I was blessed with an early gift for Christmas.

It wasn’t wrapped in shiny paper or tied with a bow.

It was a simple answer to a simple question.

I’d asked it casually, resisting the urge to cross my fingers behind my back.

“Wanna to go to yoga class with me?”

She twisted a clump of her long blonde hair around her first finger, leaned back on the kitchen loveseat and yawned.

“No, big deal,” I said, retreating to the kitchen sink and breakfast dishes. “Only if you want to.”

I hardly heard her answer over the running water.

“I’ll go,” she’d said.

We rolled out our mats side by side.

Her eleven-year-old body so long, so graceful, so poised.

In downward dog, I heard, “Mom, Mom.”  When I turned to look, Andie asked, “How’s this?”

I smiled and nodded my head.  She smiled back.

We stood side by side in tree pose, arms waving in the studio air.  We wobbled at the same time, our hands coming together, fingers clasping in an embrace, holding each other up.

Balance restored.

May moments of joy, light, love and simplicity fill your home this holiday season.

XO Kasey

Remember when I told you about my trip to New York City?

I’d had my hair straightened?

Turns out, I was on my way to meet my literary agent.

The literary agent I had hoped for from the get go.

The literary agent who’d written about consciousness and authenticity on her website.

The literary agent I’d perused for over a year.

Her.

I’d spent days picking out just the right outfit.

A sleeveless short navy dress with a long matching jacket.

“Cityish, right?”  I’d asked my husband.  “Just be yourself,” he’d replied.

Big help.

“Shoes or boots?” I’d asked my sister-in-law once I’d made it to Connecticut.

“Definitely the shoes.  They’re fabulous.”

“Do I look ready for New York City?”

My brother chimed in.  “Kase, don’t say New York City.  Just say ‘New York’ or ‘The City.’”

“Right,” I said.

His advice at the train station the next morning,  “Just be yourself.”

“John,” I gave him a knowing look.  “Be myself?”  Here I collapsed my knees in a buckling motion while simultaneously throwing my arms in the air and accidently hitting myself in the head with my bag.

“Right,” my brother said looking around the station, taking a step away from me.  “Just be you, toned down and contained a bit.”

When he asked if I was sure I knew where I was going, I pulled the notepaper from my bag, flapping it in front of his face.

An hour later I was in The City, standing in Grand Central with two hours to make it to the Upper West Side.

Bathroom.  Hair still straight. Check.

Outfit smooth and stylish.  Check.

Hungry.  Check.

Smoothie stand.  Check.

Ginger-Mango.  Check.

Notes from brother.  Check.

Up the steps.  Check.

Michael Jordan Steak House.  Check.

To Vanderbilt Ave.  Check.  

Cab to Central Park West and 61^st Street.  Hmmm.

No cab.

Phone out.  Call brother.

“Where’s the cab stand?”

“What cab stand?”

“Outside Grand Central.”

“Kasey, there’s no stand.  Just step in the road and put your hand in the air.”

Oh.

“A cab stopped!” I yelled into the phone.

“Good.  Get in it!” my brother yelled back.

“Right.”

I opened the cab door.  My first thought was, “Wow, this cab is immaculate.”

I stepped forward, trying to get my bag into the back seat first.  I was fumbling to hold onto my phone.  Then I watched as the lid of my smoothie caught on the lip of the cab door.

It was an explosion.

A Ginger-Mango Smoothie Explosion.

It took me a moment to realize what had happened.  Smoothie dripped from my eyelashes.  It fell from my hair.  I could feel it traveling inside my left ear.  When it hit the ground it splashed up between my legs.  The front of my dress and jacket were covered.  COVERED.

The back seat of the cab was sloshing with smoothie and suddenly the street was full of honking cabs, waiting for us to move.

I stood frozen, clutching the roof of the cab.

“Um, do you have any napkins?” I asked the cabbie.  He threw a bunch my way.

I wanted to close the cab door and tell him to have a nice day.

But I got in.

The smoothie moved like a giant yellow blob as I pushed it across the back seat.

“Um, do you have any more napkins,” I asked.

More napkins came my way.  I tried to wipe the front of my dress and ended up with white napkin lint on top of the baby-puke colored stains.

“I don’t know if I should laugh or cry,” I said to the cabbie.

Another wad of napkins fell in my lap.

And then I laughed.

I laughed and laughed and laughed all the way to the Upper West Side.

I called my brother from a park bench in Central Park.

“Kasey Mathews you did not.  Please tell me you did not do that.”

“I did.”

“It’s like Glee when they get slushies thrown in their faces?” he said.

“Exactly,” I said.

 

“Ok, don’t panic,” he instructed.  “There are dress shops all up and down Columbus.”

And he was right, there were.  Only each dress shop was teeny-tiny, filled with a select few teeny-tiny dresses that cost like 500 dollars!

My “city” outfit and jacket had come straight off the clearance rack at TJMaxx.

I was running out of time and not sure what to do. Wear what I had on?  It’d make a great story, but seriously, it wasn’t an option.

Then I saw it.

I’d come upon Shopping Nirvana.

A three-story discount designer store called Century 21.

It was like TJMaxx on steroids.

Serious steroids.

As soon as I got off the escalator on the second floor, I saw it.  It was Calvin Klein and looked like I’d had it made to match my shoes.

50 Bucks!

When I came out of the dressing room the attendant said,  “Girl, you looking way better then when you came in here.”

And she was right.

I was.

I was feeling smooth.

 

What about you?  Any embarrassing story you’re willing to share.  Please? 

Next week, Part II – I’ll tell you all about the meeting with the literary agent and give you a full update on the book!

In all the excitement around my daughter’s 11th birthday, I overlooked another birthday of sorts!

My Blog!!

I can hardly believe it, but I’ve been at it for 1 year now! My 1st entry announcing Andie’s 10th b’day!

Happy Birthday Blog!

And thank you, thank you, thank you wonderful readers!

I ventured into this world afraid and uncertain.  But as you shared your own personal stories, memories, advice and thoughtful comments, I quickly discovered the pure joy of sharing my weekly musings with an online community!

 

I’ve decided as a thank you celebration to try something I’ve never done before.

Drum roll, please…

A Book Give Away!

No, not mine.  That is still in process with an update coming soon.

Instead, I’m looking to give away a book that had a huge impact on my life.  It’s a book about worthiness and boundries and love and shame and so much more!  It’s called The Gifts of Imperfection:  Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are.  The author, Brene Brown (please put a little thingy over the last e in Brene because my computer won’t), calls it a guide to wholehearted living.
I can’t say enough about this book.  Nearly every line of my copy is underlined and almost every corner of every page is turned down!

I wanted everyone in my family to read it and ordered 5 copies.  When the rather large box arrived, I was a bit surprised.  When I opened the cardboard box and found 12 copies, I was even more surprised.  When my husband and daughter theorized that I must have started with one, decided to order 2, and accidentally created 12, I just nodded.  Mentioning that I’d actually ordered 5 would have simply confused the situation, right?

Well, if you’ve been reading my posts for a while, you know I’m a big believer in the guidance of higher powers. So rather than try to make meaning out of this considerable order, I figured I’m supposed to give the book to 12 people who need it!  So far, I’ve come across 11.

Are you the 12th?

I’ll post a few of my favorite passages from the book and let you decide!

If so, simply leave a comment and tell me what you liked, how it moved you or even the title of a book you’d like to recommend!

I will draw a name at random after midnight on Saturday, December 10th, using the tool at www.random.org and notify the winner by email.

Passages from The Gifts of Imperfection:

Brene opens the book with the following:  “Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.”

In regard to shame, she says, shame is “the fear of being unlovable,” and “the birthplace of perfectionism.” She also writes that “shame hates it when we reach out and tell our story.”

What I love so much about the book is how Brene shares her own personal stories.

“I always been prone to worry and anxiety, but after I became a mother, negotiating joy, gratitude, and scarcity felt like a full-time job.  For years, my fear of something terrible happening to my children actually prevented me from fully embracing joy and gratitude.  Every time I came too close to softening into sheer joyfulness about my children and how much I love them, I’d picture something terrible happening: I’d picture losing everything in a flash.”  Me, too! I’d written next to that passage.

She wrote this on courage.  “Courage is telling our story, not being immune to criticism.  Staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take if we want to experience connection.”

It was so hard to pick just a few out of all the wonderful passages, but here’s one more.

“Joy is thorny and sharp as any of the dark emotions.  To love someone fiercely, to believe in something with your whole heart, to celebrate a fleeting moment in time, to fully engage in a life that doesn’t come with guarantees – these are risks that involve vulnerability and often pain.”

Check out her Ted Talk

What do you think?  I can’t wait to hear!

Eleven years ago I gave birth to a baby who needed machines to breathe.

Which is why I can’t wait to tell you this story.

It all began with a tree…

It was a silly purchase, really.  The nursery was having an end of season sale.

It was 75% off, but still, we should have known better.

“A Sequoia?” my friend asked. “Don’t they grow like a thousand feet?”

Not 1,000.  60 maybe.  I know, silly next to our house, but the kids got all excited…

“Do they even grow on the east coast?”

Turns out, they do.  But just for a little while.  And then they start to die.

We gave it a couple of years, but this fall my husband and I decided to finally dig up our California Dream and put in something more suited to our yard and east coast climate.

It was after dinner one night, I was washing dishes, he was digging up the tree, when Andie came flying through the kitchen door, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Daddy’s digging up the Sequoia,” she cried.

“Oh honey, it’s nearly dead,” I said.

“No it’s not,” she said, wiping tears from her cheeks.  “I’ve been bringing it back to life.”

Way back in September, at the beginning of the school year, Andie’s class of 5^th graders had been given the choice to learn to play the soprano, alto, tenor or bass recorder.  Andie chose alto and had been practicing everyday out in our backyard.  Turns out, she’d been playing to the tree.  And in fact, upon further investigation, the tree was coming back to life.

“I thought I was only planting one tree tonight,” Lee said heading off to help Andie choose a new spot for her tree (by then under moonlight!).

It was only a few afternoons later that I was at school picking up the kids, when Andie’s teacher approached.

“I thought you’d want to know…” she began, and went on to tell me that the recorder teacher had asked every 5^th grader to pick up their instruments, choose one note, take in the biggest breath they possibly could, and play that note until they ran out of air.

“I watched as the breath slowly seeped out of every child and they set their recorder down on their desk,” she paused.  “And then I saw that Andie was the only one left.  The only one still holding her note, long after the rest had stopped.”

I had to take hold of her arm to steady myself.  I didn’t even try to stop the tears.

I thought of all the years we’d given Andie kazoos and whistles, straws to blow feathers across the table, balloons to blow up… and to hear those words.  And to see the image of her holding that long, clear crisp note.

A dream come true.

Here is a short videoof Andie playing to her tree.  Her visitor is Meg.

 

Chances are, if you don’t have a preemie, you’ve never heard of RSV (Respiratory Syncytial Virus).

But if there’s a preemie or vulnerable child in your life, you know RSV, and you know the fear that accompanies it.

When Kelli from Hand to Hold asked me to record a video segment describing Andie’s bout with RSV, I readily agreed, never imagining how difficult it would be to speak that story into the eye of a camera.

It took several weeks and many failed attempts until I finally sat down and made it through the entire story.

The process made me realize just how deeply the trauma of RSV still lives beneath the surface of my skin.

The article Now I Know begins:

On Friday morning I sat down on my yoga mat and the tears instantly began to flow.  They journeyed from my eyes, down my cheeks, to the edge of my jaw line, dropping in little puddles on my mat. 

Looking at the tiny pools, I wondered what the heck I was crying about. 

And then, in the next moment, I knew.

I knew why on Monday, I’d screamed at the man who pulled out in front of me as the traffic light turned green.

I knew why on Tuesday, I’d snapped at my son when he’d forgotten his homework at school.

I knew why we’d eaten takeout three nights in a row and why I’d had to drag myself out of bed each morning.  I knew why my lower back throbbed and why I hadn’t walked all week.

I knew why I’d forgotten my dentist appointment on Wednesday and why after a lunch of coffee and cookies on Thursday, I still hadn’t mustered up the energy to return phone calls and emails.

As the tear puddles grew and my teacher began class, I remained still, sitting crossed-legged on my mat, absorbing the realization that all week I’d been stuck back in time, nearly nine years ago when my daughter had contracted RSV…

Click here to read more.

The video accompanies the article, but is also on youtube.  My story begins around 5:25. The squinty eyes are a result of crying all through yoga class and sitting in the drizzling rain to finally record the story!

I love and appreciate your comments over here and know they would feel the same over at Hand to Hold!