of these important final practices before their recital falls on the same day that their brother graduates from preschool.

It’s preschool graduation and dance, right? It’s not that big of a deal.

I imagined telling my little guy that his sisters wouldn’t be there for a day that is really important to him right now. A program that he sat through for them. And while I was torn between what to do, those words of my eighth-grade basketball coached flashed through my head like I was still standing there listening to him.

Priorities. Would the kids say that my priorities are work? Friends? Marriage? Time? Money? Siblings? God? School? Family? Activities? Image?

While my coach’s reference to God may have involved church, he didn’t have to make that distinction because twenty years ago, there were no practices on Wednesday nights or tournaments that started in the early hours on Sunday mornings. I believe schools still hold these policies, but today’s children are involved in more than school athletics, at a younger age.

Not only are the boundaries between activities and worship time fading, but in the chaos of overscheduled kids, there is little time for family. And kids are scrunching in their studies, or not realizing what a joy it is just to have a childhood.

With all this thought, I decided to make a decision and stand on some priorities. The night of his preschool graduation, the girls will miss dance practice. And I know that it may not seem like a big deal, but I feel like I’m setting up our priorities for the future.

I don’t believe that they have to be there for everything they do individually. But I do believe that with everything else that is going to happen in their lives, they are going to need to support each other in their proud and hard moments.

I don’t think that we have to eat dinner together every night, but I think family time needs to be a priority. I don’t think that they’ll flunk classes if they do their assignments in the evening hours, but education needs to be a priority. And I don’t think that making God a priority means just going to church, but making sure that we continue to take in His word and live in the ways He taught us to.

My priorities are different from my children’s priorities. The things that I want to teach my children may be different from the things you want to teach yours. But in a world where our kids are so inundated with scattered schedules, I think it is important to set up boundaries for whatever your family’s priorities are.

The lessons I learned on the basketball court have always been brilliant, but this lesson I took in as a manager may end up being life-changing.

A Love Lesson

2011-05-13T16:04:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
March 31, 2010

We all have milestones that we hit throughout our life: turning double digits, then a teenager, sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, thirty, forty, fifty. A few months ago, I hit a milestone. Turning thirty didn’t mean that I just accepted the responsibilities of paying the bills or taking the kids to school; I’ve been doing that for a decade now. Nothing between twenty and thirty has changed. It’s just a number.

But there’s always that reflective time in between any age. What have I accomplished? What are my goals? Who have I been? Who do I want to be? They all seem like simple questions, ones that should have great answers. Yet, I’ve found that the answers and questions are always changing with time and circumstance.

When I was married ten years ago, we had 1 Corinthians 13 read at our ceremony. It was pretty and poetic and I thought that I knew what the words meant as we chose the verse. But being an adult has proved to be harder than I thought it would be. And I have come to learn that while I can’t always answer all of the questions, it’s love that is the answer to most of life’s hard and joyous situations.

I used to think that I was so full of love that I could explode with it. Then life happened in ways I would have never expected and I learned that love wasn’t only something that you feel, but something you learn. Many times it is learned through marriage and other times through friendship or family. Sometimes it’s learned through heart break or loss. Kids often require great amounts of love in ways that are only learned through having someone dependent upon you.

One of the hardest moments for me was realizing that all human love is fallible; that we will all be disappointed at one time or another. However, it is through patience, honesty and forgiveness that we are able to receive the same in return. This amazing love is something that we humans may never be able to fully comprehend, but it is something that we can practice as it makes our hearts gentle and understanding.

I’ve learned that love knows our faults and our strengths and still holds us close anyway. It helps us discover and believe the best within ourselves. It beckons us to learn more and be better.

Love is silent when you need an ear. It does not judge, but realizes your circumstances while being sincere about its approach towards you. Love can be loud when you need to get a grip. And it will reach to all ends of the Earth with comfort.

In the last decade I have learned that love is not self-seeking, but that love takes the time to put the interests and feelings of others before its own. I’ve learned that love isn’t something that saves you or even always finds you, yet it is always there, even when you don’t feel it. Love knows what you need, even when you won’t admit it and will focus on seeking out the resources to help you get to where you need to be.

Love is an honest approach to a relationship. It guards and rejoices right along with you. Love always works for your best interest. Love knows sacrifice and perspective. Sometimes you just have to believe in it and trust it.

I now know that love doesn’t always come in wrapping paper and bows. And that sometimes you have to put down your pride and accept it when it comes your way.

The things I’ve learned about love have nothing to do with a milestone age, but have been taught through life experiences, meaningful relationships and an open heart. I thought that love was only something that you feel and that it would always go to the leaps and bounds that I expected it to in order to make me happy. Instead, love has made me happy through hard work and looking outside myself through a heart that chooses to be soft. I’ve learned that love isn’t always what I expect it to be, but is something that I can always give.

Under Attack From Wasps

2011-05-13T16:03:00.002-07:00

Mahomet Citizen Vol 156 No 29
July 22, 2009

When we first moved to Mahomet about six years ago, we were introduced to two very territorial wasps that lived in front of where I parked my car. Every hot afternoon that I would carry my two little girls out to the car, these really big, bee-looking insects would chase us until we jumped in and closed the doors.

I would complain every day about how scared I was to go out to the car. And how aggressive these bugs were. We used wasp killer, bee killer and my friend, who was an exterminator, brought his best bug killing spray, but still, these insects lived on.

Then fall came, the bugs were gone and we moved. Now, for the last month, we have had two really big, bee-looking insects guarding our front door. I get to park in the garage, buth they have chased my husband from his car to the door for weeks now.

We have found out that these insects are cicada killer wasps. The females are rarely seen, as it is their job to hunt cicadas, bring them back to the next, lay their eggs inside of them and die.

The following year, as the baby cicade wasp emerges, it will eat the cicada, then begins its adult life. The females have stingers, but will not sting unless you capture her or step on her;and even then it is not bery painful.

The wasps, especially the males are extremely territorial, though. We haven’t been as scared of them since finding out that they don’t have stingers, but the size of these bugs chasing you is enough to make one second guess that fact.

We read that you can pour ammonia on their nests at night and that will take care of them. But each morning, they were still there. We also read stories of people swinging tennis rackets at groups of these insects, testifying that this is the only way to kill them.

We are not tennis players, so we don’t have tennis rackets. We do, though, have plastic brooms. Well, we used to have plastic brooms, anyway. My husband decided last Sunday that he was going to take care of those killer cicada wasps once and for all. He stunned them with the broom, sending them belly-up, then stepped on them. He killed the two and a few minutes later, three more were there. He killed those three and then we had four.

My husband guessed that the other males could sense when one had been dethroned, so they swoop down from the trees and take over the nest. I didn’t believe him and just thought that there were more wasps coming out of the next.

The entomology department at the University of Illinois confirmed his “theory,” though, and they also said that the cicada killers only live for a season and will be gone by the end of August.

The cicada emerges after spending a year underground feeding off of tree roots. It emerges from its hard shell with wings and a song that hums summer. The female cicada killer wasp helps to control the population of cicadas by capturing them as nourishment for their unborn offspring. The male cicada killer protacts the nest by being a bully.

And as the sun went down Sunday night, my husband was outside with his broken plastic broom beating up the Cicada Killer Wasps and claiming his territory.

Learning to Let Go

2011-05-13T16:03:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
April 14,2010

One of the hardest things for a parent to do is watch children get older. While we’re excited for them to get past the terrible twos, to potty train or gain certain goals of independence, there is still a place in your heart that knows that stage, that part of their life is something they will never get back.

Our middle daughter celebrated her seventh birthday on April 4. I’m not really one to get emotional as the kids move on to the next age or grade, but this one was hard for me.

When our oldest daughter turned seven two years ago, we allowed her to get her ears pierced. It seemed like a good idea at the time, as seven seemed like the time when she was done being a baby. She was gaining independence and was ready to take on new responsibilities.

In retrospect all of that is true, but seven wasn’t just a time where she got her ears pierced, but is a good marking point between the daughter then and the daughter now. There were several changes in her interests, her ambitions and her social growth. Now, two years later she’s really into how she looks, wanting to spend more time with her friends to just hang out and has a strong desire to do more and more things on her own.

None of that has to do with ear piercing; it would have happened whether there were holes in her ears or not. And I’m glad that it has happened. I’m glad that she’s looking for ways to become independent, that she is being social and that she wants to take care of herself. These are starting points for her to become the woman that she needs to be (a long, long time from now).

My middle daughter looks up to her older sister, as many younger siblings do. She’s waited years for the day that she could get her ears pierced. She’s tried clip-on earrings and sticker earrings, but they just weren’t the same. She’s waited for the day that she could ride her bike around the block with her older sister, and she waited to get her American Girl doll. I’m sure that there will be many more things that will come before her that she will have to wait for.

In the weeks coming up to her birthday, she was so excited, she could hardly contain herself. She had watched her sister go through getting hers pierce, so she’s known that those holes will require attention and care, that she’ll have to make choices and have consequences. I think that while she may not come out and say it, she knows she’s turned that corner. She knows that she’s not a baby anymore, and that she’ll have new responsibilities and freedoms.

Knowing what I know now, I got a little emotional the night before her birthday. I looked at her with my nose on hers and said goodbye to my six-year-old daughter. I will miss her. I will miss her little hands and her big eyes. I will miss her not wanting me to brush her hair and to pick out her clothes for her. While the kids can’t wait to get to that next age in their lives, the parent knows that as their ages turn, they can never get the last one back. I will never have that six-year-old again. She was the most imaginative person I’ve ever met. But I know that in many ways, my seven-year-old will carry on her legacy and become all the better.

Balance

2011-05-13T16:02:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
March 3, 2010

So. Here we meet again. If you’ve read the Citizen within the last year, you might have read a few columns I wrote as a guest at the Canary Café. I thoroughly appreciated the chance to write there as I do this opportunity to be a correspondent and columnist.

This opportunity to share the world as I see it, to meet all of you and tell your stories is my dream. When we are kids we have dreams of pursuing careers in the areas we are passionate about. As we get older, our passions change or many of us settle for what will pay the bills or what we feel we have to do. But I believe that there is a passion within all of us, that one thing that tugs at your heart or occupies your mind. The interest that gets under your skin and calls you to come play or pursue a career.

I am a mother of three busy children with different personalities. I get up with them in the morning and make their lunches while I feed them breakfast. I buy groceries and clean the house on a daily basis. We do homework and between shuffling our cars around between this activity and that, we find time to get together and have dinner. I read them stories and kiss each of them before they drift off to sleep. And then I always find myself wishing that there a few more hours (or that I had more energy) in the day to do what I really want to do: write.

I don’t believe that parents intentionally busy themselves through the day just to get the selfless award every night. We want to give our kids all the opportunities in the world so that they will be healthy and balanced, competitive and educated. Most of us make sure that they have everything that they need before we ever look at ourselves.

This is how the last ten years of my life have been. From the time I graduated from college until about a year ago, I’ve been searching for myself among kids. Recently, I’ve taken that look in the mirror and have been asking questions like, Where do they end and where do I begin? How do I pursue my dreams without hindering their growth? Can I balance both?

Being a parent doesn’t begin with the kids waking up in the morning and it doesn’t end with going to work. I believe that part of being an adult is balancing our responsibilities with our dreams. And when it all goes right, fulfilling our responsibilities while living our dreams. Being a stay-at-home mom or dad may be different from being a working mom or dad in many ways, but I think that we all go through times when we feel like we’ve lost ourselves in the day’s work or busyness. It takes hard work to incorporate, balance and pursue your personal interests or career while being a parent, spouse and friend. But it is an essential part of being a healthy and fulfilled person. Each of us is one person with many different titles, which we carry wherever we go.

Being a mom gives me a story. Being a writer gives me a way to share my perspective with you. Being a part of this community gives us common experiences. And being a part of this newspaper gives me a chance to become acquainted with you. While we all have different experiences and circumstances, we all have a story. And the thing is that in more way than one, we may find that our stories are the same. This part of my story starts with me deciding that I can be more than one title at the same time. Where does yours start?

Learning to Let Go (Butterflies)

2011-05-13T16:01:00.002-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
September 23, 2009
Vol 156, No 39

If your house is anything like mine, the start of school also means a newly found interest in insects. Many teachers being their school year asking the students to capture, identify or describe insects that live around or near their home. So, we describe, we inspect and we also capture. This year we took a particular interest in catching caterpillars. We were able to find four monarch caterpillars, build a mesh container and hang them near a window in our kitchen.

They had light and plenty of food, what more could they want? Soon , they were spotted exploring the top of the container, on our kitchen floor and even on our broom. Lovingly, I would pluck them up, attach them to a leaf in our container and wait until the were content chomping away. The truth is, though that they weren’t content. They never had enough food, they were lethargic, and I’m sure they wanted to be back on the milkweed plant we found them on. That’s where they belonged.

But, I was selfish. My daughters wondered about them; we awaited the day that they would hang in the “J” position and turn into a chrysalis; we were excited for the day that they would change into butterflies. The caterpillars didn’t asked to be moved into our kitchen, so I had to take responsibility for them. I had to take my children by the hand and teach them how to be gentle with other who trust us, to nurture those who depend on us, to clean up after messes, and to watch for what they need.

It’s a good thing that we didn’t want the caterpillars to stay caterpillars forever because like with all things, they grew and changed. After a few weeks of munching on milkweed in the kitchen, they climbed up to the top and hung in the “J” position. Then when we weren’t watching, they formed a chrysalis in moments. We watched. We waited. We noted their color changes. And then as quickly as they made the chrysalis, they were big monarch butterflies, ready to fly. The truth is that I wanted to give them some oranges and ask them to stay for a while longer. But, the were no longer what I had loved a few weeks earlier. Their conditions had changed and they needed to be set free. They climbed onto my fingers and I carried them out the door, with the kids screaming right beside me. And when the butterflies were ready, when they knew it was time, they flew away onto their next adventure and their new life.

Monarch caterpillars were made to change, to journey a long migration and to pollinate flowers. Keeping them in my home helped us to understand their process a little better. But the real lesson came when we all realized that we could no longer give them the freedom they needed and it was time to let go.

Opportunity

2011-05-13T16:01:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
3-17-10

When I was little I did not go to preschool. I did not play soccer when I was four. Or come home from school with papers advertising upcoming activities. I remember the spring evening when I was eight that I saw the ad for softball signups. I had to beg my parents to let me play, as this was a major family decision.

Before there were softball signups, I enjoyed playing baseball with the neighbors, riding my bike to the park, making slime out of play dough and water, putting pennies on the railroad tracks and playing until I heard the dinner bell ring. I’ll bet you remember doing the same things, although that world is like a myth to our children now.

They live in a world that is inundated with opportunities, both educational and recreational. From the time my children were born, there were groups for them to join, languages for them to learn and things for them to create. And over the years, those opportunities have continued to multiply.

We have created this abundance of activities because we want our kids to grow up to be the best that they can be. We want to give them opportunities to learn what they can at a young age so that they excel when they get older. We want to foster the whole child, one who is balanced, active, encouraged and educated. We want to give them opportunities that we never had and we also want to continue to become better as human beings.

I am quickly learning that there are only so many hours in a day, though. At the beginning of the year, my 9 year old informed me that she wanted to do seven different activities between then and June. With three active kids and homework to finish every night, I had to think about the logistics. We could make it work, but what would I be teaching my children?

My son, who is four, played soccer last fall. Even as he desperately wanted to play, I remember being torn between putting my 4 year old in soccer and wondering if I didn’t put him in there now, would he be able to keep up with the others who did start soccer at four? I admit now that the last thought is pretty silly, but as a former athlete I know keeping up with your peers is part of the game.

It’s not just about falling behind, either. With childhood obesity of the rise, putting them in these activities keeps them away from the television and makes them active, both physically and intellectually. By giving our children all of these opportunities we are keeping them engaged in life. We’re teaching them to live life to its fullest, to grab opportunities by the horn, to make each day count.

But perhaps, that living life to the fullest method isn’t the best for them, either. I find that my kids aren’t really sure what to do with down time. There are days when they stare at me like I am the only one who can guide them to what’s next. They don’t lack creativity, but there’s little initiative to start or do something themselves. I also want to teach them to make decisions and be in control of some aspects of their lives.

For some, activities give the child an opportunity to like themselves. They gain confidence to not only express themselves in that medium, but also excel in other areas. That one activity may spark their interest in a way that drives them to learn about success, teamwork or hard work. And for others, being in an activity may take away from their self-esteem, put too much pressure on their lives or keep them from getting to know themselves.

One day when my daughters become mothers, they may struggle both as a parent and socially with saying no. If I bog down her life, if I allow her to participate in all seven activities am I teaching her to set personal limits, to take time for herself, to prioritize, to set boundaries and guidelines for her family?
It seems to me that their number one concern is to be a part of a family. I think that most kids are excited when their family sits down to dinner together, when they get to know their siblings or when they get one-on-one time with mom or dad. When our schedules are so busy, we take big chunks of that time away from the entire family.

Within the family is where our values start to develop. As a child, we had few opportunity choices, but we were encouraged to be good at the things that we were involved in. I figured out how to throw a ball not by hours of throwing instruction, but by just playing with my peers. Because they wanted to hit the ball the farthest and get to base, I had to learn to run faster and throw harder to make sure they didn’t. When my kids are so busy, they go from one thing to the next, not realizing what it takes to be good at anything because they are just participating and moving on to the next activity.

There is so much that goes into making decisions for our kids now. And there are so many decisions that our kids have to make now. But because we start them out so young with an abundance of opportunities, they have time to take a taste of them all. One year they can try softball and the next year they can do pottery. They can choose what they love and still have time to become good at it. And with our help of letting go of being involved in everything our children do, they can discover their childhood.

Parties Require Some Child Participation

2011-05-13T16:00:00.001-07:00

Mahomet Citizen Vol 156, No 22
June 3, 2009

Birthday parties are always such a special time for kids. If yours are anything like mine, they plan their parties all year long. They choose the theme, change it twelve times, and pick our the cake. They want to be included in planning the games, picking out the decorations and setting up for the party. This has been their dream all year long! And as parents, sometimes we let them participate and other times, when it’s not so convenient, we push them aside.

I am as guilt as anyone when it comes to not letting my kids fully participate. I have an idea of how I want the party to be and how I want things to look-perfect. But, there are so many ways to let your kids get involved in the making of their own party and lessons that they will learn along the way.

Not everyone has the same birthday party planning routine. I think that many times our lifestyles dictate the type of party we have for our kids as well as how we go about planning them. Will I buy or make the cards? What space do we have or will we need to rent something? Can I make a cake or will I need to order one? I realize that these are all factors in planning your child’s party.

But there’s something to be said for taking a step back from what we have in mind, what we have time for, what we want for our kids and letting them be involved with the process. This is a lesson I have learned and have gotten better at over the last couple of years. While I want to keep up with all the wonderful ideas in the magazines I read and what other kid’s parties are like, my children are just interested in helping, being a part of the process, throwing their ideas out and having a good, simple party.

Will your child put too much glue on the invitations? Will they come up with games that involve being blindfolded while having a dance party? Will they ask for an elephant? Will they make a mess while icing the cupcakes? Yes. The answer is yes. Your kids will not do everything perfectly and will have ideas that leave you with your eyes rolling.

The important part of planning your child’s party with them is that it gives them ownership and responsibility. They start to develop skills like following directions, making decisions and thinking outside the box. They will also help you to think outside of the box. Most importantly, though you are showing them that it’s important to you to include them, to take time out of your busy schedule to hang out with them, to celebrate who they have been, who they are and who they will become.

After all, who wants their kid crying at their birthday party? Or disappointed for days after because it’s not even a little bit of what they had in mind. The truth is that ten years down the road they won’t remember what the theme of their sixth or thirteenth birthday was. But they will remember making invitations, baking a cake or how their parents listened to them when they said they wanted to play football. They will remember spending time with you and you will have built a stronger relationship with them.

Sediments

2011-05-13T15:59:00.002-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
April 28, 2010

One of the classes I hated most in high school was geology. I mean, come on they’re rocks, they’re everywhere. Having not paid much attention in that class, I’m not going to say that I’m a rock expert here. My knowledge doesn’t go much farther than that there are three types of rocks: sedimentary, igneous and metamorphic. Over time these rocks can go through intense heating, cooling, erosion and burial. I know that an igneous rock can become a sedimentary rock and then become a metamorphic rock. Rocks form the base of this Earth and also add some unique landscaping.

My family likes to explore that landscaping. I think that if a teacher had taken me to Devil’s Lake in Wisconsin and showed me the layers of rocks on the sides of the hills, I would have been a little more interested in the process of compression and the effect the weather has on our world over long amounts of time. Instead, this is something I’ve learned to appreciate as an adult.

When you’re explorers (as we are by my own definition), you stop to examine the world around you. We stop to look at bugs, examine the way the light looks through the leaves and pick up rocks that shine, sparkle or make our minds imagine a world long before our own lives.

Last summer, we were visited Clifty Falls State Park in Southern Indiana. The landscape around the Ohio River Valley is just breathtaking. And we found ourselves at the bottom of a ravine where two waterfalls entered into the same stream. The bed of the creek was silver from clay that shimmered as the sunlight hit it. Many of the rocks along the sides and bed of the creek were too large to pick up, but then my daughter turned to me and held up a perfectly shaped heart-rock.

Perhaps the rock had been there from the beginning of time, but more than likely it had fallen from one of the falls near us and continued downstream by the force of the water. As she held it up for me to take a picture, I thought about how it may have started on a hillside and been broken away when a tree fell. Maybe someone then picked up the clump rock that it had become to see what kind of splash it would make in the water. The water may have carried the rock, bumping it against other rocks, chipping at its exterior. I’m sure that it endured floods, sticky Indiana summers and harsh frozen waters. This rock was no stranger to wind or rain or the animals that may have passed by. Then somehow, somewhere it ended up as a perfectly shaped heart.

Of course, we rescued it from any further damage. My daughter gave it to me and I keep it the little pouch of my daily planner. It serves as a reminder that maybe our hearts are a little like rocks. We all go through great pressures and changes that weather our hearts. We pick up sediments along the way, and sometimes create layers that mark our transformations Our hearts are often washed away by floods and they bounce over other rocks which chip away at the exterior. People pick up our hearts and skip them across the waters and other times we find those who rescue us from breaking apart.

The reality of rocks is that they’ve been around a lot longer than we have. If they had voices, they may tell us that no matter how our heart looks now, over time conditions will change its appearance. Those tumbles and bumps and bruises we endure may chip us apart at times, but they are what prepare our hearts to become unique.

The What's Now

2011-05-13T15:59:00.001-07:00

Mahomet Citizen Vol 156, No 33
August 12, 2009

At the end of July, I was at Hobby Lobby. As I passed the manager hanging up Christmas ornaments, I rolled my eyes at my kids asking about what kind of ornament they could get this year. While I understand the store’s desire to be organized, prepared, ready for the rush, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas couldn’t have been further for my mind while I ran around rounding up all the deals on school supplies.

It’s hard to live in the moment when you have young ones. Until recently, the summer has been long, with an event here and and there, but mostly lazy. But, as the kids get older, I feel like times moves faster and faster. I know when school begines, we’ll have homework to look ahead to, programs, holidays and after school activities. Us moms are always thinking five weeks ahead just to make sure that we’re organized, prepared, ready for the rush to come.

The kids are always in go mode too. When we are at, they love to create, to laugh and play. I’m always thinking about the next mess to clean up or what time it is for the next activity. We take a lot of trips, so they’re always ready for our next adventure too.

We spent the first weekend of August camping at Brown County State Park in Indiana. This was the kid’s first camping trip, so they had mixed emotions about what to expect. My three-year-old son couldn’t have been more delighted when his dad bought him is very own flashlight. If we needed light (or didn’t) he was there, ready to help. As the first day came to an end, we asked the kids to tell us their favorite part so far. He held up his flashlight with gusto and yelled, “My flashlight!” The next morning, we cooked breakfast on the grill. He was so excited to eat sausage and other goodies outside. Before we took off that morning, we asked what their favorite part was again. He yelled, “Breakfast!” Then, on the way home, we made a stop and he looked sad. I asked him what had him down. He told me that he missed the cousins that we were with while sinking his head into my belly.

It may be hard for us to see today sometimes, as we’re always looking forward. But, my son has helped remind me that just as we are always looking forward to what’s around the corner, it’s okay to be delighted int eh moment that we are in. That we may be thinking aobut dinner after the soccer game, but it’s the soccer game that matters. That it’s okay when our hearts are hurting to make that matter too. We don’t have to look to what’s next just to get through.

We can look ahead and be here at the same time. We might have our calendars planned for the month(s) ahead, but it’s today that matters. Just as my kids are the driving force for all of my planning ahead, they also remind me to take joy in the little parts of the things associated with our activities.

The Power of Two

2011-05-13T15:58:00.003-07:00

Mahomet Citizen Vol 156, No 24
June 17, 2009

Every day we drive past people who are walking. Just as we make the choice to drive, there are people who choose to walk and others who have no choice. For some walking is a struggle. Last week, I stopped for one of these persons. There was a man laboring with his cane down State Street in Champaign. I will admit that it took me a while to decide if I should pull over and ask him is I could help. As I approached him to see what help he needed, it was hard to make out what he was saying, but I could tell that he needed to go to the bank.

He sat down in the front seat of my van and fell asleep. When we got to the bank, I woke him, and he had me pull to the drive through window and the ladies knew exactly who he was. They calmly said his name and helped him with his withdrawal. He wanted eighty dollars, but only had forty-eight. He took it all. I drove him back to the building near where I found him, as he requested. I’m not telling you this story to promote picking up strangers on the side of the road. I am sharing this story because it cost me about two dollars to get him where he needed to go. I am sharing this story because these twenty minutes broke my heart. Helping people should be something that makes our hearts swell up because we’ve made someone else happy. They man wasn’t happy. He’s already forgotten out trip, I’m sure. But I keep thinking oabut what other types of things two dollars could do to help the man or others.

This summer, I have started a project called The Power of Two. I am leaving envelopes with a note and two dollars in unexpected places, wanting to hear what people do with the money. The project is still in the early stages, but through research I have found out a lots of ways two dollars can help many different groups of people.

I began by emailing organizations all over the coutry to see what they can do with two dollars. I learned that two dollars can by transportation for the homeless to get to the shelter, food drop or other services they might need. Healthy humans don’t necessarily like to walk all over town; for a homeless person, it is a whole lot harder.

I don’t believe that money can save anyone. I believe only one type of love can do that. On that we humans can’t give. What I can give, though, is socks, Chapstick, a bus pass, a meal. Little things that would help him on his everyday travels.

This man will be in my thoughts everyday as I know that I am fortunate for the things that I have, but that I can’t keep everything to myself. That there are people out there who just need to talk or need a ride to the bank.

Seeing the man on the street wasn’t an accident. It was an opportunity to help someone else. A small reminder that we can’t save anyone, but we can all find a way to make someone’s day a little easier and brighter.

You can follow my project as it grows on my blog at www.orangealad.blogspot.com. Even if you havent’s found an envelope, I am taking suggestion on what we can do with two dollars. Email me at danitietz8@gmail.com.

Keeping Your Word

2011-05-13T15:58:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
July 14, 2010

My husband’s office doesn’t get together often. The place he worked at about five years ago would host a summer picnic, a night at the bowling alley, Christmas party or a basketball team. The company he’s with now gets together for dinner or lunch meetings when they travel and they throw a very nice Christmas party, but that’s about it.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a lovely party and we’re very appreciative of it. My point is when the holidays roll around, I ask when the Christmas party is. But in the summer I don’t think much about if we’ll be having a barbeque or throwing a Frisbee with his co-workers. It’s just not something we’ve done in the past.

So, I was a little surprised when my husband asked if I wanted to go on a canoe trip with some people from work. It wasn’t a company organized event; just a few office friends getting together for a few hours of relaxation.

I was pretty excited as I want to get to know the people in his office better. I am very aware that a good way to get to know people is to be with them in situations where they are most comfortable or not comfortable at all. Canoeing is one of those activities where you either love it or struggle with it.

When he confirmed that we’d still be able to join the trip, we found out there were four guys who were planning on going and their significant others were coming along too. We’d meet early in the morning and spend the day on an eight-mile run down the river.

Our kids were with my in laws the week coming up to the trip, so we decided it would be a good time to test drive some cars. My husband worked all day, while I worked on some stories, then we spent our late afternoon and evenings test driving cars. As the week rushed by, we wanted to find that perfect deal.

Come Thursday, the group going on the canoe trip had dwindled by two wives. To me, it started to feel more like a boy’s trip that a couple girls would be intruding on, so I started thinking about how I could quietly drop out, send Andrew on his own and clean the house before the kids got back.

My husband, on the other hand, started thinking about all the car dealership sales I continuously mentioned and how we could go to Bloomington or Monticello to check out their selection. It’s not even that we didn’t want to go canoeing, but we both were thinking about not going on the canoe trip.

I can’t say that I’ve never done this before. I am invited to an event and it sounds really good at the time, but when it gets to the point of really going, I drop out pretty much last second.

This is a bad part of all of us. We think that we will not hurt the other person’s feelings. We think that the other people they invited will show up and we won’t be missed. But the truth of the matter is that we were invited along because the host is looking forward to the company. The host invests themselves by taking the time to think of the get-together, to plan the time together, they may clean the house, invest money and most of all they invest their imagination. Many hosts fill the planning time with love.

I have been on the other side of this situation also. I planned a party or a club or a meeting, and people say they’ll be there. Then a day or two before the event, the excuses start rolling in about work or sickness or rain or frogs falling from the sky. And then all of a sudden your expectations or day is pretty much ruined.

There have been times when I’ve questioned my intentions, when I didn’t understand why those people didn’t want to be around me, didn’t like me or questioned if they were really my friends at all. And then I always remember that I do this stuff too.

I understand that life takes over the best of us. Sometimes our kids really do get sick. And other times our spouse really is late getting home. There are days when I forget which day it is. And other days when something I’d rather do comes up.

There are reasons. And then there are excuses.

At this point, I knew that we couldn’t bail out on the canoe trip. And I told my husband that we weren’t going to be the people who bailed out on someone else because we had other things on our minds. Then when he came home from work a little late, he mentioned that he was stopped in the hallway by the other guys who had planned the trip. And that they were all really excited.

When early Saturday morning came around, we arrived promptly at Kickapoo State Park with a few water bottles in hand. We made some car appointments for later in the day so that we had enough time to spend with those people.

And I’m so glad that we did. We heard stories about how one of the guys grew up around the river and how he spends time wading in the water and fishing. He taught us how to read the river current so that we wouldn’t get stuck all of the time (which happened often). We laughed as another guy lost a few large bass. And we ate lunch together on the river bank while talking about radon and fossils. We experienced the beauty of Illinois while surrounded by clear water and bluffs that the Swallows built their nests in. The day was absolutely breathtaking. And we almost missed it.

I believe it is okay to say in advance that you can’t go to an event. There are definitely things we really can’t attend and so we should be honest and say no. And I realize that sometimes things really do come up. But part of being a friend is being available. And much of your character is sticking to your word. The truth of the matter is that you really can tell a lot about a person when they are put in a situation where they feel comfortable or uncomfortable. And there was a lesson to be learned in what we could put aside for another time.

A Little Help From a Friend

2011-05-13T15:57:00.001-07:00

Published by Mahomet Citizen
July 7, 2010

For Father’s Day weekend, we took my husband to hike in Shawnee National Forest. I’m definitely one to make a good plan or two, but I don’t like taking care of the details of those plans. I figured we’d get down to Shawnee and there’d be a sign that points to the forest or some of the big attractions there. But there weren’t any big flashing signs. If I had just winged the trip, we would have been completely lost.

Luckily, I know that I don’t like details. And while I wanted to surprise my husband with a weekend getaway, I told him of our plans two days ahead of time so that he could map out the details. He likes the details. He spent a few hours looking up a site that listed the five best Shawnee trails, and then plugged them into Google Maps on his Android phone and iPad. This was good for us because after we hiked around the Garden of Gods, which was marked, we followed some sketchy directions to the largest sand cave in the United States, which was not marked.

We drove through the middle of nowhere on some of the curviest roads I’ve ever driven on, looking for this sand cave. As we’re slowing down to look for a church to turn near, I spotted Sand Cave Road. I made one of those abrupt, wide turns. Then after passing two country looking houses, the road ended. I tried to take our very sporty Dodge Grand Caravan down the path, but it narrowed too quickly.

The cave was reportedly about a mile down the path, but with a 95 degree day and three kids, we had to make sure the cave was near. I pulled the car into a very small patch of overgrown grass, and got out to check a very small sign across the gravel road. Of course it couldn’t say, “The sand cave you are looking for is down that path,” but it did say that we were entering National Forest property.

We packed up some water and started down the path. About ten feet into our hike, a dog comes up behind us. He stopped at me for a friendly hello, and then walked ahead as if he was the tour guide for our trip.

This dog had what looked like a Saint Bernard head and a beagle colored body. By the length of his hair, I imagine there was some lab in him too. He had a collar, and some slobber hanging from his mouth. He didn’t look like he had a lot to offer, but he clearly wanted to be with us as we hiked.

This dog was comfortable in the lead role. He would get a little ahead of us, then would stop and wait as we looked at the mushrooms or leaves. Where the path was filled with water or overgrown brush we would have trudged through, he showed us paths around so we would be more comfortable on the rest of our hike. When the path had a Y, he led us the right way around part of a cliff, and then we were there. The sand cave.

Puppy (by this point my kids had named him) rested while we made our voices echo and looked at how the plants were growing at the mouth of the cave towards the sunlight. As we were getting ready to go back to the van, he encouraged us to continue around the bend to where there were shear 50 foot rocks. Cliffs like we had never seen before.

While we stood marveling at the wonders we didn’t think were possible in Illinois, Puppy took some time to explore other parts of the forest. Maybe we should have followed him, but we decided to head back to the van. And then, he came barreling from behind us as if he had failed at his job.

He was a little more relaxed this time, though. He let my husband lead while he drank water out of the puddles. He took the left part of the Y while we took the right side. He followed us all the way back to our car, then plopped down right in front of it so that we couldn’t leave without running him over. Since we loved him now, that would have been a tough thing to do.

My husband tried to talk him away. Then I took a water bottle, trying to give him a treat for his help. When you’re a dog, it is hard to drink from a water bottle, so he wasn’t too interested. Then, another car pulled into one of the driveways with a mom and a group of kids. He looked at me, and then trotted off to his home.

For the rest of the day I thought about how peculiar and special this dog is. He is one of those souls that change the way you look at the world around you. He is like that friend who quietly leads you when you feel lost. The one that walks you around puddles and helps you through the brush in life. He is the gentle companion that waits at the exit while you are inside a very large cave. It’s like he took our hand and showed us what we were looking for, and then gave us that extra nudge to see those beautiful things that we may not have seen ourselves.

I kind of wanted to take him with us so that he could be our dog forever. But there were kids in that car. I assume that they needed him more than we did. I’ll be he walks them around puddles too.

About More Than Just Hair

2011-05-13T15:56:00.002-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
June 23, 2010

When I was pregnant with my oldest daughter, my friends would joke that I would have a basketball in her hands from the moment she was born. Because I love the game of basketball, they imagined she would have no choice but to spend countless hours near the hoop with me perfecting my dreams for her. Or maybe they thought that loving a game is hereditary.

If you look up the word tomboy in the dictionary, you may see my picture as the definition. As a child my days were spent riding my bicycle around town going from one game to the next. On my dad’s days off, he would teach me how to pitch curveballs to the boys, and would post up on me like he would someone who was five inches taller than he.

Until I was in the third grade, I had long golden brown hair that rested just below my shoulder blades. Then it was cut off so short that you could part it just enough to have a side spike. My dad cried as he saw me for the first time. I was a rough one who loved sports and wanted to win my dad’s affection.

That is until I was a teenager. I remember telling my dad that I wanted to let my hair grow out again as we rode to a game in his pickup truck. He told me it was just because I wanted to wear it in a ponytail like the other girls. And maybe he was right because even as my hair grew to the point where I could actually curl it, I wore it in a ponytail nearly every day.

Naturally, I became curious about what I need to do to be one of the girls. I tried to wear my younger sister’s clothes, but felt uncomfortable and insecure. My sister and her friends would tease me because I didn’t know how to put on eye shadow, and my dad would comment that I didn’t paint my nails the right way. It’s true; I had no clue.

I spent the summer between my junior and senior year of high school with my aunt and uncle in Florida. My aunt kept telling me how beautiful I was, and that I needed to wear clothes that fit my body, not the jeans that were bought in the men’s department or the t-shirt I got at basketball camp. The more she pushed by taking me shopping or asking what I liked, the more I pushed her away because I didn’t know what I should like or if it was right for me.

Flash forward a few years and I have two little girls who are more interested in looking at the new Justice catalogue than they are getting sweaty. They change their earrings to match their outfit everyday, and know more about what to do with their hair at 7 and 9 than I know what to do with my hair at 30. They feel most comfortable wearing dresses, playing with makeup, creating arts and crafts, or learning how to do the splits. There are definitely days when I ask God why I have two girls who are so different than me. It’s not that I want them to be someone different; it’s just that I often don’t know how to relate to them or how to give them the opportunities they need.

We have spent the last week preparing for their first dance recital. I spent a lot of worry time trying to figure out how to do a low bun with a side part and a ponytail with a piece of hair wrapped around the band. We made a special trip to Wal-Mart to buy makeup for their little faces.

I told them that I had no idea what I was doing. And my oldest said, “Mom, you can just watch my American Girl Doll hair video. It explains these things on there.” I know that there are other moms out there who can just whip these things up. And having to resort to a video to show me how made me feel quite a bit inadequate.

My friends chuckle along with me, though, and raise their hands in defeat as they also aren’t sure exactly what to do with their daughters. It’s not that theirs are as girlie as mine, but that we all have children who challenge our knowledge a little bit. I can’t think of one parent who says, “My child is just like me! We like to do all the same things and our temperaments match perfectly!” It seems that every parent struggles with their children being somewhat different than who they are.

But for me, the best part of being a parent is helping them find a way to answer their questions, struggles and joys. My daughters stretch who I am in ways I couldn’t have imagined before having them. I guess that I too, pictured little Danis running around the basketball court. Instead, I have learned that the beauty of parenthood is letting go of who we think we are and nurturing our children for who they are by giving them knowledge that develops who they want to be.

My girls weren’t blessed with a mom who was trained in the art of being a girl. I know this trip down girlie lane is only going to become more difficult for me. We have talks coming up that I’m not sure how to approach. I know their time in the bathroom is going to get longer, and that their emotions are going to become raging machines. I don’t think that God gave me girlie girls to make me feel lacking, but so that I could have a chance to step outside of myself for someone else, so that I could learn how to foster individuality and so that I can show my daughters what it means to be a parent.

And in some ways, I think that God gave me girlie girls so that I have a chance in this lifetime to be a girlie girl too. I will admit that while it continues to be an emotional rollercoaster for me, in many ways, I love it!

Finding Home in Mahomet

2011-05-13T15:56:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
May 12, 2010

When I was born, my parents rented a house in the small town of Farmersburg, Indiana. They lived in an old farm house on a dirt road about a half mile away from friend who has watched me grow from a newborn to the woman I am today. She knows my parents and loved my Grandma. I keep her updated on the changes we make throughout the years, but I don’t have to tell her the stories of my past. She knows me and loves me all the same. And even though her house and the house my parents rented have been torn down by the coal mining companies, when I am with her, I feel like I am home.

After living in Farmersburg for about a year, my parents moved our family seven times after that. In each town, I would know the neighbors, the streets, the kids in my classes and would, at times, become attached to their parents. I was usually scared to go home and enjoyed being outside, so while the roof we lived under was the place I slept and ate, it was the people I was around that made those places home.

Needless to say, I never felt settled. Parts of me wanted to be with the friends I was missing while the other part of me was always looking forward to the next move where the boys were promised to be cuter and life would be what it was supposed to be. Then one day I started to dream of my own home.

My husband and I have been married for 10 years come this June. Pile on a couple of leases, a few sold houses and some minor wrong turns and we’ve accumulated 10 moves of our own.

I’m not sure that we ever intended to stay in Mahomet. When my in-laws moved here from Indiana over 11 years ago, we were told that this was a bedroom community. Our impression was that people lived here so that their kids could attend good schools while they worked and played in Champaign. We thought that most people moved here for a while, then moved on to bigger and better things in bigger and better towns. And we planned on doing the same.

Until about a year ago, that’s all Mahomet was to us, a stepping stone. Then something changed. I changed. Not like an overnight changed, but a process of actually seeing and believing what has been in front of me all along. I began to see the “home” in Mahomet.

I will admit that I love how safe my kids are here. I am able to volunteer at the schools, eat lunch with them and see just how much they are cared for by the teachers, staff and principals. I know that there are many of the same opportunities for them here as there are in bigger cities, but with class sizes that are smaller. I am encouraged that they should know the names of everyone in their graduating class. I love that they can play outside with the neighbors and ride their bikes throughout our neighborhood.

I know that all kids make mistakes and that they fall, they learn, grow and laugh. For me there is a security that other community members aren’t using this town as a stepping stone, but will be here and will watch the kids grow up and watch over them too. I hope that they will be able to come to Mahomet one day to visit friends who will already know their stories and will be excited to see who they have become.

There is something magical about childhood friends. Over spring break I had dinner with a friend who has known me since I was a boastful teenager. She’s seen me be arrogant and crushed, mean and loyal. She knows all the nasty parts of me, as I know the insecurities of her. So when we looked each other in the eye and shared how we finally feel like we are becoming who we are supposed to be, that we are comfortable in our own skin, we knew what that meant to each other. And we felt like we were home, although we were hundreds of miles from Lafayette. There were no back stories, although we shared happy stories, sad stories and stories we never saw coming as children. It was just nice to be known.

And that’s why so many of us go home. It’s not because we like our old rooms decorated with Bon Jovi posters or mom’s new doily’s and glass birds, but because we want to have people who see us for who we really are and loves us all the same. We want to be among people who we can eat ten brownies with or those who don’t care if we stay in our pajamas all day. We want to be among our people who know our stories and have seen us change.

Few of us actually live in the houses we grew up in. With the way that the world is today, we probably don’t live in the same towns that we grew up in, either. We get older, buy our own beds, fall in love and many times we have kids. But we still long for that place where we feel like we are accepted no matter who we are or what we are going through.

A few months ago, my husband and I talked about how much we had changed over the last ten years. We thought that maybe it would be nice to move far away where there were lots of adventures and new people to meet. People who would get to know us for who we are rather than who we have been. But the truth is that I feel most comfortable with my husband because he knows exactly who I am, even though he hasn’t known me my whole life. And the people who I feel most comfortable being around may not know my whole story, but they don’t question who I am and know who I am working on becoming.

This stage of my life is here. Mahomet is not a place that has mountains or beaches or our childhood memories, but a place where we go to the grocery store and see our friends. It is a place where we enjoy parks for picnics and hiking. It’s a place where I like my kid’s friends and enjoy getting to know their parents. Mahomet is a place filled with people who have seen our family grow in numbers and size, have seen our struggles in becoming adults, have been there for us in times when we were sad and have accepted us as we have chosen to become more outgoing and involved. In this small town, we are safe and challenged, but most importantly have amazing friends who know and love us all the same. So, we are no longer searching for a place to run to, but have decided to plant our roots in the place where we belong.

The Importance of Our Rings

2011-05-13T15:55:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
June 9, 2010

I lost my wedding ring once. My husband and I were playing a game of HORSE at my parent’s house one spring day. As I shot the ball, the ring flew off my hand and into the grass next to the cement driveway. We searched for a while as he assured me that it would be okay if it were gone. We could buy another ring.

As it started to rain, we went inside. My heart sank to my stomach at the thought of not having our wedding band. So, with tears running down my face, he and I went back out in the rain to search for the ring.

Our wedding rings aren’t anything spectacular. I don’t think I’ve ever flashed my ring finger at anyone. Being two college kids with no money, there was no diamond. I wouldn’t have worn it anyway; I’m not much of a ring gal. At the time, he was selling electronics at Sears, so with the discount and our Sears credit card we were able to purchase two very modest rings. Gold with silver stripes in them. The rings are simple, to the point, without clutter or fuss. The rings are just like us.

Now, I’m not a fashionista by any stretch of the imagination. But, if I’m wearing silver earrings, I’m not going to pair that with a gold necklace. I thought about this when we picked out our rings; that gold and silver aren’t metals that I would wear together. To me, in the jewelry world, they are kind of opposites.

My husband and I don’t have a whole lot in common. He might be the silver to my gold. When I think of silver, I think of someone who is wise and sometimes a little cold. When I think of gold, I think of warmth and something that is can be shaped into many different forms.

In our pre-marriage counseling, his pastor told us that marriage is when two people become one. We were raised as individuals. We fostered our own dreams, our own plans, and our own belief system. And then one day we made a promise to each other and had to figure out how to put all of those things together. Anyone who has been married for a while knows that this doesn’t happen overnight.

Andrew has always been a driven-worker; he’s focused, visual, quiet, impatient, forgiving, even-tempered, competitive and honest. He feels uncomfortable around people and doesn’t become attached easily. He doesn’t like to be idle and the only time he gets emotional is when he talks about how much he loves me and the kids. On the other hand, I have always been emotional. I am quirky and easily distracted. I can strike up a conversation with anyone; I carry a bitter heart, think in big ideas and long sentences and believe that love can conquer anything. He stays up late and sleeps in while I go to bed early and usually wake up with worry before the sun is up.

Ten years ago, I’m sure that no one thought we would make it this far because all we really had in common was that we’re conservatives, we don’t like to have a lot of things and we both believe in God. That’s about it. And, even in those categories, we have different approaches.

No one believed we would make it this far, except for us. We knew that we were young and weren’t even close to figuring ourselves out, but we also knew that the thing that made us work was that we encouraged each other’s individuality and that we would work hard to grow closer everyday. We knew that just like silver and gold we were malleable for each other.

Sure, we get under each other’s skin and have times when we don’t understand each other. But instead of wrapping ourselves up in anger towards each other, we have learned that while we can stick to our individuality, we can also bend a little the other way.

I have taught him that while his dream is to create and be successful, he also needs to take time for the people he loves. I’ve added a little adventure and distraction into his life. He isn’t quite as shy as he used to be, he says thank you to waiters and thinks about the feelings of others. He has torn down my walls and taught me to let go of the small things and forgive the big. I am more grounded now and as he has trusted me, I have begun to feel like I am worthwhile.

To me, those rings represent what is real. He has brought me to understand what true love is. He carries a piece of me on his finger and I carry a piece of him on mine. He may be the silver and I may be the gold, but we don’t try to change each other. Our rings symbolize more than just how different we are, they also symbolize a promise that although life will throw circumstances at us, we are able to find common ground and balance each other out. In appearance, silver and gold seem to be opposites, but they are also precious metals that are soft enough to be molded into various forms, they don’t rust and are very enduring.

Happy 10th Anniversary, Lovie! Thank you for loving me in the way that only you can. We are not only stronger individuals now, but together we have built good things that were unimaginable 10 years ago. Those good things work because we are stronger when we are together. You have all my love forever!

Hugs for Every Occasion

2011-05-13T15:54:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
May 26, 2010

When my dad would leave for work in the afternoon, he would pick me up and squeeze my little body until I could hardly breathe. It was uncomfortable and I remember squirming away, but that Bear Hug was consistent. It was something we shared in our goodbyes, in victory or in giggle times.

As I got older, our hugs changed quite a bit. Sometimes, they were his open arm so that I could rest my head on the side of his big body. And other times they were gentle, as if he was saying he could wash all of my cares away.

Some have suggested that a hug has become the new handshake. Even the large men we see on television after our favorite professional games don’t just grab hands and nod; they shake and wrap their other arm around their teammates or opponents. I can’t say that I think the hug is the new handshake; both have their place in our society, but the older I get, the more I understand the importance and the messages behind the hugs we give.

I wouldn’t classify myself as a hugger. There are times when I want to hug and others when I don’t. There are times when I question whether a hug is appropriate and other times when I think that maybe I hug too much. What I do know is that we all need a hug from time to time and that the way we hug carries a message.

We all are familiar with the Hello or Goodbye Hug. This is a genuine, but sometimes quick hug where you embrace with both arms and may pat each other on the back. You’ve met before and share affection for each other, but don’t really need to embrace all day long.

Then there’s the Non-Huggers Hug. I have come to learn that there are non-huggers in this world. It’s just not something that everyone is comfortable with. They wrap one arm around your shoulder and lean in. It’s not that this person doesn’t like you; they just only kind of want to hug you. And that’s okay.

There is the Congratulations Hug; the hug where you are so happy for someone that you can hardly contain yourself. And the Consoling Hug where something awful has happened and you want to soak up all of the pain with your arms. There’s the I’m Sorry Hug where you know you’ve goofed and know the hug isn’t going to fix anything. And then there’s the Forgiving Hug, where you’re able to let go of your troubles and move on.

I’m one to give my kids a Protective Hug. This is a combination of an I Love You Hug, a You’re Special Hug, I Understand Hug and I Won’t Let Anything Happen to You Hug. But I know those hugs aren’t just reserved for children, as I often give them to my friends too.

There’s the Thank You Hug, Good Game Hug, the Sneak-Up-Behind You and Clobber You Hug, the Side-to-Side Hug, the Arm-Around You and Rub Your Back Hug, the Bear Hug, the Hand-to-Chest Hug and the Snuggle Hug. Then there’s the Awkward Hug where you know you’re supposed to hug someone and you’re only doing it because you’re expected to.

But the hugs I love the most aren’t the ones we get everyday. They are reserved for the most genuine of relationships; the ones where each person loves the other so intensely that they almost don’t want to let go. You’re just content with being that close. These hugs are ones where you walk up and literally just breathe in the goodness of each other. Because you know there’s so much there. It’s the I Accept You For Exactly Who You Are Hug.

I often wonder why people stand on corners with signs saying “Free Hugs.” Maybe it’s because we don’t get the kind of hugs we need often enough. Or maybe it’s because some people believe a hug can solve the world’s problems. I can’t really tell you what it is about that closeness that we long for, but I do know this: while words generally aren’t said with a hug, there is so much that can be taken away.

A Few Days of Chaos

2011-05-13T15:53:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
August 4, 2010

In the days my husband is gone on a business trip, our routine doesn’t change much. We still go to school, eat and sleep, but making sure I get everything done by myself adds some stress to our days. While there is some excitement about having the whole bed to myself for a few days, those dreams soon end when my son is sleeping on my stomach or I just can’t fall asleep at all. Those few days without him there always prove to be hectic, unrelenting and lonely.

As his trips have become more frequent, I have developed a few de-stress tips that make the time less monotonous or demanding.

Clean Up the House Before He Leaves
It is harder to make sure that the upstairs isn’t a gigantic mess when you’re a short order hot dog chef. Before he takes off, make sure all the laundry is done, all the dishes are clean and the bathrooms are fresh. Starting the week or the day with a clean house helps everything else run more smoothly.
With that said, don’t be a stickler for perfection while he’s gone. Leave the toys out, don’t do the laundry one day or don’t make the bed. Many of these tasks are left undone when there are two of you.

Keep Meals Easy
More than likely, your kids will fuss over the elaborate and healthy meal you and your husband might eat. Instead of dirtying a lot of dishes and spending a lot of preparation time, make a grill cheese, eat breakfast for dinner or order a pizza. You also don’t have to plan dinner for the time that your husband will be home, so quick fixes will help keep your evening light.

Catch Up On You
After the tots go to bed, you’ll have some quiet time before you fall asleep. Focus this time on you. Pick up a new book from the library and lose yourself in it, catch up on your favorite TV show or spend quiet time getting those projects you push aside all the time done. It’s also okay not to do anything. You can just lie in bed and enjoy the quiet time. This is time to reconnect with you.

Plan a Few Activities With the Kids
Depending on what time of year it is, there are various activities that will grab your kid’s attention and make time without their dad a little more bearable. If it’s around Easter, dye eggs with them, make cookies and fly a kite. Give the kids an idea of your plans before their dad leaves. This will give them something to look forward to in his absence.

Do Chores In Bulk
If you have more than one kid, bath time, bedtime and homework can be hectic. While the kids are young, make bath time and bedtime group time. Put more than one kids in the bathtub or instead of reading everyone their own stories, snuggle up on your bed and read a few smaller book to them before putting them in their own beds.
One of the hardest things to do on your own is homework with each kid. Have the older kids help the younger ones with their reading, tell the others to play while you give one-on-one attention or sit all the kids at the table and do group homework. These practices take some stress out of a sometimes stressful time.

Rely On Your Support System
It’s hard to ask for help, but when one kid has to be at softball and the other has tae kwon do, it’s impossible to be in two places at one time. Let your close friends or family know that you’ll need them on standby. Don’t be afraid to pawn the kids off for an hour so you can take a shower or take that invitation for dinner. You’ll be there for her when she asks for help.

Don’t Seclude Yourself
Your world may not include much adult conversation while your guy is out of town. Even though he may be in meetings or at dinner, make sure you call your husband as you normally would throughout the day. Of course you’ll be juggling a few extra tasks while he’s gone, but don’t cut everyone else off. Take a few minutes to catch up with your loved ones.

Don’t Spread Yourself Too Thin
Sometimes women tend to wear themselves thin by taking on the world. This is the case even when our husbands are at home. It’s okay to say no. And not being superwoman is okay too.

Let Your Tension Go
When your son has been crying for hours and your husband calls to tell you about his steak dinner, tension can rise. When he’s gone on a business trip, he will get alone time, he will eat out and he won’t have to listen to the whining the way that you do. These are things you know before he goes. Instead of getting upset with him, let him know that it’s not a good time to talk about his steak. At this point, there is nothing he can do to help you with the kids and getting more upset isn’t going to help you in the long run.

He’s Back
He’s been busy and is tired too, but it’s really not a good time for him to take a nap. Encourage him to put work aside for a little while so that all of you can reconnect. It’s also okay to have him pick up the kids from school or to run the daily errands. Giving yourself some time to take a breath may not happen right away, but it’s also important to take some time away too.

When it comes down to it, you may have time and energy to implement one or two of these things while he’s away. The reality is that parenthood is an unpredictable life. Each day may have a routine, but so many aspects of your child can change what happens and what doesn’t. Implementing these suggestions in small strides here the there will make your solo time a little less stressful. The truth is that whether you work or stay home, you’re still doing a great amount of work while he’s gone.

Put Your Best Foot Forward

2011-05-13T15:52:00.002-07:00

Published Mahomet Citizen
August 25,2010

My oldest daughter met her best friend in their first grade class. The two girls are very opposite in their personalities, and after a year of watching them rub off on each other socially and academically, we asked for them to be placed in the same class the following year. Then, to our surprise, they were in the same third grade class. This has made the transitions between grades and schools easier for them.

The days prior to finding out her fourth grade placement, she was filled with anticipation and worry over who her teacher would be and if she would have any friends in her classroom. I talked to my daughter about how there really wasn’t any way that she would be in the same classroom with her best friend again. The probability of it happening again was not good.

And it probably wouldn’t be good for the girls to be in a classroom together, either. I talked to her about how great their friendship is, but that the two of them needed to continue growing individually, how it is good for them to have some time apart, and how the both need to become friends with other people.

So, with an open heart, she walked up to the cafeteria window at Lincoln Trail and skimmed through the fourth grade list until she found “Tietz.” She had not heard of her teacher before, so then she looked down the class list. While her best friend wasn’t listed, she pointed out that she knew two girls in her class. Then she looked for her friend’s name, noting that there was only one girl she would know in her class.

This was kind of a bitter-sweet moment for me. I want my daughter to be challenged both academically and socially so that she will be able to adapt in the future. I think that it is great that they mix up the class lists because when the students get to junior high and high school, they will feel more comfortable knowing more of their peers, and have the skill needed to meet new ones.

But then standing with her, looking at the uncertainty on her face, I knew that having them together would make that transition a little easier.

Many other parents standing around me had a pad of paper of their cell phones writing down the names of classmates for their children. Of the seven families around the window, she was lucky to know two girls in her class.

Even as adults we struggle with the uncomfortable situations surrounding meeting new people. My cousin just started a new job organizing projects and programs for a Career-Technology Center in Ohio. This is a job she’s done before, but she was nervous about meeting the people she’d be working with on a daily basis. She said that she had built so many great relationships at her old job, and hoped that the new job would be the same.

My cousin is someone who can and will strike up a conversation with anyone, though. A few weeks ago we went to visit her in Ohio. She had a prior commitment to running a booth at the State Fair, so we decided to see her there. While teaching kids how to make plastic or soap out of soybeans, she chatted with their parents. While on her lunch break, she ate lunch with and learned the stories of the shuttle bus drivers. And while we were walking around the fair looking at the horses pulling carriages, she turned and waved at one of the drivers as if she was a friend from high school. Actually, the girl was someone she had met at the booth the day before.

No matter how outgoing or shy we are, I think we all hesitate and ask, “How will I fit in?” “Will I know anyone there?” “What if we don’t hit it off?” And in those moments, just like my daughter, we hope to have someone we’re comfortable with by our side.

It is inevitable that we will face uncertainty and nervousness about who or what is ahead. It’s good that she is familiar with a few girls in her class, but she’s also trying to figure out how she’s going to fit in with them.

We sat down and had another talk about a time in my life when I knew the road ahead was changing and I wanted to hold onto all of my safeguards. Someone wrote to me that she hoped I would share “all of your innate wonderfulness so that the best of everyone and everything will be drawn to you.”

It took me twelve years to believe this: that I had innate wonderfulness. But now that I do, I feel like I have something to share with the world around me. And I am able to see that I have something in common with everyone else.

That can be a little confusing for a nine year old (or a 40 year old) so I told her that she is smart, kind, creative, respectful, friendly and loving. When meeting people, she should put the kindness and friendliness out there because more than likely, the people she’s meeting will offer the same back.

Being the smart gal that she is, she pointed out that not everyone is always nice and respectful. And I will add that some people are fake and disingenuous. But I also believe that a real choice we have is who we are to other people. I believe that there is good in everyone. And I have seen that if you keep putting all the goodness that truly comes for your heart out there, eventually, their innate goodness will come out too.

Music in the Car

2011-05-13T15:52:00.001-07:00

Published Mahomet Citizen
September 8, 2010

In the mid 1980’s, my dad took my sister and I to our local Wal-Mart to buy our family’s first cassette tape. In the dining room, we had a large Zenith record player, and he would sing while playing his guitar; but this cassette tape would be the start of our portable collection.

This was also a big deal because with four children, my parents were on a budget. We went straight to the discounted area. I can’t remember the selection there, but I do remember my dad assuring us that we would like the Beach Boys over our moans and groans.

While I listened to MC Hammer, New Kids on the Block and Paula Abdul in my bedroom, throughout the house or in our pickup truck we listened to the music my dad grew up listening to. In the years that followed our trip to Wal-Mart, he filled up a small, black cassette book with the Doors, the Beatles (not the big hits), Natalie Cole, Dan Fogelberg, Cat Stevens and Crosby Stills and Nash, among an assortment of folk artists.

Whenever we went fishing, to the drop zone, to the grocery store or to basketball games, we would listen to these albums repeatedly. I came to sing and even know the sequence of the songs on the cassette tape because rewind and fast forward were always such a pain.

Even as an adult, I knew that whenever I got in my dad’s car, we would listen to his favorites. But I took joy in knowing that I had acquired a taste for music that was similar to his, and was able to introduce him to some current artists.

Now I enjoy a variety of music. I’m always searching for new artists, while finding comfort in the music my dad introduced me to as a child.

While I am fortunate enough not to have to mess with cassette players and CDs, the music on my mp3 player is constantly changing. Some days I feel like blaring Black Eyed Peas while the kids aren’t in the car, and other days I make them giggle with Vampire Weekend or sing along with them to the rich folk music of Carrie Newcomer. But when we take long trips, I make sure to include a variety of artists and genres so that we all can be entertained in the car.

This summer, I made the extra effort to include music that my husband could whistle to and that my children could sing to. That’s right. I put Selena Gomez and Miley Cyrus and High School Musical on my mp3 player. So, I guess I also included music that would make my husband roll his eyes.

Then I started thinking about singing Barbara Ann with my dad, so I decided to include that Beach Boys album that we bought when I was their age. I also included the Abby Road, “Moonshadow” and the Mamas and the Papas. I put the list on shuffle so that no one would have to be bored for too long.

Even with this attempt, the girls had their mp3 players on so loud that I could hear them in the front seat over the car speakers.

But there were those moments when we were getting close to our destination (and they took the earphones out) that I would blare Beach Boys songs. The kids whined and complained and rolled their eyes while my husband and I split up the parts to “Barbara Ann.”

While we were making fools of ourselves, I thought about how fortunate I was to have a dad who introduced me to his favorites. And I hope that my kids will one day enjoy listening to the off-the-charts music like I do. At the very least, I hope that one day they will find comfort in listening to some of the music I love, and in some ways I hope that it will help them get to know their grandpa.

Sunsets in Illinois

2011-05-13T15:51:00.001-07:00

Published Mahomet Citizen
September 22, 2010

Interstate 74 has become a bit of a staple in my family’s travel arrangements. My husband’s parents live in Cedar Rapid, Iowa, so we take 74 to meet up with I-80 in the Quad Cities. I-74 also takes us to Indiana, where we visit many friends and family.

When I lived in Indiana I thought the land was flat, uninteresting and full of corn. But when we moved to Illinois I could hardly deal with the flat, uninteresting landscape that is full of corn. The only place I have been to that is flatter and more uninteresting is western Nebraska and eastern Colorado, right before the Rocky Mountains. Even the parts of Kansas and Oklahoma I have been to are surprisingly hillier.

This change was hard for me to deal with the first eight years we lived here. I made sure I took my kids to Indiana at least once per season and my heart would light up as we crossed Danville into Indiana. We were greeted by those roads lined with trees and the rolling hills made some sort of weight come off my shoulders.

As much as I had wanted to leave Indiana after college, I begged my husband to move us back where we could nestle a house on a side of a hill and tuck our worries away under the trees. He told me there wasn’t much difference between Indiana and Illinois.

There are few places in central Illinois where you can’t see the sky for miles. We know when rain is rolling in, how fast a storm is coming, how the crops are doing and we can see the effects of the seasons. The only things that are really hidden are some farm houses, which are shielded by trees, protecting them from the almost constant breezes and sometimes brutal winds.

Having everything out in the open like this was an adjustment for me. I felt like the only place to be in the woodsy solitude I enjoyed so much was at Lake of the Woods.

Because of this, I’ve spent many summer days in Indiana. Since moving here, it has been a nice change for me. But this summer, I began to feel differently about the land I loved.

At the end of June I drove to Bloomington, Indiana by myself for a friend’s graduation party. As I exited the interstate in Crawfordsville, I got to drive down one of my favorite stretches of U.S. 231. The road curves through the valleys and trees that shield your sight from everything except for what is right in front of you. There are some open fields, but it’s not like driving down Route 47 where you can see for miles. Eventually, your sight is cut off by a large group of trees.

As evening approached, I knew I needed to start the four hour drive home. From my friend’s driveway, we could see the tops of thunderheads to the east. I thought that because those clouds had passed, I would be alright on my way home. I called my husband to tell him I was leaving, and asked him to keep an eye on the radar for me, as I knew I wouldn’t be able to see very far.

Driving northwest, I could see the sky starting to darken, but I couldn’t tell if it was just rain or if a storm was near. Then Andrew called to tell me that in about 20 minutes I would see some heavy thunderstorms, so I needed to be careful.

As I approached Greencastle, cars were pulling to the side of the road because the rain was so heavy. We couldn’t see the road in front of us. Then my heart started pounding as the wind picked up significantly, bring down leaves and limbs. Hail began to tap on the car too. I feared a tornado would rip through the trees at any moment (because I always think tornado when there is high wind.)

Eventually, the rain let up a bit, so I nervously began to drive again. For the first time in Indiana, I couldn’t wait to get back to Illinois where I didn’t feel so unsure. Where I could see what was in front of me.

U.S. 231 opens up right before I-74 in Crawfordsville. I was able to see the rain swirl in a storm to the north, but didn’t know how far back west the storm went. I was unsure about being in that wind on the interstate with semi-trucks around. My husband thought I’d be alright until I hit Illinois.

Aside from a few gusts of wind coming from the north, I was okay. But after I crossed that Illinois border, I felt a sense of peace come over me. I could see a big, orange sunset with pink sky miles away.

I knew that if any more storms were coming towards me, I’d be able to see their big nastiness. I would be able to prepare myself. But I also sensed that it was more than just the big, open spaces of Central Illinois that I’ve become accustomed to.

While I lived in Indiana and the first eight years that I lived in Illinois, I wanted to hide myself in those hills and trees. I might have seemed beautiful and strong to some because I was that curvy, interesting drive nestled in the valleys. But with that I was also that person who built up walls around her, blindsiding people with my storms.

Somewhere through the years, I realized that people could still see my blackening sky and that they were calling home to their husbands to see what might be over the horizon. With all of my walls torn down, I am free to be myself. I may be flat and uninteresting at times, but I also have nothing to hide.

I still love Indiana’s beautiful landscape and adventure. That state will always hold a special place in my heart. But I think that my personality belongs in the big, open sky of Illinois. As my heart becomes an open book, I am transparent and vulnerable, but while my storms are right there for all to see, so are my most wonderful sunsets.

What You Already Knew

2011-05-13T15:50:00.000-07:00

Published Mahomet Citizen
October 6, 2010

You’re dad is gone on a business trip tonight, so you’ve decided to sleep next to me. I can’t say that I like it when he’s gone because I don’t sleep well. But I also get a little excited because when he’s gone, you’ll crawl into bed with me.

You say you’re keeping his spot for him.

You’re a familiar comfort for me, as you spent the first three years of your life fighting to be in our bed. Most night you won.

I like to watch television before I fall asleep, and I get a little annoyed as you always talk right over the shows. But I listen to what you want to say, letting you stay up later than I normally do because we can be lazy in the morning after the girls go to school.

Tomorrow is always a big day for you. I know you’ve made plans and need to share them with me.

There are mornings when I miss how you used to wake me up by rubbing my face with your small hand. But I also enjoy the mornings when you climb under the covers at the foot of our bed, trying not to wake us up, but wanting to be close.

When you were three, you began to get too big and started sleeping sideways, and the bed became too crowded. So, over the last year we’ve been in the routine of you falling asleep in your big boy bed. And you stay there all night.

You’re not just sleeping in your big boy bed. Over the last year you’ve stopped describing letters by lines and know their names and can hear their sounds. The cartoons and cereal aren’t quite as interesting as a quick game of Crazy Eights or Wii before the girls go to school.

From the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep, you are the busiest little guy I know. You need gobs of food to help your body keep up with everything that is going through your head. There are competitions to win, planes to build, and an array of balls to put into all sorts of goal. And somewhere during the course of the day, you need to make sure that your birthday is still on schedule.

And it is. It’s here, buddy. You’re the full hand now.

All moms think about the day that their children were born. And some moms think about the way their children have changed. Others think about what new milestones the next number will bring.

I have been so lucky to spend all of this time with you. To get to say home and tag along together. I know the number of our unrushed days like you know the number of days until your next soccer game. It is inevitable that they will pass too quickly.

Over the last year I have noticed that while you are excited about the Wii, have more Legos than any kid could use, a room full of action figures and trains, your main focus is always what to do and who is around to share those experiences with.

Being by yourself has never been an option. That’s why you slept with us so long. That’s why you count down the days until you get to see your best friend or the hours until your sisters come home.

It’s more than just not wanting to play alone. You need to share the experience of building a new train track or learning how to spell new words. It has taken me a long time to learn what you already know: there are few things in life worth going through by yourself.

Too soon, I will begin to drop you off at school everyday. I will get my chores and writing done, and you will get to do all of those things you’ve been craving for all these years. You will change and I will change with you.

But I hope that the thing that remains the same is that no matter where you are or what you’re doing, you’ll continue to find someone to share it with.

I am so blessed to get to go through life with you. You make everyday an adventure. And have a smile that lights up my world.

Dani Tietz likes to make and do things with her family and friends. Check out her stories and projects at www.mahomemama.com.

Exposing Your Roots

2011-05-13T15:49:00.001-07:00

Published Mahomet Citizen
October 20, 2010

It feels like fall is finally here. Although we’ve had a couple days in the upper 80’s, it has been a cooler upper 80’s. The humidity has gone and the fall leaf colors are here!

Aside from seeking trees for shade or watching my kids be monkeys on their limbs, I don’t pay much attention to trees in the summertime. They are beautiful, but they all kind of look the same with a trunk and lush green leaves on their branches. In those months, I can’t tell a maple tree from an elm tree unless I look closely.

But deciduous trees are more distinct in the fall. The maple trees, ash and sycamore trees blaze red and orange colors, which are contrasted by the yellow leaves of poplar, elm, hickory and oak.

Trees have more distinction than the color of their leaves. Each tree has pre-determined characteristics. Whether the tree has soft or hard wood, ridged or smooth leaves, whether it is tall or short and what type of root system it has is determined by its genetic composition.

And different trees survive in different climates and circumstances. A palm tree couldn’t survive the cold Illinois winters, but has bendable wood, which can take the high winds of a hurricane.

The magnificent baobab tree in Madagascar has an enormous trunk, which stores water during the dry seasons.

Many of the trees we look at everyday are in our yards or subdivisions. These trees have root systems which expand horizontally. This wide root base helps to protect them from being knocked over in high winds.

They are stable in an abundance of soil, and often protected by their owners. These trees don’t have to fight for nutrients like those trees in a forest because they have room to grow. They also get plenty of sunlight, are generally straight and get watered in times of drought.

A tree doesn’t get to choose what type of tree it will be, how tall it will grow or what shape its leaves will be. So much of that depends on their DNA. Trees also don’t get to pick where they spend their lives. They either grow in a forest or are grown in a nursery, then transplanted into our yards.

But no matter where a tree is or what storms it may endure, part of its defenses is depends upon who it really is within its root system.

To me, the most interesting trees are those along a riverbank. Trees obviously need water to survive. And the soil along the riverbank needs the trees to hold it in place, slowing down erosion.

As you approach these trees from the land-side, they look just as every other tree appears. Then from the water side, the exposed roots show the wear and tear the water has had on its life.

All trees endure storms and high winds, but trees along water bear rushing waters which tear away the soil that they need, leaving the very foundation of who they are exposed for everyone to see.

These roots can’t grow horizontally, as originally planned by their genes. The bare roots show how the tree has defied the odds of who it was supposed to be in order to find the nourishment it needs to survive.

While so much about a tree depends on its DNA, it also has to be adaptable enough to survive in the environment it is in.

Of course, over time not all of the trees survive. If their root system isn’t strong enough they can be carried downstream by the rushing current. There is the possibility of it being pushed over by high wind. Or maybe its trunk has been uprooted, flashing all of its underground secrets.

Like trees, humans have DNA. We wear our father’s smile or our grandfather’s interest in music. So much of who we are is pre-determined.

Within each of our DNA, we have desirable and undesirable characteristics. Maybe the man with the broad shoulders and a head full of hair has a higher risk for heart disease because it runs in his family. Or maybe the girl with who stays up all night worrying has a short temper, but exceeds in academics because her parents are smart.

At the same time, we don’t stay in the same location our entire lives. We move around, experience new things and new people. And just like trees, we have to adjust ourselves with life experiences to stay upright.

I don’t know how much of who we are, how we feel and what we do is controlled by our genes. I do know that in moments of uncertainty I can expose emotions and tendencies are not like me on a day-to-day basis. They may have been learned, or could be just part of my ancestry. But I do know that the trees prove to us that our genes don’t account for all of who we are.

We face storms, floods and erosion.

There have been times when I’ve toppled over, flashing my short root system in the midst of stormy hours. In the past, I have been swept downstream. But when I learn from my mistakes and life circumstances, I find the nourishment that I need to develop stronger, healthy roots, which keep me grounded in who I want to be.

Writing our story

2011-05-13T15:46:00.000-07:00

Published Mahomet Citizen
October 27, 2010

For the nine months that I carried you, I was told that reading to you while you were inside me would help you recognize the sounds of my voice when you were born. Not knowing anything about babies and wanting to be close to you, I read aloud to you when your dad wasn’t around.

And we have read a story to you almost every night since you were born. You gnawed through some of the board books, and drew in some of the Elmo books. You lost interest in some of the chapter books I’ve picked out, and have helped me find meaning in some of my favorite stories.

Sometimes it’s hard to find a connection between people, but the thing that fascinates me the most is that we all have a story. There is so much about our stories that we don’t control. You are living in an age where technology grows and connects humans in ways it hasn’t before. You are blessed to be born in the United States of America where you are given an education, and where you will be able to make your own decisions.

You like to hear the story about when you were born, but like me, your story began long before you were born. My story shaped how I thought you would come along. I thought about the person you would be and the things we would do together.

I thought about holding your hand, rubbing your back when I woke you up, and sharing my stories so that you can understand our story better. But most importantly, I thought about how I would protect you from being hurt or feeling alone.

Most of your stories so far have been filled with me by your side. You have surprised me with who you turned out to be. I was expecting you to follow in my childhood footsteps by wanting to be athletic. But while you have the same build as me, you don’t enjoy the competitive nature of sports.

Instead of me shaping who you are, from the moment you were born, you have shaped the story of who I was meant to be.

The thing about childhood is that many of the stories you have, you will only remember because we were with you. Some of the stories you will remember from the things that I have written for you, while other memories will be from pictures and videos.

You will not remember painting my belly when I was pregnant with your sister, but you will grow up retelling the story because it is a memory I haven’t let you forget.

You may remember your best friend or your teacher’s names, but you will be unaware of how these people have changed and molded who you are. In ten years, your childhood will feel like a dream to you. And like most moms, I hope that when you look back on these years, the number of your good memories will outweigh the bad ones.

No matter what your memories are or what you think of me, there will be parts of you who want to come back to this place and time. Some of you will want to lay your head on my lap so that I can play with your hair. And other parts of you are going to be so excited about your newly found independence that you’ll figure out how not to look back.

I can start to feel that pull even now. I know I can’t keep you in this bubble forever; and by the way you roll your eyes at me sometimes, I can tell you don’t want to stay in it. You are becoming more aware of the world around you. You are beginning to understand that you have a story to create too.

And while we’ll never be to the point where I will completely let go, I know that there are things that I have to let you decide and experience on your own. I know that part of my job is to help you discover your possibilities, and help you become comfortable in your independence.

You have already begun to experience moments that break your heart, times that don’t make sense, and one day you will look in the mirror with regret for the things you have done or the person you have been. This is inevitable.

But you have also begun to feel the effects of loyalty, sacrifice and the value of time. Your friendships and relationships will only become more important. You will begin to understand the force of life’s greatest gift: love.

In the first ten years of your life, you grew faster than I had imagined. Your physical and mental development have been instrumental in the things you are about to accomplish.

And while I can’t tell you what will happen in the next ten years or how you’ll respond, I do know that no matter who you are now, you will change. And I will change.

While your story began long ago, this is the beginning of what will make sense to you.

You already have stories that surprise me; ones that you have to tell me because I wasn’t there. Those stories are going to multiply. There will be ones that you don’t want me to know about, there will be others that you will lie about, and then there will be some that you’ll need me to know because you’ll need me in those moments.

But while you’re still listening, while we’re still here in this moment where you want me to hold you before you go to sleep, I want you to know that while you’re out there writing your story, our story will continue to develop. Even in the days when we’ll seem so far apart, we can always come back to the place where we started, sharing stories.

Project I'm Thankful

2011-05-13T15:44:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
November 17, 2010

Have you started making your list yet? No. Not your Christmas shopping list. And no. Not the list of everything you need to buy, clean and get done for all the guests next Thursday.

I’m talking about your thankful list.

We’ve been working on our lists all November. I decided that in a world where my kids don’t really need for anything, they should spend some time reflecting on their everyday happiness and blessings. So, every night at dinner we go around the table and share what we are thankful for that day.

My son loves (some) food and kisses, so he’s been thankful for that. My youngest daughter is a dreamer and a noticer of small things, so she’s been thankful for butterflies and playing with her friends. My oldest daughter has gained a new appreciation for her surroundings, so she is thankful for the food we have to eat, the house we live in and having someone to take care of her when she’s sick.

It’s been my husband’s comments that have caught me by surprise, though. He caught the same stomach bug as my daughter, and while he wouldn’t stop working or lay down, he was thankful that I took care of him that day by checking in every few hours. Another day, he was thankful for the red and orange leaves he saw on his way home from work.

It’s good to stop and notice the small pleasures that we all enjoy every day, no matter our circumstances.

This is hard to do, though, when we’re always looking forward to the next big event. I actually started to think about Thanksgiving in the middle of October when I received the Thanksgiving edition of Real Simple magazine. It came around the same time I was buying the kid’s Halloween costumes.

The orange cover promised ways to make Thanksgiving less stressful. And while I kind of rolled my eyes at that notion, I still thumbed through looking for recipes, decorations and tips.

Then while talking to a friend, who had just purchased the Martha Stewart Thanksgiving edition, I realized that the people who create these magazines can make Thanksgiving seem like a stress free holiday because 1) they have a whole bunch of money and resources at their disposal and 2) because it’s not just one person putting the whole presentation together. Martha Stewart isn’t the only person running the TV show, a radio program, a magazine and a product line. Sure, she’s got good ideas, and a work ethic that’s made her who she is today, but we can’t live up to the standards of Martha Stewart because Martha Stewart has hundreds of people helping her create what looks like a stress-free Thanksgiving.

(I’ll bet there are lots of behind the scenes deadlines and decision making going on. I’ll bet they have stressful situations.)

I’ve even seen homemade binders that help you organize everything from your holiday shopping lists to the pretty pictures you see in the magazines.

We all want a stress-free, magical day with those we love. We want our family members to get along, we want the turkey to fill the whole house with its delicious aroma, and we don’t want to have to run to the store 10 times.

Please don’t get me wrong. Being organized is important, especially when it comes to big events, like Thanksgiving. It’s a special day that we don’t want to brush off with frozen pizzas. And whether your ideas come from family traditions or a magazine, we have to plan and make lists so that Thanksgiving isn’t like every other day.

What is interesting to me, though, is that not once during the time we’ve shared our appreciation at the dinner table has one person said that they are thankful for perfection. Nothing in our house is perfect. The carpets aren’t perfectly clean. The food I make is often burnt or undercooked. And the people who live in this house make mistakes on a daily basis.

Thanksgiving, in its most stress-free moment, is when loved ones gather around the table. Whether we make a mental note of how we’ve been blessed, write down a list and a prayer or go around the table to share our blessings before we partake in the food, it’s really just that moment of being with the ones we love that we all look forward to on a daily basis.

So, in the week before Thanksgiving, I encourage you and yours to take time to notice just how 2010 has blessed you. Put down the well-built recipes for a while and sit down with your husband on the couch. Take time away from cleaning the bathroom and play a board game with your kids. Put down the paper and pencil where you’re writing your grocery list and take a moment to call or hug someone who has blessed your life.

Be sure to tell those you are grateful for that they encourage you. And that their love helps you to focus on what is important: being together.

Residents in Mahomet have shared what the are thankful for at www.mahomemama.com. Come check them out, and join the conversation, as you can also comment on and link to what you are thankful for.

Project I'm Thankful

2011-05-13T15:44:00.000-07:00

The gorilla in the room

2011-05-13T15:42:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
December 1, 2010
with help from Dr. Hubert Willis

When Dr. Hubert Willis of Mahomet Chiropractic started his day on November 4, he just expected to sit through hours of boring presentations and workshops at the Carle Clinic Foundation Day.

As a licensed chiropractor, Dr. Willis is required to complete continuing education courses to keep his license.

When keynote speaker Daniel Simons, a professor in the Department of Psychology and Beckman Institute for Advanced Science and Technology at the University of Illinois, started his lecture with slides and video, Dr. Willis began to soak in the statistics that were presented in the message.

Part of Simons’ statistics included a study where 6 people, three in white and three in black, passed around two basketballs. The players dressed in white passed the ball to each other, and the players in black passed to each other.

Viewers are asked to count the number of times the players in white passed the ball to each other. In the middle of this chaos, a person dressed in a gorilla suit walks through the scene for nine seconds, stopping in the middle of the two “teams” passing the ball to face the camera and thump his chest.

In a speech called “Counter Intuitions,” Simons says, “It’s hard to imagine that a person in a gorilla suit could be in the middle of a room for nine seconds, and you still couldn’t see it. We intuitively believe hat the mechanisms of attention will automatically bring to focus things that matter to us.”

He continues, “People are confident that when something unexpected or distinctive happens right in front of you, you will automatically notice it.”

After listening to findings on how cell phone use while driving is just as distracting and detrimental as drinking alcohol, and a study on whether people would notice unexpected shapes on a display, Dr. Willis left the conference feeling that he could apply the message to his practice and home life.

While driving home with a colleague, they reflected on how to apply this message to their clinical setting. When a patient comes into the office, complaining of a problem they are experiencing, the doctor shouldn’t focus solely on the problem, but on the case history. After viewing the patient’s history, the blood work, the x-rays, and the home and family life, then a doctor is well-equipped to help the patient.

When Dr. Willis was dropped off at his home around 5 p.m. the sun was setting. The night was already cold, so after spending some time with his family, Dr. Willis saw that his son needed to get out of the house. He decided to run to the gas station for some hot chocolates.

Dr. Willis was paying attention to the other cars on the road, the children that might still be out playing in the dark, and talking to his son. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw an elderly woman sitting on her porch, waiving her arm.

At first thought, it was nice of her to wave as he passed by. A few blocks down the road, Dr. Willis began thinking of the speech he heard that morning about being aware of what was going on in the world around him. He began to think that the lady may not have been waving to say hello, but perhaps she needed help.

After turning the car around, he saw that the women was in distress. He approached her seeing the dry tears on her face. She explained to him that she had fallen off the porch, and had been there waving her arms for help for an hour.

Dr. Willis could see the bone in her leg where the flesh had been peeled back. Her entire leg was bruised from the knee to the ankle. He picked her up, carried her into the warm house where he called her daughter, stopped the bleeding in her leg and applied first aid.

When her daughter arrived a half-hour later, Dr. Willis left. He is not sure what care she received later that night, but she thanked him a few weeks later.

Just as Dr. Willis learned something from the seminar that morning, we can learn something from the day that Dr. Willis had. He started the day with a plan, an itinerary to fulfill in order to keep his certification. Instead he heard a message that boosted his awareness, leading him to help someone else.

Sometimes it seems as if messages or people are placed in our lives because something more important was about to happen. This story seems to present itself that way.

Whether you’re celebrating Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza or New Year, this time of year is busy as we are often focused on what we need to get done. We have packages to buy and wrap, parties to attend, food to prepare and crafts to make.

Amidst this busy time, we may ring the bell for the Salvation Army or put money into the red bucket. Perhaps you’ll pick up a ticket at the mall to buy a gift for a boy or a girl who would otherwise not receive a gift. Maybe you’re donating canned food or buying a fresh turkey for the local food bank or kitchen.

During this time of year we have a heightened sense of those in need because giving back is made convenient by an abundance of opportunities are set-up for us to participate in and organizations set up programs in the stores we will already be in.

We give a little here and a little there, noting that there are those out there who are in need. But like the story that Dr. Willis shared with me, I want to encourage you (and myself) to dig a little deeper this holiday season.

Dr. Willis noticed that his son needed some time with him, so he took him out of the house. He paid attention to all of the distractions that were on the road with him, and was cautious for the unexpected. But because he was already thinking of his surroundings, he noticed something out of the ordinary.

He didn’t have to give her money or buy her a present. He just noticed that woman sitting on her porch in the dark and cold, and took time to make sure she was alright.

While you are dressed up, passing your holiday cheer around, stop to notice the gorilla in the middle of your chaos. Stop and talk to the freezing man ringing the bell or the mom who is overwhelmed and needs gentle words or a hug. Let the cashier know that you appreciate his help or take time to make those garlands with your kids. Don’t just donate food to the food back, help organize it and distribute the food, but get to know the stories of the people around you.

The holidays are a good time to share love with those you adore, but this is also a good time to share kindness with those you see.

Daniel Simons is the author of “The Invisible Gorilla, And Other Ways Our Intuitions Deceive Us.” His speech, Counter Intuitions can be found at http://www.dansimons.com/speaking.html.

Collecting Sheep

2011-05-13T15:41:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
December 15, 2011

It wasn’t until my grandma was gone that I started to see the woman that she was. When I was growing up, I knew that she was a Christian woman, who had faith that seemed to never be shaken.

After my grandpa died in 1978, she moved to Waxhaw, North Carolina to work for JAARS, a non-profit organization, which supplies resources to the Wycliffe Bible Translators.

She would return to Indiana a couple times a year to visit the family and friends she had left behind. I remember being happy about her coming. She smelled of White Rain hair spray, fed us Triscuits and cheese, she’d hum songs while rubbing our back and teach us how to dance like a princess.

But there was also a lot of tension that came with the arrival of my grandma. It was made clear that she had expectations of who my parents should be and how we should act as children.

Some of those expectations included that we would go to church and read the Bible. On a trip to see her one summer, she challenged me to memorize Psalm 23. After delivering the verse to her, she paid me ten dollars, and I forgot most of what I had recited.

The only part that stuck with me was “The Lord is my Shepherd.”

My parents attended many different churches. My mother grew up in a Catholic Church, so we visited there a few times with my uncles. We were also members at the Presbyterian, Methodist and Pentecostal Churches. With each church came new beliefs and rules. But the thing I remember most about church was that I learned about the despair of Hell and the beauty of Heaven.

My early belief in God did not come from the goodness of God, but from the fear of Hell.

As I got older, I really needed something consistent in my life. There are a lot of things that have happened over the last three decades that I still don’t fully understand, but I know that my belief in God started to waiver in my junior and senior years of high school when I felt like the world around me was falling apart.

People from my high school and others I’d known my entire life died over a two year period, and my dad had a skydiving accident, nearly losing his life.

My parents hadn’t attended church in a few years at that point, but I sporadically attended youth group at a Methodist Church. My dad, filled with all sorts of pain medication, would send me to church on Sunday mornings with a message about God to the congregation.

When confiding my story to a church guest, she said to me that maybe God allowed all those things to happen to those people because I was focusing too much on them, and not enough on God.

At that point, because I knew nothing real about God, my faith crumbled.

As time passed and my dad recovered, my faith was restored to a certain degree. My dad and grandma began to talk about God on a more personal level. They used examples to show me that God is our Father, who loves us like we love our own children.

This concept began to take on more emphasis as I began to have my own children. I wanted to protect them, embrace them and make sure that they grew up to be able to make sound choices. Without reading about God, I thought that He had to be that.

And then one day, my relationship with my dad crumbled, and not only was my heart broken, but the God I thought I knew was also not true.

I hit the bottom of me. My heart grew more rigid and cold. I could not see past the end of my nose. I was a distracted mother, a distant wife, and a judgmental friend. I was lost.

My husband and I decided to try church here and there over those years. During one service the Bible verse was Philippians 4:8. “Fix your thoughts on what is true and honorable and right. Think about things that are pure and lovely and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worth of praise….and the God of peace will be with you.”

I began to question whether Paul was talking about the same God I learned about as a child.

I started by reading the Bible from front to back. In the beginning there are a lot of family trees and rules to follow. In many of the stories told by Moses in the Old Testament, God seems quick to anger and harsh.

Then I began to flip from the Old Testament to the New Testament, where even through hardships, Jesus shows love, tolerance, patience and compassion.

In many ways, it seems like God changes in the Old and New Testaments. But then, there are verses in the Old Testament like Psalm 23 that show us who God has always been.

“The Lord is my Shepherd.”

While I am not a farmer, I did live on a farm with sheep in the backyard for a year. When I watched the farmer put the sheep into the barn, it was no easy task. Sheep are not smart creatures. Many times they had to be herded with gates. Sheep follow their instincts, and turn away from the farmer easily.

Christians believe in the good works of God through Jesus. But this verse I had memorized all those years before helped me understand that God has always been the same.

For many years, I have followed my own impulses, made my own decisions and turned away from God on a regular basis. But like any good Shepherd, God is always there, sometimes having to seek me out from the rubble of my life, and always accepting me back into His flock.

He did this in the Old Testament, and because many like me couldn’t see who He was, He came through Jesus, sacrificing everything to bring us back into His flock.

As an adult with an open heart, the experiences I’ve had at churches have been different than in my childhood years.

I am a person who loves people and stories, so by forging a relationship with God, which is only what my grandma wanted me to do, I have come to experience His forgiveness, selflessness, sacrifice and love. I am able to discover who He is and what He wants me to do with my life for His glory.

By the time my grandma passed away, many of her friends were already gone. But her funeral was filled with people willing to stand up and tell how she touched their lives. In that time, I was able to see that she was a Christian woman who literally gave everything she had and was to bringing others to the comfort and safety God gives us all.

In many ways I wish that I could go back and spend time with my grandma now knowing the great works she did. But because I can’t, I want to continue her message through this Christmas season: in order to experience God, you have to get to know who He is, and let your heart be known to Him. In this, you will have a faith that seems to never be shaken.

Resolution Solution

2011-05-13T15:40:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen 12-29-10

As soon as the holidays are over, you are going to use the long, dark evenings to get your house organized. There won’t be anymore toys on the floor or clothes lying around. You will have the dishes done before you go to bed every night, and will vacuum your car every week. You are tired of your things being so cluttered. It makes you feel anxious. And after everything is where it belongs, this New Year is going to be different. You will be organized and decluttered. Only then will all of those feeling go away.

The end of every year is a reflective time for many of us. Between the rustling of packages and stuffing ourselves at dinners and holiday parties, somehow, we find time to gather all of our thoughts and feeling about the year past. What were my resolutions at the beginning of the year? What did I accomplish? What happened that changed my course? Who am I now? And who do I want to become or accomplish in the next year?

We make a list. A forward thinking of change or resolutions on things we are going to accomplish to look better, feel better, to be a better person. We want to spend more time with family or friends, break an addiction, get out of debt, lose weight, volunteer or go back to school.

Then by the time spring rolls around, many of us have forgotten about our gym memberships or our family promises. We’ve re-cluttered all the drawers of our life, and sunk back into the same pattern of every other year where we fall short of our reflective promises.

It’s a familiar pattern of discovery and hope.

The truth is that we’re onto something in our evaluations of the year past, and our dreams for the near future. Yet, out shortfall comes in looking to change the things that we do, in order to change the person that we are.

The problem really isn’t that your house, your car, your desk or that your yard is cluttered. Maybe those places are unorganized because you’ve been stressed, because you have too much stuff, because your days are overbooked, because you’re lazy, or because you feel washed out or unappreciated at the end of the day. Fixing your clutter will make you feel better for a day or two, but chances are that the clutter will be back before the week is over.

There is a different way to look at these resolutions, though. Instead of focusing on one activity that is expected to change the way we look or the way we feel, this year I encourage you to focus on a word that encompasses who you want to be. If you want to be more organized on a day-to-day basis, perhaps your word for the year should be detail, organize, effortless, freedom or discipline. This one word is a focus point for the things you want to accomplish, capture or experience.

Your list should begin with a list of words that resonate with you. Then, as you dwindle your choices down, you may notice that some of the words have a connection.

You may begin to feel ambitious, thinking that you can accomplish great things with a couple of words. But sit tight, and let the words work themselves out in your heart. Identify one word that wraps up the things that you hope for in the New Year. Let this one word become your focus, your theme for the year.

This word will be something you carry with you through the routine and changes that are sure to happen over the next year. If you want to lose weight, take this word with you to the gym. And then, when you get home, apply it to what you eat. As you work with your children, tie that same word into your activities. Or as you speak to your friend, make this word part of your focus. This isn’t about changing your routine or finding another excuse to sit on the sidelines. This word is about guiding you to make the essential changes within yourself that you are looking for, and being open to the possibilities that are set before you.

I would like to invite each of you to join me in this Resolution Solution Challenge. After years of failed lists with unreasonable expectations, I decided in 2010 to make my word together. I wanted to get closer to my family, my friends and I wanted to make sure that no matter what challenges came my way, I would be able to hold myself together.

In 2011, I want to build on my accomplishments of 2010, so I have chosen the word strong. At this point, I’d like to make my body stronger, as I have felt poorly at the end of this year. I want to have strong relationships. And I want to accomplish the feats that I am scared of.

I know that everyone will be busy on 1-1-11. But if you’ll email me at danitietz8@gmail.com by 1-11-11, I would like to know what your word is and make you something that you can carry with you through 2011.

Dani Tietz likes to make and do things with her family and friends. Check out her stories and projects at www.mahomemama.com.

Choosing groups

2011-05-13T15:39:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
January 12, 2010

I will admit that January and February are generally tough months for me. Part of it is coming off the holiday high, and the other part is the abundance of cloudy, cold weather. I’m over the snow, and want to hibernate

The thing I do enjoy in these long months is hearing the honking of geese overhead. I stop whatever I am doing, wherever I am to admire their famous v-formation. In my romantic mind, these geese traveled long, exhausting distances together in a formation that makes it easier for the weaker geese to fly, while the stronger geese take turns leading the group up front.

My heart melts over friendship like that.

I asked my good friend, Wade Louis, who works for the DNR to write a column with me. As we talked, I began to realize the volumes written, the research done and the dedication of people who spend their entire lives working with geese. It’s true, “be careful what you wish for.”

It quickly became apparent that I wasn’t going to be able to tell you the uplifting story I set out to.

Wade told me the story of how the giant Canada goose (which lives in Central Illinois during the summer) was believed to be extinct for three decades prior to the early 1960’s. Local biologist, Harold Hanson, of the Illinois Natural History Survey, discovered the goose roosting on Silver Lake in Rochester, MN.

An exhaustive search also turned up isolated populations in the Dakotas, western Minnesota and Manitoba. Efforts to reestablish the giant Canada goose to its original range were soon underway.

The repopulation of the goose was a success beyond anyone’s imagination with numbers now exceeding population in the past.

As residential and commercial developments have increased over the years, the geese are able to travel between small distances to conserve energy reserves. They have adapted to these small, urban ponds with mowed grass and few predators. It also helps that they are federally protected.

I learned that their decision to migrate has nothing to do with the changing of season, but rather the availability of food. A snowfall of 12 inches or more usually triggers a mass migration. In this, they have influenced other races of Canada geese to stay longer in one place instead of heading immediately for their wintering grounds. The Canada (not Canadian) goose has 12 different races. It’s not uncommon to see mixed flocks of Canada geese, snow geese and speckle bellied geese flying together.

Then there was the good stuff that I tried to humanize.

Geese are committed to each other. They will mate for life, and will voraciously defend the family or nest. And after nesting season, when the goslings are able to fly, they will travel in family groups until the next spring when it’s time for the young geese to find mates of their own.

The strongest and wisest geese lead the family group to their destination in a v-formation while teaching the young geese migration routes, feeding areas and communication skills. These strong geese will take turns leading the pack, dropping back in formation when they feel tired. The formation also gives each member a vision to what is ahead.

The honking that catches my attention can be used as a greeting, encouragement, warning or feeding call. Much of the goose communication is aural, especially in the air, and visual on land.

All of this is good information. I wrote draft after draft about how these geese have sacrificed for each other to get to where they are today. And then Wade gently reminded me that while geese work together as a family or a team, when it comes down to self or other, the goose will always choose self.

My goose dreams were shattered.

Truth be told, geese are not human. They’re animals. And while animals often have traits that we can apply to our lives to better ourselves or community, animals do what is best for the group only if one is not gaining more from the relationship or situation as another.

Perhaps we’re all in that same group. We’ll work nicely with others until someone gains more than we do. Or until our health, profession or life is on the line. Perhaps animals can’t be human, but humans are animals too.

I think that I will still stop to appreciate the geese. I now understand more about who they are and where they come from.

And it seems to me that while geese are only interested in reproduction and survival, they still choose to stay together in groups instead of living alone. I have learned that they are strong and hard to mess with, but I’ve also learned that while it may just be a survival skill, they are willing to give help and accept help from others. Their survival is made easier with family and friends.

In these winter months, it’s easy to shut ourselves up inside our house. Or when we’re feeling vulnerable, insignificant or like we can’t handle the world around us. But I will contend that the majority of us don’t want to be alone, either. Humans can also be cut-throat in the face of elimination, but we are built for relationships.

It is apparent that I have surrounded myself with honest people, who want to see me succeed, but won’t let me make a fool of myself. My toughest days are those when I try to survive on my own. But, knowing that in these relationships I am part of a family group, a v-formation where open and caring communication happens has helped me survive through my weakest moments.

Dani Tietz likes to make and do things with her family and friends. Check out her stories and projects at www.mahomemama.com.

Learning to Write Letters

2011-05-13T15:38:00.002-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
Feb.9, 2011
with help from Karen Badger

Around the time my son and I eat lunch, we hear the hum of the mail truck come up our street. He gets so excited that he rushes out the door to see if he has a birthday card or his Lego magazine waiting for him.

Because he can’t read yet, he’ll ask what came for him. And because he only gets a card from his great-grandparents and a small gift card from Toys “R” Us once a year, he usually ends up disappointed. I tell him that if you want a letter in the mail, you have to send one in the mail.

I’ve never been much of a letter writer. After I met my fourth cousin as a teenager, we exchanged letters occasionally. She has always added confetti and decorated the envelope, making the letter like a treasure I wanted to keep forever.

This was before email was accessible to either of us. Today, I’d rather indulge in the instant gratification of an email or text, rather than sit down with a pen and paper and then wait three to five days for my letter to arrive to her. But she, in all her old-school glory, still sends me occasional letters.

Those letters make my heart jump in the same way that my daughter’s heart jumped at the Post Office assembly at Sangamon Elementary School on Jan. 27. My second-grader hopped in the car one afternoon after school, beaming because she had written her first letter.

Students in both first and second grades are given the opportunity to write messages to their friends or teachers. The students learn about letter headings, greetings, salutations, paragraph structure and addressing the envelope as part of the school’s literacy objectives. Once they “mail” the letter, it is picked up by the carriers, sorted, and then delivered to each classroom.

In a time when most of our children’s communication will come through email, phone or video chat, this brings the students into the process of a mail system they may otherwise not be familiar with.

Sangamon enrichment education teacher Karen Badger remembers that people were concerned with how messages would be perceived when the Internet started. As people just type off the top of their head in an email, the received message may be without the emotion the writer intended to convey.

The basics of showing children how to use pen and paper to express their thoughts is giving them the opportunity to take the time to connect how they are thinking or feeling through the process of seeing the words written on paper.

Of course, the school’s main objective is to foster learning. And like many lessons at Sangamon, the Post Office program gives students the opportunity to grow socially through Character Counts, a program designed to make kids think critically about the way they act and the way that will affect others.

When the children write a letter to a friend or teacher, the writer is expected to be respectful and mindful of their sentiments. The recipient is encouraged to respond in a timely manner.

The Post Office brings students who may otherwise not interact with each other together through these little letters. Selected second grade students of all levels and backgrounds work as a team to complete the job of collecting and delivering the mail. Each student is assigned a job, and they quickly learn that if one person does not complete their task, the process breaks down.

Badger compared this lesson plan to teaching children arithmetic. Calculators can make most math simple, but we still insist that children learn the basic processes of math so that they will be able to understand the mathematical process. Through this, we are giving children independence.

I will contend that children also learn to be independent through understanding the language involved with writing a letter. They are not just working on their writing skills, but they are developing communication and people skills.

I was in my late 20s before I learned these lessons. It’s not that my parents didn’t write letters; they just didn’t make an effort to show me the importance behind writing letters.

But my grandma was a letter writer. For Christmas and birthday presents we would often receive stationery with a letter stating that she hoped we would write to her. After watching my girls learn how to waltz at dance class, I have thought a lot about the little things that my grandmother tried to pass on to me.

My sisters and I were about the same ages as my daughters when she taught us to waltz. During those years, she also made sure that we knew the correct way to make our beds. She had been a nurse for many years, so we learned how to fold “hospital corners.” And instead of packing dishes into our dishwasher, we would do them by hand. She assigned a job to each child. We cleared the table, washed, dried and put away the dishes together.

Like my mother, I have found myself too busy to pay attention to little things like this. I often find it takes less time after dinner to send the kids off to play or do homework while I clear the table and conquer the dishes by myself. In a world where time is limited, this has worked out well for us.

I came into being an adult and a mom without knowing how to take care of myself. So I have been thinking about what a struggle it has been for me to learn how to do basic independent things like expressing myself, doing laundry, balancing a budget or applying makeup.

We have to take the time to teach our children about teamwork, communication, chores, finances, personal hygiene and writing letters because we live in a time where we are busy making sure that our kids have all the opportunities they need to become the best, but are forgetting to teach them the basics they will need to be independent adults that can function both individually and as a society.

Like many parents in this school district, I appreciate the programs that are offered as part of the curriculum that teaches our children skills, like letter writing. And there absolutely are conveniences that our new technologies afford us. But I also know that it doesn’t take a program at school or at another establishment to teach them life skills. My grandma taught me that it just takes an adult who is willing to include a child in their daily routine.

The kids will learn how to pass those skills onto their children. But most of all, it gives all involved the opportunity to spend quality time together.

The case for bicycles

2011-05-13T15:38:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
Feb 23, 2010

In 1998, when I was a college freshman, my dad helped me buy my first car. It was not my dream car, but a reliable, 1985 Toyota Camry with 48,000 miles on it. The car had a little rust on the sides and a stick shift, but at $1,500, I quickly learned to drive that car in a way that made me feel like I was in a sports car.

Around the same time, my boyfriend decided to lease a 1998 Mazda Protégé. I tried to get him to lease an Oldsmobile Allero, but the salesman told him the Protégé looked like a small Mercedes, so he chose that. The Protégé drove like a go-cart.

Fast forward four years, and we are married, college graduates living in Mahomet with a toddler and another baby on the way. We had to buy our first family car.

Being a mother – because I thought all mothers should feel this way – I was drawn to minivans. All the cool moms had them with their car seats secure, room for strollers, diaper bags, playpens and the occasional carpool. The seven-seat minivan made all this possible.

Being our first major purchase, my husband wanted to exhaust all of our vehicle options, as the crossovers and small SUV market was beginning to grow. And he really didn’t want a minivan. So, we purchased a 1998 Jeep Cherokee with four-wheel drive.

He promised me when the kids were bigger in five years we could get a minivan.

In 2005, our third child came along. The back seat of the Jeep could fit one rear-facing and two forward-facing car seats, but getting three forward-facing seats in there was going to be really hard. It was finally my turn to pick out a car.

With those five years to think about what a minivan would mean to me, I was no longer enchanted by the “mommy mobile.” There were several new crossover models with seven seats that gave us the room we needed. I chose the Ford Freestyle.

Then, just because my guy likes to test drive all of our options, we tried a 2005 Dodge Caravan with a DVD player, bucket seats and stow-and-go seating. The DVD player won. We were quickly proud owners of the minivan.

I automatically felt old. I was in my mid-20s with three kids and a minivan. All the cool moms had seven-seat crossover vehicles now.

Soon, my oldest two grew out of their car seats and moved into the mobile booster seat. Fast forward a bit later, and my little guy was in a booster, and the oldest was not. They fought over who would sit in the bucket seats, who would sit by the window that only opened a sliver, and which doors they would exit. That flame they felt in their hearts for the DVD player had been put out by the glare on the screen or their squabbling over what to watch. By 2010, we no longer watched movies in the car and all the kids sat in the backseats.

Even getting into the van disgusted me, with all the French fries, crayon markings and what I’m sure was mold in the rear cup holders. No matter how much I cleaned, the abyss of that large vehicle seemed to remain dirty.

I wasn’t the only one feeling the lack of glamour the minivan had to offer. The car manufacturers know that minivans aren’t appealing to the crowd with kids anymore. That’s why they put in new features like revolving middle seats, power-sliding doors (which are a pain), multiple DVD players and windows that roll down in the middle seats.

In 2010, Chrysler ran an ad for their Town & Country called “Give Something to the Kids,” boasting their free backseat Sirius TV – as if we don’t give enough to our kids. What that really means is that they get to play and watch TV while the parent gets to drive and listen to the TV show or their kids complain about the TV show.

Companies like Toyota, Honda and Dodge recognized this and took the kids out of minivans. Honda Odyssey commercials exploit their van as a place of romance, tranquility and a place where rock concerts happen. The Toyota Sienna commercials have utilized the emotions of two 30-something parents with two kids who still want to hold onto their youth by rapping or using the van as a restful getaway, and Dodge has taken a completely different approach by filling the van with adults in a gang dressed up as kittens.

They have tried to appeal to the 20- to 40-year-old set with kids who want the room of the van, but the individuality of a car or SUV.

So, last summer, when my husband’s hand-me-down 1998 Dodge Intrepid was on its last leg, we traded it in for a more reliable vehicle. And because all the kids were on the bench seat anyway, we traded in the minivan, too.

We wanted a car with good fuel economy, roomy five seats, and something without sliding doors. We wanted two cars that fit the youthful and adventurous sides of our hearts. For the most part, the Dodge Journey and Jeep Liberty fit that bill and our budget.

Everyone was excited about the new cars. Then, of course, the rose-colored glasses came off when the kids started fighting over who sits next to the window, whose day it is in the middle and someone is always in someone else’s way.

I’m just being real here. Whether we admit it or not, kids will always find a reason to argue – and make some sort of mess. But I still enjoy driving the cars that free me of the 30-year-old mom who has three kids and drives a minivan.

The next time the kids complain, I will tell them that I’m buying the whole family bicycles. Everyone gets their own. Everyone gets a window. The scenery is the same for everyone. And best of all, we’ll all be physically fit.

Diamonds aren’t for me

2011-05-13T15:37:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
March 2, 2011

Even though chocolate and stuffed animals are out in stores before Christmas is over, I don’t expect my husband to get me anything for Valentine’s Day. In fact, after making fun of the ridiculous flower, chocolate, fruit and diamond commercials, I can honestly say I don’t get wrapped around those items.

I admit I rarely do anything for him because his birthday is a few days before. I generally go all out and package the holiday together with his day. I’ll usually get him a card, but when I looked at the card prices this year, I decided to write my own note on a blank card I had in my kitchen.

It’s not really because my husband is not a romantic guy that I don’t expect anything, but maybe my idea of romance doesn’t include “cheese.”

He always pulls through with a box of my favorite chocolates from Fannie May, though. And I eat the whole box, so it’s a gift I carry with me all year long. But what I’m always taken by is the sweet note he includes in the expensive card that he buys me.

While I’m sure he doesn’t want me to transcribe his words here, I will tell you he wanted to purchase dance lessons for the two of us this year. When we first got together, I told him this is something I really wanted to do. I think ballroom dancing is fascinating and elegant. The problem is I’m not a shimmy and shaker, and my guy dances like Bill Cosby did on “The Cosby Show.”

Dance classes weren’t until the spring, so he said when that time comes around, he’ll sign us up. But his real goal is we start doing more things together.

My husband is a busy guy who finds himself engrossed in work often. You could say I am the same way – without the pressure that he feels. I come up with an idea, and I plow through until I am distracted by another idea. And with three kids, sometimes we don’t say much to each other until we go to bed. Even then, we’ve gotten into a routine where we say a little about this and that, and then turn off our minds to the television.

We love each other more than anything, but this is our routine.

He is practical. I am eccentric. He cooks. I clean. I drive the kids around and help them with their homework. He makes sure the piano lessons are complete, and plays Legos and video games with them. I love music. He loves sports. There are few responsibilities that we share.

While it wasn’t his intention, this is what he pointed out to me. So that week, I made a point to help him with dinner. We’ve talked more, shared more about our individual lives, and made more decisions together.

Those decisions started with our finances. When we started our marriage, I was awful with math and money, so he took care of the bills. But there came a time when I needed to understand what was coming in and what was going out. He was getting busier and busier, so finance planning was something I could help accomplish.

About once a year, we set up a spreadsheet that told when we would pay the bills throughout the year. Then, we’d go back to our separate routine.

While we’re consistent and comfortable now, there are still issues we need to address. The only way that can happen is if we work on them together. I can no longer be on one page and he on another. This is about ensuring our future together, both financially and personally.

This means we will sit down together on a weekly basis to look over what we have spent, what we have coming up the following week, and what we need to expect for the next month. We have all the balances in front of us, so we know where we are and what we owe.

It will mean we eat out less and plan the menu for the week and cook together more. It will mean he will know when Jump Rope for Heart is and what I am spending on birthdays. It will mean I’ll have to be upfront about when I eat out for lunch. Doing our finances together means we may not get to take dance class this spring, but we can dance in our living room instead. There are things we want, and then there are things we need.

I will say that while I have never really wanted a diamond and can do without the box of chocolates, this is the best Valentine’s gift he’s ever given to me. The whole idea of Valentine’s Day is washed out by all of those far-fetched commercials we make fun of. The ideas on his cards are far more romantic than anything else he could give me.

Couch I share

2011-05-13T15:35:00.002-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
March 9, 2011

Nothing about literature sparked my interest until I read Jane Hamilton’s “The Book of Ruth” and Marlo Morgan’s “Mutant Message Down Under” when I was a junior in high school. Until then, the only fiction I encountered dealt with men and time periods of which I could not relate.

Ruth struggled through a sticky situation, much like my own. And Morgan’s fictional journey through the Australian desert transported me to a far-off place where people believed in beauty.

Without being an avid reader at the time, I decided to jot down my emotions in poetry. People who I loved took interest in what I wrote – not because it was good, but because they loved me, too. For the first time, I felt passionate about a subject in school. So, as a college freshman I decided to pursue an English education degree.

The difference between high school and college literature was that in college, I got to study men and women of different backgrounds and circumstances. The pieces we read were like puzzles. Getting to the core of what the author was trying to convey took a lot of hard work.

Through those literature and writing classes, I learned writing is not just about telling a story, but choosing words to convey an image that evokes an emotion in the reader. I was always told, “Show, don’t tell.”

As you can see, I didn’t set out to be a writer. I wanted to teach high school students the importance and implications of literature. The struggles and joys we endure now are nothing new. People have been feeling, fighting for and enduring through some of the same situations we experience today. I guess you could say I wanted to be a story connector, not a storyteller.

I graduated with an English degree, without certification, and we came to Illinois. I was a stay-at-home mom who could finish my certification wherever we were. In that time off, I realized education is not where I want to be.

As I write this column on March 3, I am reminded of the first column I wrote on March 3, 2010, called “Balance.” At that time, everyone was excited about the possibility of me writing for the paper.

Being a stay-at-home mom, my days are filled with monotonous activities that fill me with neither accomplishment nor excitement. I get the dishes done; they are dirty again. I clean up a mess, only to have another mess to take its place. I answer a question, which is always followed by “Huh?” Or I seem to be the only one who knows how to find a coat in a pile of coats. At the end of the day, I may have accomplished a lot, but it looks like I’ve accomplished nothing.

Being a stay-at-home mom may seem like a posh lifestyle. I have no schedule to adhere to. I can play video games with my child in the morning and pick up the kids from school every day. We were able to have play dates, which gave my kids a chance to have someone over so I could catch up on something else in the house or so I could socialize with another mom while the kids play.

My husband and friends could tell I needed something more. I needed something to call my own.

As I wrote about the balance between being a mom and fulfilling my ambition a year ago, I was reminded of Virginia Woolf’s piece, “A Room of One’s Own.” In a women’s literature course, we studied her idea of a woman needing finances and a room of her own if she wanted to write.

I am so grateful my husband has a job that can support our family. It has afforded me the opportunity to be here for (and with) my kids as they grow. These are times I can never replace.

But work for him is different than work for me. Please don’t get me wrong, my husband has great responsibilities and pressures, but he also has separation. He can go to his desk, close the door, and we know he is working. He doesn’t have to answer the phone if I call. The kids don’t depend on him to know the schedule of their lives. He can work without guilt of being physically or mentally absent.

But after a year of writing for the Citizen, I understand what Woolf means about having finances and a room. What I do could by no means support a family. Depending on what I am writing, it takes up to a few hours to complete the piece, but finding that time of solitude is exhausting. My first responsibility is to my kids. Many times, that means that I do not get to complete my own thoughts until they are tucked into bed or until all of them are in school.

As I write this piece, I do not have a room of my own. I have a couch, a laptop, a small desk that is brimming with ideas I hope to pursue, and earphones to drown out the sounds all around me. This room I am writing in is filled with three kids, whom I have to remind several times not to kick the couch while they play nicely on the floor. I can see them out of the corner of my eye.

It’s evident that I am in a rut here. I’m waiting for my turn to have a job in which I can follow my dreams with the same freedom he does. But I know that even then, even if I had the ability to do that, I would still want to be in another place. I’d want to be here for them before and after school, or want to volunteer on party days. While not every mom who works full-time feels like this, I know women who would give anything to be able to be there for their kids the way that I am able to be here for mine.

This is a mom’s struggle: self and family.

I am addicted to this job. Not because I get to write something in the paper, but because I get to work with and tell the stories of some of the most remarkable people in our community. People who follow their passions, either professionally or personally, each day. While, in this, I am a storyteller, I am also a story connector.

But I also love this column because I get to be a writer. There have been brave writers, both women and men, who have risked vulnerability by being honest and open with their own stories. Because of this, I know all stories are worth telling. Someone, somewhere, at some time, is always going through the same struggles and joys.

The importance of words

2011-05-13T15:35:00.001-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
March 23, 2011

Two weeks ago, I told you that I didn’t set out to be a writer. I just wanted to be a story connector rather than a story teller, but I did have an interest in writing poetry as I went into college. Within the English education program, I was excited about taking an Introduction to Writing course as an elective.

Until this point, I had been a one-draft-and-done kind of girl. I mean, with all that 19-year-old wisdom and that not-well-read knowledge, I should breeze right through the introduction course, have a book published and become the youngest Poet Laureate.

Really, I didn’t think that much of myself, but with some adults taking an interest in what I had written, I thought I’d at least get an “A.”

We had tedious peer critique sessions where all of the other 19-year-old students tried to offer advice on what worked and didn’t work in the piece. The teaching assistant and my classmates had a hard time understanding what my poems meant, so nothing I wrote really worked for them. The T.A. encouraged all of us to put the poems away for a few days, even weeks, and then revisit them with a fresh angle. I pretty much stuck with what I had in my first draft, so that “A” became a “C.”

Once I was forced to dissect the literature we read in the courses I was taking, I understood that writing is like painting a picture with words. At first read, I didn’t always understand how the picture was conveying a message, but once we listened to things like rhythm, sounds, word history and suggestion, I understood that many writers are deliberate with their words choices and placement (especially in poetry). I began to understand how to apply that to my own writing.

Eleven years later, I am applying those lessons to the feature stories and columns I write. As I’m working through drafts, I see how the words I choose are so important because I am describing the lives and character of the people I meet, the people I love and the person I am.

In a draft of my previous column, I wrote, “I followed my husband to Illinois.” As I reread that I thought about how it could be perceived, so I changed it to “we came to Illinois.” After all, it was a mutual decision.

Of course, there’s no one out there looking at my word choices or even thinking about words the way I do. I think about my kids saying “Honest Abe,” as if he never told a lie his entire life. I take note when they say “stupid” or when they say that they want to “google” something.

The more I think about words, the more I think about the things I say, too. As a teenager and even as a young mother, I often repelled people with my word choices. Writing has helped me process the implications my words have, and how they will affect someone else.

I only get one shot to speak. If I mess it up, it’s hard to go back. Conversations don’t allow for a week or so to mull around with thoughts, drafts, a delete button or eraser. At the same time, the things we say can be forgotten or distorted while what we write is forever.

When my oldest two were very little, I was always surprised by the things that some moms were so careful not to say to their children. I remember one mom saying that it took a lot for her not to tell her child to “shut up.” At the time, there seemed like there were a lot worse things she could say. Having heard her say that, I didn’t want to be a bad mom, so I’ve tried to be patient and find other words to ask my children to be quiet.

I was disappointed in myself the first time I told them to “shut up.” I had exhausted all of the other words, but that one got their attention. I spent some time thinking about how it made them feel, and if they would remember that I said it.

To be honest, I am an over-thinker. On a daily basis, I am conscious of who I am, what I do and what I say because I know I have three little sets of eyes watching me, taking notes even when I am not directly interacting with them.

I realize that it doesn’t always work out this way, but many times so much of who we are is passed on to our children. They watch how we acknowledge other people. Or who we choose to ignore. We teach them how to talk to someone or how to talk when that someone isn’t there. The words we use towards them and the words we use around them directly affect their hearts.

And I believe that while sometimes we can disguise who we are, eventually it is what is in the heart that usually comes out of the mouth.

It has taken much reflection and is an everyday practice, but there are times when I have taken the advice of my writing instructors and put my words away for a couple of days before revisiting them with a new perspective. Because now it’s about more than getting an “A” in a course or writing something that someone will like. Now it’s about how something I say or write will affect another person, and showing my children how to see and treat other people.

Column material

2011-05-13T15:33:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
April 6, 2011

Salesmen will not only tell you a lot of things you want to hear, but they will also tell you a lot of things that make you feel safe. The English-Australian-American car salesman that sold us our Dodge Journey was no different. While we were test-driving a few vehicles on the lot that were low on fuel, he told us that the red line, which signals an empty tank, is just a warning; he said that cars can get an extra 20 miles past that line. Car companies give that to you because they don’t want you to run out of gas.

We left our house for Gatlinburg, Tenn. with a half-tank of gas at 4 a.m. on March 21 for a few days of hiking in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I had put the kids’ blankets and pillows in the car the night before so that they could sleep on the way. My husband stayed awake for a while, but fell asleep around Indianapolis, and woke up around 7:30 with the kids.

(Before I explain the following events, I would like to acknowledge that I was driving. I could have stopped anywhere. As the driver, I did have that option.)

The kids were wondering when we would stop to eat. Being close to Louisville, Ky., I told Andrew that we needed gas when we got breakfast, but the gas light had not come on yet. Using all of the technology available these days, he was able to hold a road map on his Android phone and find gas prices on his iPad. According to the two resources, gas in Louisville was $3.60 per gallon, and gas just 20 miles south of Louisville was $3.34 per gallon.

In Louisville the gas light came on. Then the road construction started. We were heading west on I-64 when the right and left lanes were split with a concrete barrier. The right lane did not have a pull-off lane, but (thankfully) the left lane did. About a mile from the exit he had picked, I pushed on the gas pedal and nothing happened. We were in one lane of traffic going 60 miles an hour. I yelled, “Andrew, we’re out of gas!”

He said that the meter wasn’t even on red, so we couldn’t be. So I pushed the gas pedal again and all the lights on the dashboard came on. My steering wheel locked up as the traction control light stayed on. At this point, everyone in the car was yelling something.

I turned on my flashing lights and pulled over near the barrier dividing the westbound lanes from the eastbound lanes. We could feel the cars and semis rush by. I turned off the car, and then tried to turn it back on. Nothing. My husband had all the technologies available to him, so he should have had the answers of what to do in this situation.

We pulled out the car manual to see what the light meant. Nothing was wrong with the car. So, he googled “what to do if your car runs out of gas on the interstate.” The answer was to call 9-1-1.

The dispatcher asked our location and emergency. I told her that we were stopped going westbound on I-64 in the left lane. I told her that something may be wrong with our car, but we also may have just run out of gas. She assured me someone would be there soon.

About 10 minutes later, my husband decided that he should be walking to the exit a mile down the road to get gas. The kids were scared and worried about what was going to happen. Andrew and I were looking in our rearview mirrors, making sure that we weren’t going to get swiped by one of the cars coming up behind us.

He asked if someone would pull over to help him if he was walking. I reminded him that people don’t pick up people on the side of the road anymore. Then I assured him that we’d be fine, and told him to go ahead if that’s what he felt he needed to do.

The kids and I joked about how bald he was getting as he walked away. I snapped a photo to send to my friend. Then someone pulled over to offer him a ride.

Because the concrete median was between the right and left lanes, the car could not exit to get to the gas station. The driver pulled over to let my husband out. He jumped over the concrete median dividing the east- and westbound lanes, ran across the interstate, climbed a fence and went up a hill to the gas station.

In the meantime, the Kentucky Safety Assistance for Freeway Emergencies (SAFE) Patrol pulled up behind me in a utility truck. A man with a rich Kentucky accent smiled and joked with me about running out of gas in a construction zone. We talked about how we hoped the car was just out of gas as he poured about a gallon into my tank.

He informed me that I wouldn’t be able to get off the interstate a mile ahead, and offered to guide me to a turnaround about eight miles up the road, but I would have to come back up the interstate to get gas myself.

As we took off, I called my husband and told him to stay where he was at until I filled up the tank. I would come back around and get him. He said, “Stay where you are. I’m almost there!” I told him that I was following the SAFE truck and couldn’t wait for him. He said, “Oh, I just passed you. A tow truck is giving me a ride.”

I asked if the tow truck driver could drop him off at the next exit, but that was about 15 miles up the road. So instead, the driver dropped my husband off at a clover-leaf exit a few miles up the road.

I was able to make it to the gas station, where I paid $3.34 per gallon for a full tank of gas. Then I stayed on the phone with my husband until I found him. He told that he paid $20 for a gas can and paid $3.24 per gallon for two gallons of gas. The tow truck driver had passed our stopped car going westbound, saw him pumping gas, and offered his help. He figured that if the car had been broken, he’d get a tow job, so giving my husband a lift would be worth it. The first car that stopped was a Jamaican man with Jamaican flags all over his car.

About 15 minutes later, I found my husband in the grassy area of the clover-leaf exchange, red gas can in hand and a smile of disbelief on his face. He got in the car and I said, “You know this is going to be a column, right?” He said, “I figured. What angle are you going to take?”

There are a lot of angles that I could take, but while there are many lessons to be learned here, the most important one is that if your gas light comes on, it’s time to get gas. If we had purchased 15 gallons of gas at $3.64 instead of $3.34, we would have spent $4.00 extra. Instead, we cost the taxpayers of Kentucky money, and then spent an extra $20 on a gas can. We also lost an hour of hiking time in the mountains that day.

Kids and Cars

2011-05-13T15:31:00.000-07:00

Published in Mahomet Citizen
April 20, 2011

In 2002, I heard a story on the radio about a mother in Detroit who left her two young children, a three-month-old daughter and three-year-old son, in the car for three hours while she was at the hair salon. The July air was warm, but inside the car it was reported to have been almost 120 degrees. Those small children were strapped in, and not old enough to know what was happening to them.

The woman telling the news story talked in detail about what might have happened to the children’s bodies as they died. I had my 18-month-old daughter with me that day, and thinking about how selfish that mother was to leave her helpless children in the car made me sick for days.

By 2007, we had three kids and lived in Farmer City. I had met a Mahomet resident who wanted to do some outreach projects in Farmer City. While talking to her, she told me she wanted to organize a “free” garage sale. We had some things to get rid of because we were getting ready to sell our house, so I told her that we could have the sale there.

Our ranch-style home had a three car garage on the north end of the house and another driveway on the south side of the house, where a garage had been converted into a family room. Since we were using the garage area for the garage sale, we parked our cars on the south driveway, which was shaded by two trees.

It was a great spring morning for a garage sale, especially a “free” one. We didn’t have many people stop by, so we sat around talking in the garage. Our house wasn’t on a busy street, we had a fenced-in backyard and we could see the length of the house in the front yard, so my kids spent time outside with me and inside with their dad.

My husband came out pretty early to ask if I had seen our 18-month-old son. I thought my son was inside with him, so we frantically started looking around for him. We found him in our minivan. He hadn’t been in there long, but had locked himself inside while he was looking for gum.

We unlocked the car, gave him a stern talking-to, and went on with our day. The kids had been outside with me for a while, and then went inside with their dad. Around lunchtime, I used the walkway running behind our house to see if we were going to grill out for our guests. By this time, the day had warmed up. We decided not to cook out, and as I began to go back through the back door, I turned around to walk out the front door.

And there was my son in the minivan, beet red, pounding on the windows, crying and screaming for me. I screamed at my husband to get the keys, but the doors were unlocked, so I grabbed him out of the car. His clothes were saturated from sweat. An EMT who was at our sale looked him over, assuring me that he was okay.

My husband was upset with me because he thought I was watching the kids. I was upset with him because I thought he was watching the kids. My heart hurt as I felt my little boy sob in my arms. I knew that if I had walked out the back door instead of the front, our story could have had the same fate as those two kids in Detroit.

We weren’t purposefully negligent in the same way the mother in Detroit was, but I felt like we were just as much at fault. We never thought that our small child would get in a car by himself, but he did. Twice. The spring air doesn’t always feel that hot, but even on days when it’s low- to mid-80s outside, the air inside a car can get hot and stagnant.

We could have left the windows open in the car while it was outside. We could have locked the doors so he couldn’t open them. And we could have communicated better about where our children were and who was responsible for watching them.

As the weather gets warmer each year, I still remember my son’s little handprint left on the driver’s window when he was banging on it. And so, in sharing this story, I hope that parents, grandparents and neighbors remember that leaving your children in the car doesn’t have to be intentional—sometimes it can be unintentional. But there are steps we can take to prevent accidents like this from happening.