A letter to my son on his 4th birthday

My Kroy,

This year, I write this early…to ensure a final letter to you as my only child.

What a year your third has been. Last bits and glimpses of toddler no longer…you are now a little boy.

My heart is so full and aches so much back and forth, as I am learning…still…the hard way, that your entire life will continue to be a series of firsts and lasts and everything in between.

The first time you accomplish things on your own, the first time I witness you being a bully, the first time you repeat things (good and bad) that you have learned, the first time I see the look on your face when I’ve let you down.

The last time you’ll ask me to hold you, or carry you, or snuggle you, the last time you say certain (grammatically incorrect) phrases that are the cutest things I’ve ever heard. Like “Dark Bader” (Darth Vader) or “Are you true?” (Is that true?)
The last time you’re interested in certain toys or the last time you call me mommy. (Almost always mom now.) :-(
Firsts and lasts…so many that have already passed us by, and so many more that are to come.

This year, a big first to come….big brother.
So far, you have taken on the idea of that role well. At first you said you didn’t want a sibling, and then you thought…well, it’s baby Briar in there. But as we have talked and prepared, now you know that a sister is coming, she is yours, and you don’t want to hold her if she’s crying. You also know her name, that you would prefer she didn’t sleep in your bed, and a list of things you will teach her. From day 1, you told us that the baby was a girl, a sister. I believe you actually knew.

There are days I worry…what if you don’t feel as loved as you did before your sister came? But then again, I worry a lot these days. I worry about what is happening when I’m not around…and can’t always protect you from a broken heart, a broken leg, or a broken spirit? What if you find yourself unhappy or down a path you didn’t want? What if the wrong people influence you, or the world is ugly? What if I don’t teach you well enough how to treat others, how to persevere, or how to love?
What if I’m not enough?

You see, there are a lot of days…I fail you. I’m too quick to throw on a movie, or tell you “no, pump your feet” when you’re begging me to push you on the swing at the park. (Another thing, someday soon, you’ll never ask me to do again.) I lose my patience, I’m on my phone, or I’m distracted by other things. I vow to be better, to try harder, to love you with more dedication, and to give you more.

You are my most cherished prize in this universe. You are funny, smart, and so strong. You are inquisitive, a little standoffish at first, and can be so serious. Your giggle and outbursts of laughter send me into a euphoric state of understanding, in that moment, what life is about.

You have given me more in (just shy of) 4 years of life than all of the 26 before you combined. You are my greatest treasure, my heaviest burden, my biggest worry, my highest priority, my best source of laughter, and my sweetest guy. My “sweetheart guy.” Sometimes I will ask you, “who are you?” and you will still answer “your sweetie.” Oh my heart…yes, you are. You are and always will be. No matter how many siblings you may have through life, whether it be 1 or 10…you will always be my first, and we were in this together from the beginning.

You are adventurous, brave, and so athletic. You love all things sports, swords, dad, superheroes, and anything that you can ride, throw, or get your hands dirty with. You are not very good at sharing (but we’re working on it.)

I love you more than life itself. And as I sit here full of emotion and many tears, I can’t help but think about all the firsts ahead this year for you…becoming a brother, starting pre-school, starting wrestling, (maybe hockey?), and all the things that will come along with those…I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude that I get to be your mom. I wish I could save you from life’s heavy burdens…but I can’t. All I can do is try to prepare you as best I can for you to be able to carry them well on your own. They will slowly stack upon your shoulders as the years go on and life becomes crueler, harder, and heavier. But I will always be right by your side, no matter what.

This parenting gig...it is hard. I must admit, I’m not always the best at it. Thank God I have your dad along on this ride with me, as he is your rock, your greatest role model…your favorite. (And mine too.)

Next year, I’ll write about your first year as a full-fledged little boy…but for now, this mama’s heart is aching that you are so big, so grown up, and my time with just you and you alone is soon coming to an end.

If nothing else in life, always remember these things: be kind, be free, and you are so loved.

With many tears and all the love in the world,
Xoxo…
Your mom

When your heart has room for 13 more.

It’s hard to put something into words when you feel so strongly about it you could burst.

There’s been something on my mind…almost daily…for the last 5 months.  Something that has come up in almost every conversation, and seeped into my heart slowly where it will rest always.

The Alexander Comets.

Far past the glow and the shiny surface of brand new uniforms and national media coverage, stands 13 high school boys that changed the course of their own lives and an entire community.

Behind the heartwarming stories and articles though, underneath the shine, there is more to be seen. A deeper and more raw story…the one that seems to never be told.  See the truth is, the Alexander Comets are formed by much more than just a group of high school boys.

They are made up of a collection of 13 different paths of life experiences. Some much more painful and hard than anyone could imagine. Some wonderful, some boring. Some heartbreaking, some scary.

No one, unless directly associated, could possibly imagine the work,time…blood, sweat, and tears that a school must put in to build an entire program from the ground up. The stress, the hours, the manpower, the tears. Standing behind those boys are the wall of people that made it possible. An entire community, school administration, teachers, coaches, managers, bus drivers, volunteers…so much invested.

Watching Kevin start fresh with a new team was hard at first. To close the chapter in Fairview after all of those years and march on to unknown territory…it was bittersweet. But as the weeks passed, I could see before my eyes that he had a newfound energy behind coaching…being pushed to new limits and starting with a team who had essentially, as a whole, never played football. Yes, there were a few players who had played before, but never 6 man, and never together and some just…never.

Behind the frustration and learning curve, there is beauty to be found in stripping something down to it foundation…it’s core, and breathing life into it.

Kevin was born to be a football coach. It’s in his blood, in his soul. Watching him through this challenging season has made me more proud of him as a coach than I could ever imagine. To see him carry himself with integrity through losses, and meetings…tough teams, injuries, managing issues that came up, finding solutions to things, and still falling in love with his new 13, the same way if not more deeply than every group that has come before…has changed me in the process. See it's very different to go from a flourishing program, to one that's just beginning. To go from a "successful" team with many numbers and a deep bench, to a very small team still trying to figure out who will fit best at which position. To go from win after win every week and deep into the playoffs for years, to losses and injury and trial by fire. But there can be even more heart and beauty that lies within a fresh start, gratefulness, and a longing to just be there. Watching Kevin carry himself in an identical fashion to all the years he did before, no matter the vast differences on the scoreboard and numbers, has shown me that his love for football and coaching runs much more deep than titles, and wins, and records. 

Today they played their last game of their first season. Battered and bruised, many out for injuries, and a lopsided score, they finished the game with a touchdown and celebrated that as if they had won the superbowl. I’m so proud of them…but I hope they are so, so very proud of themselves.

Who would have thought…a nerdy, book loving, gypsy heart photographer would end up with a football coach and produce a son that lives to be just like his dad. If you would have told me that 10 years ago I would have laughed and said “never!!!” But it has changed me. This journey of being a coach’s wife has enriched me more than I could express, despite being very difficult at times. I thought we had closed the football chapter 2 years ago when Kevin left teaching, but then he returned in Fairview, and then started a new journey in Alexander. And alas, my heart made room for 13 more. And just as all of the boys before them, there they will stay.

A letter to my son on his 3rd birthday

Another year.

My sweet Kroy,

This past year, you have morphed right before my eyes from a toddler into a little boy.
This has been such a joy, and also very difficult for me at the same time.

Some of the toddler stages you went through were a huge challenge for me. They required a lot more patience and energy than I sometimes had. Now, you have become so very independent and although those things make my life easier and more convenient many times, the trade off is a hard tug on the heartstrings. My baby doesn’t need me like he used to.

As we get to know each other more and more over these passing years, I am learning that most things in parenting are like this…good and bad, sweet and difficult, hilarious and frustrating, a new zest for life and extreme exhaustion….all at once.  Sweet and sour. The best of times and the worst of times.

I find this feeling both fascinating and sad, if I’m being honest. Each accomplishment you make, each passing year, each special event in your life I will be overflowing with pride and joy…and a little broken hearted by how big you are and how fast time flies. I know this feeling is just the tip of the iceberg of the years to come.

There are already days I wish I could get back…that I wish I would have gone to sleep earlier the night before, so I could be more patient with your fits and find more humor in your messes and repeating the same phrases over and over and over. Already evenings I wish I would have stayed home to spend that time with you. Realistically, there will be many more days like this over the course of your life that I don’t realize in that moment.

I love being your mom, Kroy. I love your sweet voice and your baby soft skin. I love your tender heart and willingness to share. I love when your laugh shakes you from your core and pure glee radiates from your nose to your kneecaps.

You are also challenging me every step of the way. You are strong willed and stubborn. You are a daddy’s boy, and will choose dad 10 times out of 10 when it comes to going places with, reading to, special trips, sitting with, or any activities. These things can make the days and the weeks long. These things are hard on a mom’s heart.

But you don’t know. You are just truly and completely free to be who you are and express what you feel. The only time in life we are completely comfortable with ourselves and all of our own thoughts and expressions…we don’t remember later in life. Isn’t it crazy? I hope you can keep some of that comfort level with yourself…the one that innocent little free spirited souls have. We lose that somewhere along the way.

It is fun to see you starting to understand things going on around you, but also terrifying. With all of that new excitement and grasp on the world, you will also start to see the ugly and the cruel that life can bring. I can’t save you from all of it, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to.

You love swords (slightly obsessed) sports, rough housing, football, baseball, and golf. You love to climb and jump from very high places. You love to take baths and read books and ride your scooter. You love anything and everything to do with your dad. You can be very serious and take a very long time to warm up to others. You can also be very outgoing, compassionate, and so sweet. You absolutely refuse to be potty trained, despite the fact that you’re the size of a 5 year old, and so are your turds.

As I sit here typing this, you are currently on the floor of the hallway in a full tantrum because an old pair of shoes you’d like to wear are way too small and won’t go on your feet. You will not accept this, and you will not take my help. Within 3 minutes you will be not only fine but probably laughing or so excited about something else. Welcome to a glimpse of life with 3 year old Kroy.

I’d be lying if I said there weren’t days I feel like a terrible mom. Days that I feel like I check out mentally, or don’t follow through, or wait for that 8:30 bedtime and moment of celebration when I lay you down for bed and close the door behind me. But I’m trying. I’m trying to be present, to be supportive, to be strict and consistent, to be patient, loving, and understanding. I’m trying to not sweat the small stuff, to be a good example, to teach you the golden rule. To hold you a little longer and despite how physically difficult it has become now with your size, to carry you every chance you will let me. It is slipping away, my chances at some of these things. I am trying to show you what it’s like to love someone unconditionally. Sometimes I fail…often times…but I am trying.

I’d lasso the moon for you if I could.
xoxo…

Your mama. 

Cheers to 7 years

I read a quote once that stated a successful marriage is made of two people who can learn to forgive each other over and over.

I didn’t have any idea what I was getting myself into when I got married. I was very young and spontaneous, with a wild and free spirit. Everyone around me thought I was crazy (and some thought I was pregnant) when I said yes to marry a guy I knew for 4 months and saw in person about once every 3 weeks.

It was a shock, to say the least, when real life as a family started with a man I essentially didn’t know that well. If I’m being honest, a shock is a nice way of saying it was really really hard. There were times I questioned everything, even if I had made the right choice, and sometimes thinking…what have I done?

I’ve never been one of those people who says or believes that I shouldn’t have regrets, because it’s shaped me or brought me where I am or all the many nice things that some people tag onto bad decisions and bad behavior. I regret many things in my life…not in a negative and dwelling way, but in a way that acknowledges some of those poor choices.

Every passing day, I realize a little more how lucky…truly lucky…I was that the universe set Kevin Clausen in my path. Can you imagine what could have been, had the man I had chosen not been one with a good heart and pure intentions? A scary thought.

As we’ve walked though this life journey together thus far, it has been difficult. We have been in places of financial lows, with literally not enough money in our pockets to eat lunch. We have, many times, felt overwhelming anger, frustration, resentment, and even rage toward each other. We have both questioned if we should remain together at various points, and let our pride overcome us temporarily. I have said things I didn’t mean. I have put myself over the good of my family unit and my husband many times over. I have shut him out, and demanded him back in.

See, it’s hard, and scary, and painful to place your heart in someone else’s hands. And because they’re human, they don’t always hold it carefully…sometimes they drop it, or stumble, or forget they are holding it. We don’t talk about these things. The truth. It’s either the unrealistic fairy tale or airing of dirty laundry. Both of which are equally damaging to the expectation and view of marriage and it’s failing status in our society.

I do have regrets. I regret every time I spoke to my husband with snark and impatience. I regret times I have shut him out or was unkind. I regret not being more supportive to a million things that he held dear, but I didn’t see of value. And I hate that I will continue to do those things, and my human nature will take over at times and rear it’s ugly head that causes us all to be, in some ways, innately selfish.

Because for every one difficult thing, I have seen 100 happy things. I have seen him sacrifice over and over for the sake of our family. I have seen him work tirelessly, and carefully, for the good of others and bettering them. I have seen him hold our lifeless child in his arms and watched his heart shatter into a million pieces, yet still have the strength to pick me up and carry me through my darkest hour. I have seen others betray him, and watched as he held himself with dignity and quiet humility. I have seen him grow, and love, and fill the people around him with a sense of calm, and that everything is going to be okay. I have felt him support me, back me, and encourage me to pursue things that benefit no one else but myself. I have seen him wrap his heart and arms around our Kroy and choose to guide him through his little life with unconditional acceptance, love, and patience. I won’t, but I could go on…for days.

This is my truth about marriage. It’s a hard truth sometimes. It raw…but it’s real. Things can be difficult and beautiful at the same time. Almost everything worth having is. It doesn’t always have to be one or the other.

If I had it to do over, I’d choose you again. I cherish you, and all of our truth. I will carry your heart in my hands more carefully. I will remain your wild horse that pulls you toward the breeze. You are my anchor that keeps my heart calm in the seas. I love you. Cheers to 7 years.

Dirty Thirty

It's the last night of my 20's. Wow, what a ride. As I reflect on the last decade, I can't help but feel overwhelmed with the craziness of life...both extremes of highs to lows and everything in between. In the last 10 years, I've married a boy I loved before I knew, graduated college, started my own business. I've buried a child, and brought one home. I've had -$7.00 in my bank account while owing $70,000, not knowing where my next meal was coming from, and I've dug through the trenches and reached the light at the end of the tunnel of student, business, medical, and bad decision debt to be able to purchase a home and a fresh start. I've been thin, I've been fat. I've loved hard, fought hard, grieved hard. Crying and laughing all the way. I've fallen on my face and learned things the hard way more times than I could count. There are days I feel 19 without a clue what I'm doing, and days I feel 67 and that I've figured a few things out. 

I don't dread 30. I've earned 30, I'll wear it proudly.

Cheers *clink* to the next 30. To the continued journey to finding our best selves. After all, it's all any us can do is live our truth, and strive to be better than the day before. xoxo...

This old house.

Remember that show? This Old House...with Bob Vila? The pre Mike Holmes PBS home improvement show. My dad used to watch that when I was a kid.

Anyway...so, we bought a home! I can't believe it. Kevin and I have been talking about and hoping for this exact point in our lives for approximately 7 years (give or take.)

And, not only did we find a home, we found a big, beautiful, unique, special house that we love, and absolutely cannot wait to make our own.

And yet, as the excitement builds (and the relief sets in after a 10+ week bank process is finally over,) I can't help but start to get emotional about leaving our little 'ol rental behind the trees on the edge of Warrior territory.

Deep within the walls of wood paneling, the one (sometimes) working light bulb in the bathroom, the wild cats in the trees and the creepy dark storage basement...our hearts rested here.

Our hearts rested in a place that we celebrated in, grieved in, laughed in, fought in, loved. A perfect location, with the sounds (and smell) of the cows in the spring, and the buzz of harvest all around us in the fall.

I will miss this house, and will cherish the adventures that have taken place here...our first kiss, right outside under the stars, accidentally flushing my wedding ring down the toilet (don't worry, we got it back! Now THAT'S a story for you.), the most beautiful winter wonderland (AND photography location!), and finally walking through the door with our Kroy to his first home.

We had, without a doubt, the most amazing landlords that ever did exist. Now, this is the part that really makes me cry. In an area and market that they could have easily quadrupled the rent we were paying (probably more than that)...they never did. They fixed anything, and everything...almost immediately upon request. The months that we were struggling...struggling financially (and emotionally,) they never asked us for payment. While what felt an astronomical amount of money was flying out the door toward medical debts and collections from babies and the struggles of getting them into this world, there were times we would fall behind, and payment was behind or late. Not once did we get a phone call or pressure, they just patiently waited until we caught up. In what world? They play such a huge part in our new home and the fact that possibility even existed. They will never know how grateful we are to them, how much they mean to us, and what a gift they have been in our lives. God Bless 'em.


And so, we move along down the road. 11 miles down the road to be exact, and we leave a piece of our souls on the edge of the Klose Farm and in the dirt of Warrior country. Our first home will always be a treasured one. And I'll tell you another thing; the moon has never shined so bright as when you're sitting on the top step out the back door of this old house.

A letter to my son on his 2nd birthday (and cheers to all the toddler moms!)

My Kroy,

Well…it’s Shark Week again, and that can only mean one thing. You’re another year older…it’s your birthday week.

What a year this second of your life has been for all of us. It has brought challenges I never dreamed we would face within such a short time span. Major career changes, heartache, unfortunate circumstances, months of ear infections, tubes, an insane schedule that we are still adjusting to 8 months later, and oh-so-much more of life’s crazy and unexpected unknowns.

Your dad gave up a job that he loved and lived for to make a better life for us. And despite being on that path, we are still in progress adjusting to these major changes. Change is so hard. Someday I will tell you about what he sacrificed for us, what it meant, and how it changed our lives. For now, I will just tell you how proud I am of him and that it makes me incredibly grateful that you will grow up with a perfect example of bravery and courage. With this path to a different future, also came the compromise of his time. Every other week, 24/7, it’s just me and you, kid. This has been a big adjustment for both of us.

So many changes have been brought about since one year ago when I sat down, teary-eyed, to write a letter to my son on his first birthday. I have not written a blog post since that until now, (if that is at all telling of the madness that has ensued within this year.)

You are a funny little man. You are very smart and observant...an independent spirit. You are so unbelievably stubborn (and so physically strong.) You love to be outside, to run, to chase, throw balls, tackle, rough-house…you are all boy. You are slow to warm up to people, but usually come around. You love your dad so much…and love to be with the boys. You have a shy side, and an outgoing side…depending on your surroundings. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for you.

I wish I could say that this year has been easy. I wish I could say that I’m confident we’re doing everything “right” and know what to do in most situations and interactions with you. But I can’t say that.

I wish I could say that I do everything in my power to be the very best mom I can be every day. But I can’t always say that either. Sometimes I cheat. Sometimes I feel like I'm failing. Sometimes I put you in the high chair in front of cartoons with a string cheese and some lunch meat and call it a meal. Sometimes I put on a movie and hope that I can work for 20 straight minutes on my computer with no interruption. Sometimes as you are flailing around in full meltdown mode in public screeching and doing the bucking bronco to get out of my arms, (all 37 pounds of you)…I’m really just not sure what to do, so I do nothing…too much…or not enough. Sometimes I lose my cool, and become short and frustrated. Sometimes I’m so exhausted, and the energy I had toward educational fun, consistent discipline, and keeping on schedule goes out the window. Sometimes I feel an overwhelming amount of guilt for all of those things I’ve listed above and so, so many more…and sometimes I don’t.

But, despite it all, I still think (and hope) that you laugh more than you cry, you run more than you sit, you play more than you’re idle, and you eat more fruit than candy. You are exceptionally well behaved when other people are watching you. (I have no proof of that personally, but I’m going to take their word for it.)

Sometimes, I feel like I love you so much it hurts. I want you to experience every joy in this life and avoid every heartache, despite knowing that’s not possible.

I had a very very strong misconception that making you “learn the hard way” and a little “tough love” didn’t start until you were much, much older. Boy was I wrong.

My wish for you is that you’re a fast learner. That you bump your head a little less and give hugs a little more. That you make friends a little faster and learn that patience, drive, and effort alone will get you so far in life. You will learn much of this the hard way…the independent way…so I hope you learn fast. My wish for you is freedom….freedom from stress, worry, sadness, and that laughter, play, and adventure reigns your toddler life. Isn’t it ironic that the only time in life we are truly free in that sense…we don’t remember any of it?

And this year, as selfish as it may sound, I also have a few wishes for myself. I hope that I can remain focused on the big picture, and not be so caught up in the little things, as I navigate this journey of losing myself and finding myself all over time and again. I hope that I can remember a little more often that I am your constant example of all things good and bad…to keep my tone a little sweeter, my voice a little softer, and my exhausted, frustrated sighs to myself.

Everyone always says…”it goes so fast.” And it does, for the most part. (And, my personal favorite…”you will miss this.”) But there is a reason the toddler years fly by, and you trade in each good and bad for another set of good and bad with each stage. It’s because none of us moms would survive with a permanent toddler in our lives forever.

There is much the human spirit can learn from a toddler. Here are some things I’ve learned from you:

Never hold back. Just go for it…whether a nose dive off the couch (a leap of faith) or a sprint through the mud puddle in your family picture outfit (lose your inhibitions.)

Naps are an absolute necessity.

Laugh at things that are funny…no matter where you are or who you are around. There is no inappropriate place for laughter.

You know no judgment. You will high five anyone, take food from anyone, laugh with anyone, and love anyone. Keep that…always. Everyone is just navigating through this world the best they know how.

There is wonder and excitement in the littlest of things…things our adult eyes and souls have lost touch with.

Thank you for the challenges, the lessons, the laughs, and the tears. I love being your mom, Kroy. God is in your gut; always go with your gut. Let’s see what this next year has in store. We're in this together.

Xoxo...