READING BETWEEN THE PINES

When I was little my nickname was Mouse. I was quiet and reserved, always assessing before speaking and sometimes not talking at all. I often held back in conversation, politely waiting my turn and more than that, waiting for permission…for someone to tell me it was O.K. to say what was on my mind. Once I hit 13 and started to become more confident, I took baby steps off my observant perch. I tried on different voices, found some that fit, and worked the modulation of my vocal cords until one felt right. And yet, this comfort with sharing my beliefs didn’t happen overnight. It took not only years but decades to find the right balance between assertion and restraint.

DG Winter Formal 1991 – no shortage of confident voices in this pic.

When I write, I follow a process. I brainstorm ideas, draft notes, craft paragraphs, edit, polish, read out loud, and edit again. My words don’t glide, they drift – and the end result looks nothing like my starting point. If it did, my point of view would be too extemporaneous and dependent on a current of expression that ebbs a lot more than it flows, resulting in a fragmented snapshot of my thoughts. Over time I’ve learned that I can actually say more with less and consequently, the delete button on my laptop gets the most use.

We live in a country where every voice matters and each person has the right to say what’s on his or her mind. The value of this freedom is priceless, an indelible piece of our nation’s historical fabric. Everyone wants to be heard. Clearly I do too or I wouldn’t write this blog. Yet in a society where we’re bombarded by opinions, sometimes less really is more.

That’s not me. But it could have been minus the protective eyewear.

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Long before I understood if I would, should or could have children, I knew that my firstborn daughter would be named Grace. And so she was. Prior to that, before my husband and I had yet to lay eyes on each other, I further knew that “Amazing Grace” would be the cornerstone song on our wedding day. And so it was. For as long as I can remember I’ve been infatuated with the word and its underlying meaning, yet only as I’ve grown older am I beginning to understand the elemental reasons why.

The concept of grace is rooted in forgiveness, not because you have to, but because you feel compelled to for the greater good. It’s centered on extending a helping hand in equal proportion to a stranger as a friend when intuition tells you it’s needed most.

Grace is elegant. It’s refined. It’s a knowing nod instead of a harsh word…silence in lieu of “I told you so”.

It’s a compromise in a world of growing contrasts.

Grace is personal. It grows from the strongest place in each of our individual hearts and is grounded in benevolence, compassion and love.

Grace is all about smiling and shaking your head in the grocery store line or parking lot when someone cuts you off. It’s laser-focused on giving others the benefit of the doubt when they’re behaving badly, because perhaps they live between layers of hurt that openly present as pain.

Grace is courteous. It’s is a promise of tolerance, understanding and in many cases, leniency.

Grace is often underserved and can be counted as one of life’s great gifts.

Maybe the root of my lifelong infatuation with grace springs from a fundamental knowledge that as a human being I can do better, be better, forgive more and judge less. Perhaps that one tiny word is the key to a life well-lived – an easy mark with monumental consequences.

I want to help create and exist in a world of tolerance. Of acceptance. Of peace. The path to all of these places is deeply personal. And it starts with grace.

Art created by Tsjisse Talsma

On any given day, people all over the world do extraordinary things. Halfway through my journey on this earth, my question is…why?

When I was 39, my fast-approaching “big 4-0” loomed large, hovering over me like a lingering cough. There was nothing about aging up into a new decade that I looked forward to, in fact, I sprinted away from this unwanted milestone with all the speed and force I could find.

For me, turning 40 felt like I’d won the creepy virus of the year award.

A decade before, I’d traded a full time career to be a full time mom. Yet over the years, I somehow got lost in the tunnels of a world I’d built for all the right reasons, and I didn’t know how to find my way back. To me.

Even though the reflection of life that I presented to the world looked enviable, my internal composition wasn’t reconciled to the image I wanted people to see. So after some pretty spectacular wrong turns, I realized that I’d lost the passion behind my purpose, and I needed a personal definition beyond the words wife and mom. Admitting this feels selfish, but as my children grew up and away, my why started to change because I was changing too.

For me, with age has come insomnia, hot flashes, and weird moles that have pretty much put my dermatologist’s kids through college. And maybe a little wisdom.

I’m the byproduct of a long line of workers. My mother, who tried to retire decades ago, is still at it. Her father built a company out of nothing and changed his family’s lives. The list goes on. And then there’s me.

Cindy Crawford’s gotten a lot further in life with her moles than I have.

My re-entry into the workforce started with writing, morphed to a part-time job, then transitioned into a full-fledged real estate career. And now, at my busiest and craziest, I’ve never been happier. My “why” is to help provide for the wants and needs of my family, and the sense of dedication I feel when I help others permeates just about everything I do. Where I once felt lost I now feel lucky, in part because my self-definition of necessary rests in a more well-rounded place than before. I’m a better wife and mom because I’m a happier person, and I’m a happier person because I’m figuring out my why.

I believe that the most grounded and fulfilled people I’ve ever encountered feel a passion about their purpose. One of the many beauties of this world is that we’re all different, tailor made to be completely individual and unique. So, I have a question. What’s your why?

These amazing people will always be at the core of my why.

As parents, my husband and I expect our three teenage children to pull their relative weight in the family. Grades are important, chores mandatory, and the economics of a burgeoning life on their own are discussed and debated in a way that often puts five distinct personalities on close to the same page.

When it comes to Christmas though, all rules go out the window. Christmas is big in our house, just as it was in my parents’ when I was a kid. Piles of presents sit stuffed in traditionally unused corners of the family room. Artists from Frank Sinatra to the Backstreet Boys fill the halls with festive fa-la-las. With lights strung and 20-pound fruitcakes made and consumed, the month of December flies by in a perpetual blur of door-to-door friends and family fun.  I’ve always loved the holiday season. Until the day came that I didn’t.

Did you know that this photo was the genesis of the 1996 retail phenomenon better know as The Snuggie? Just kidding. It was actually the genesis of the Backstreet Boys’ meteoric drop on the charts.

December 25, 2012 started off well – early as always because Christmas Day anticipation trumps sleep quality 100 to one. Yet, as our children ripped through present after present, hardly slowing down to see what they got or who it was from, I found myself feeling increasingly frustrated, so much so that I ended up storming out of the gift-gilded universe I’d created and locking myself in our room.

That’s me in a holiday hormone-inspired meltdown.

As I sat, curled up in a hormone-infused puddle of tears, I realized that in all my attempts to create the perfect Christmas, I’d forgotten the most important parts – selflessness, charity, consideration, and the giving spirit just to name a few.

So on December 26, 2012, I began my search for a holiday tradition with deeper meaning and, through the advice of a wise friend, eventually found it in an outreach effort on Christmas Day where hundreds of volunteers gather to feed, clothe and serve an equal number of the homeless population in Denver.

The true meaning of Christmas is all about giving.

The first year we volunteered was a little uncomfortable for everyone. It was freezing that morning, and shivering through her coat, hat and gloves, my youngest looked up as we unloaded our donations and simply said “I’m cold.” As I gazed across the landscape, her eyes followed mine to find hundreds of people huddled together as they waited for gifts that were considered givens in our everyday lives. A flash of recognition flickered in her eyes, and, speechless, she nodded as we all got to work.

Nothing warms a cold Christmas day than hundreds of people coming out to serve…hundreds of people. 

As our holiday volunteering has grown over the years, so too has its significance in our family’s life. Christmas will always be the biggest holiday in our house, but what we do outside the warmth of our walls has grown to become even bigger.

Our favorite family tradition.

 If you’re a local Denver resident and would like to find out more about how to donate to and/or volunteer for Christmas in the Park 2020, please contact me at schadwick@livsothebysrealty.com. We always have an amazing group of friends and neighbors who join us on Christmas Day, and would love for you to come too!

In addition to the multitude of things that inspire me to write, I’m a contributor to our local community paper, The Castle Pines Connection. Come check out the neighborhood and people who make it meaningful at www.castlepinesconnection.com.

As fall break kicks into high gear, Gemini Girl is back with a guide to parenting. And cocktailing. But not necessarily in that order.

The Newborn Stage

There’s nothing quite like the joy of birthing your first child until you peer down at the area formerly known as your waist to find a post-delivery fat roll that looks a lot like a Yugo’s spare tire. So what’s the alcohol antidote to this unexpected surprise? A $5.99 box of wine. It’s cheap (those 529 plans don’t fund themselves), takes minor hand-eye coordination to open, and based on your inability to get anywhere other than the pediatrician’s office, is the perfect solution to a long afternoon of burps and blowouts. Plus, if you down a couple of Sunset Blush spritzers and crash into that three-hour block of quasi-sleep you get the satisfying reward of waking up to pump and dump and start the cycle all over again.

Carrying a spare tire on your belly is a great way to maximize trunk space and store nuts for the winter at the same time.

The Toddler Years

Toddlers are super-fun but way more intense than newborns because they move in every direction except those that make sense. I suggest ditching alcohol altogether at this stage because it’s just too dangerous to drink. Letting your child plunge face-first into the dog’s water bowl while you’re mixing a 17-ingredient Bloody Mary isn’t cool, so if you have to pop the top off something, take it easy and go for a light beer. Drinking is more about hydration than libation at this point, yet it still feels like you’ve earned a prestigious award for enduring your kid’s journey through the gerbil tunnel at Chuck E Cheese.

Fossilized feces, a possible strain of an as-yet unidentified disease, and a creepy mouse = family fun!

The Elementary School Years

At this point your children are gaining independence but aren’t old enough to steal your car and take it for a pre-license spin to Smoothie King because their health app says they’re kimchi-deficient. This is your house party stage where exotic drinks like Elderflower Margaritas can flow like water. Take advantage of this time, because life’s about to change.

The Middle School Years

Now your budding teenagers know everything and you know nothing. Since they could care less what you’re doing unless it involves cruising by the ATM, take cocktailing to a new level and build a vodka luge in your back yard. Your kids already think you’re crazy, and really? Who cares about the neighbors. Life’s only getting shorter.

Just joking. Nothing about a vodka luge says “Parent of the Year”. It does say “Perp Alert of the Day” on nextdoor.com so that’s kind of fun.

The High School Years

With teenagers come fun issues like driving, independence, social media, and blown curfews. It’s a great time for new family games like “Lock the Liquor Cabinet” and the teen version better known as “Roll the House to Find the Key.” At this point you have three cocktail goals: quick, cheap and strong. Go straight to doing shots.

As your kids grow up and away, consider this advice a road map to your next life phase – the Empty Nester Years. Now you can once again do what you when you want, and day drinking becomes a thing. Just do me a favor and don’t drink and drive. You’re way smarter than your kids think you are, plus there’s no Elderflower Margarita in jail.

PSA – Gemini Girl eats breakfast for dinner, thinks crosswalks are dumb, and uses humor to fuel a burgeoning 14 hour workday. Don’t take what she says seriously and please don’t follow her advice because she’s 100% not qualified to offer any. She’s all about the lighter side of life, her PEZ dispenser collection, and TikTok. 

There’s no denying the reality of my firstborn going away to college. Our tribe of five is now a slightly quieter group of four. There are less dishes to clean and laundry to do. I don’t hear “hey ma” as he rolls out of bed when my day’s half done. And I don’t get his teasing pat on the head when I’m at my laptop, working late into the night, and he’s on his way out the door working toward an increasingly independent life.

He’s gone, and the rest of us are here, adjusting to a new family dynamic without the leader our girls have looked up to all their lives. My son has grown up and away, and our tribe will never be the same. It’s a realization that’s sometimes so hard for me to carry that I step back, take a look at it, shake my head, and walk away.

And yet…he’s so happy. I could literally feel his anticipation on the plane ride to school as he metaphorically drummed his fingers on the drop-down table. It’s time to go. It’s time to go. I’ve got to go. Far and away and to an unknown place called Indiana with humid summers, bucolic scenery, and lots of pretty girls. A place where he will no longer live in the long shadow cast by his Type A Mom and will instead start to define himself on his terms: good and bad, right and wrong, moving forward and backward, and sometimes standing still.

When I left his college room more organized than it will ever be from here on out, introductions to parents and new friendships had been made, and I let go from that last hug that lingered a few seconds too long? I felt…surprisingly relieved. I walked away from my only son with lighter steps than I could have ever imagined. Because he’s right where he wants to be. And I’ve done my job.

So with the miles, and the distance, and the infrequent calls that are really more about cash than connecting, I feel alright. The rhythm of our relationship will never be the same, and even though our new cadence and tone are creating sounds I’ve never heard before, I’ve always loved new music. And that’s how I see the future for my son and me. It’s like an exotic dance. Even though I’m no longer choreographing the steps, he’s more than ready to take the lead.

***

Advice For My Son

(because this is my blog and I can say whatever I want to even if he won’t listen)

• As parents, we spend decades preaching and teaching. “Be a good person.” “Make good choices.” “Do good things.” Now it’s your turn to manage our messages and figure out what moves your needle even a fraction off-center. Find, embrace, and act on the things that matter most. To you.

• Be humble. Just about everyone at college knows more than you do about something, in fact, lots of somethings. Accept that you have a lot to learn and embrace the boundless opportunities to expand your mind.

• Be curious. Not only are questions the fasted way to get an answer, they show you care. “How are you?” and “What do you think?” are good places to start.

• Don’t judge. If you can master this concept before you leave school you’ll be light years ahead of your peers. And your parents. O.K. maybe not your parents but definitely some of your parents’ friends.

• Have fun. Does life get better than college? It does, but with caveats and constraints you can’t yet understand.

• Take risks. The only way to see the nighttime beauty of fireflies flitting through the trees is to walk through a dark forest.

• Don’t spend so much time honing your social life that you ultimately find yourself permanently parked in our basement. Coming home on your terms is a lot more rewarding than coming home on ours.

• Persist. In life, a little bit of bad almost always accompanies any amount of good.

• When friendships haven’t gelled yet and schoolwork is tougher than you thought, accept that you’re going to be a little homesick. We miss you too. More than you know.

• Connect with the not-so-obvious. Befriend someone who seems different. Take a class that doesn’t count toward your major. Visit places that feel foreign.

• Being a teenager is about finding your tribe. Becoming an adult is about finding your voice.

• It’s easy to move with the current, but swimming upstream, though harder, yields far more reward. Think twice about taking the easy way out.

• Be still. If you can get comfortable with a little loneliness, some of your biggest moments will rest on the shoulders of solitude.

• Mistakes are inevitable so don’t run from them. Learn from them instead.

• Talk less and listen more – to professors, upperclassmen, people whose opinions you share, and more importantly, to those that you don’t. Listen with your head. Listen with your heart. Just listen.

• Be purposeful because it’s not what you say, it’s what you do that matters.

• Go to college determined to make the world a better place. If you do, you’ll have succeeded far beyond any other measure.

In addition to the multitude of things that inspire me to write, I’m a contributor to our local community paper, The Castle Pines Connection. Come check out the neighborhood and people who make it meaningful at www.castlepinesconnection.com.

My career trajectory over the past 20 years has been long and broad, with years of working full time, staying at home, and everything in between. I’ve learned that all moms are made of the same DNA, so rather than split our differences, I’d like to highlight the things we share.

As moms, we struggle to find the right words for the challenging questions our children ask, especially when we don’t know the answers.

We want our children to trust us. And we want to trust them. But we track them on our phones just in case.

An ankle monitor might be a step too far for tracking your teen. Then again, maybe not.

We constantly wrestle with universal mom feeling #2 – guilt, which is only surpassed by the comfort of universal mom feeling #1 – love.

Some of us are doctors, lawyers, and professors, yet none of us have figured out how to get our kids to hang towels on the rack. Or to stop stepping over all their crap on the stairs. Or to load the dishwasher in a way that doesn’t give us vertigo.

Because we’re human we make mistakes. Because we’re healers we figure out how to fix them.

When our children’s words sting and their actions hurt, we stick around. And sign up for more. Because even on the toughest days, we love what we do.

We teach lessons in the time we spend with our kids, and time spent away from them.

What’s wrong with this picture? Nothing. Except maybe the dad’s crazy eyes which probably means he’s high on life vacationing without his kids. Or just high.

We want our kids to spread their wings and soar yet touch back down from time to time.

Some of us are the financial anchors for our families, others are the emotional backbone, and many are both. We’re the daughters of aging parents and the mothers of children with disabilities, and often serve as lifelines to three generations of our family. We’re taxed and we’re tired, yet we’re up for any challenge. Unconditionally.

We’re optimists who want to leave the world a better place for our children than the one we gave them, yet we’re not sure that we can.

At the end of the day, we all want the same thing: happy children who feel unconditionally loved and can consistently pick their dirty laundry up off the floor.

My youngest enjoys doing laundry almost as much as me.

We love and we lose, are both wise and weary, and sometimes just try to make it through the day. We’ve had a lot more triumphs and teaching moments than fears and failures, and we constantly learn. To be good people, strong women, and the best mothers.

In addition to the multitude of things that inspire me to write, I’m a contributor to our local community paper, The Castle Pines Connection. Come check out the neighborhood and people who make it meaningful at www.castlepinesconnection.com.