Merry Christmas 2016

Christmas 2016 for the Luippold Family will long be remembered in the history books as the “Year Mom Caved and Bought Us The Elf on The Shelf.” And that about sums it up-it’s all about the children! Bard and I both had a pretty exciting year too, full of blessings and surprises, but we’ll talk about the fun stuff first; what are those three little naughties up to now?!

Evelyn decided to finish the year out with a bang-literally-banging her arm and yes, it’s broken! But Santa must love her because the cast comes off December 23^rd! Even a broken arm couldn’t slow this kid down-she marched in Tacoma’s Santa Parade, is playing (one handed) in her piano recital, dancing the role of a Party Girl in a local production of The Nutcracker, AND singing with the youth choir for our church’s Christmas Services! Evelyn continues to amaze us by reading countless books, flashing countless smiles, and diving into countless activities. She will tell you a highlight for this year was getting braces on her top front teeth, of which she is very proud, and loves to plan out what color bands she is going to switch to with each orthodontist visit. Classic Evie! Also, don’t call her Evelyn, she is now known as Evie!

On to our middle child.  Cici (who is now only to be known as Cecilia) had a big year-starting kindergarten! Cici, ahem, Cecilia, was so excited to start her first real year of school and according to her teacher is a delight to have in class. She mastered riding a two-wheel bicycle and is very anxious to lose her first tooth. Cecilia also enjoys piano listens and impresses all of us by quickly sounding out her favorite songs! She will be appearing in The Nutcracker with her sister, as the most adorable Gingerbread Girl ever. If Cici were to give you a highlight for this year, it would be the cat. She carries that poor cat around all over the house, can’t go past it without kisses and hugs. But so far the cat doesn’t seem to mind and Cici is still in one piece!

Mr Max. Max would have a hard time topping last year’s open heart surgery, but he really is doing very well. He has preschool therapy classes three times a week and his instructors have raved-no really-raved-about his progress. He talks non-stop (why couldn’t I have just one quiet child?!) and has progressed so much in gross motor skills as well. We continue to enjoy a relationship with Max’s biological grandmother in Ukraine, Skyping with her almost weekly. And if Max could give you a highlight for this year, it would most certainly be bulldozers. Anything. Bulldozers.

That leaves just us! This year was a special milestone for Bard and I, we celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. And true to form we did it in style J Leaving the kids with my parents, we flew to New York City for a long weekend full of family time, the ballet, amazing food, and yes, seeing Hamilton on Broadway! We also enjoyed a family vacation to California to spend time with both Bard’s and my family (and, Mickey Mouse got a visit too!) We filled the rest of the year with camping trips, swim lessons, visits to Seattle, hiking Mt Rainier, and my personal favorite-driving back and forth to school a million times each week! Bard’s job at Amazon is intense but going well, and he was able to find a bit of time this summer to row crew on Lake Union before going into work for the day. Work was a big change for me this year, not only did I step down from my position at Serve the Children, to have more margin in caring for Max, but after 20 years of teaching dance at the YMCA, I resigned and

recently started teaching at a new studio, Sound Movement Arts Center. Such a drastic change was a huge step for me but I am so grateful for this whole experience! It’s led me to branch out in new ways, ones that I know I would not have done without such a big push. I am taking dance classes for myself-for the first time in two decades-AND, it’s not just the girls performing in The Nutcracker, it’s me too! I’ll be onstage for two dances and am thrilled yet terrified! Isn’t it funny how one decision can have far reaching consequences that leave you whirling with doubt, but then bring understanding and peace?

Last year I shared that I felt called to reach out to marginalized people in our society. God has expanded that dream and I’ve been learning a lot about institutionalized racism and what I can do to make a difference in our community. Bard and I have both taken up this passion and now more than ever feel that we need to add our voice to those in need of support, compassion, and justice. Part of me is apprehensive about what 2017 might bring, but I know that if we spend ourselves on behalf of the hungry, and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then our light will rise in the darkness, and the Lord will guide us always~Isaiah~Merry Christmas and may the year 2017 be a year in which we all strive to fill our world with Light and Hope.

Building Walls

I think that I now hate the poem Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. When I saw people starting to post it almost immediately following the election results, I knew exactly why they had chosen that particular poem.  Her words have been imprinted on my soul, speaking my life, for as long as I can remember. She never knew it, but she was a mentor to me. Her, a black woman from the Mid-West, growing up with little stability in the midst of the Civil Rights movement. Me, a white woman from the West Coast, nurtured in every possible way and taught that racism had been defeated, because this was America. To see her words on social media was too much. Too powerful, too searing, too raw.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter twisted lies
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I rise

I cannot describe to you the grief I felt, feel, at needing to rise from this muck of hatred. And actually, I shouldn't have to describe it because the trauma that accompanies the decision to normalize oppression should be self-evident to anyone who holds even a thread of compassion in their heart. I am not surprised that he won. I have seen racism and abuse in all facets of our society. I have seen ugly truths barely simmering beneath the surface and knew that like a festering wound they would spread to everything they touched. No, I am not surprised that evil won. I am devastated that good lost. I am heart-broken that people I consider family, church family, people who are in the same bracket as me, who identify with me, and who are called to a higher purpose with me, failed. Utterly and completely failed.

For day after day they seek Me out;

they seem eager to know My ways,

as if they were a nation that does what is right

and has not forsaken the ways of its God

But then, to add insult to injury, I am told to not be upset about this tragedy. That I am overreacting. To get over it. Move on. God is in control. 

Listen and listen well.

I spent years in an abusive relationship. Being told that I was overreacting, to get over it, to move on. My voice was silenced, I did not matter. Well no more. I am a strong woman and I have a voice. I not only matter, I am cherished. Do not even dream about telling me how to feel. When someone has been through something painful, it is not your place to tell them whether they should be in pain. There is a reason that studies show phases of grief, that is healthy, "getting over it" is not. I am my own person and I am in charge of how I process an experience. No one else, just me. That's exactly how God made me. He did not make robots, He made vulnerable people. And He made us different. We act differently, we interact differently, and we react differently. And that is beautiful. And so, maybe there is a purpose for me to stay in the muck longer. Maybe God speaks to us in the dark places, when we're not listening, when we're angry and hurting. Maybe.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts my ancestors gave

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

I make no claims to be "the hope of the slave." But I can certainly be the voice against oppression. Something is happening. Movement.  Maybe some of us have been moving, like choppy waves blown by the wind. But what I am longing for is the force of deep ocean currents. Yes, God is in control. He was even in control while I was in an abusive relationship. But God did not stay on His cozy little throne. No, he got down and came into the muck. And I believe with all of my broken heart that He is calling us to do the same.

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:

To loose the chains of injustice

And untie the chords of the yoke

To set the oppressed free

and break every yoke?

There are people in our country, I am one of them although in a more privileged place than many, who are terrified at what we've done. They've already experienced oppression and are now living in fear that it will get worse, much worse. We do not get to discount their fears; we get to stand up and fight for their freedoms. And besides, if you tried to dismiss people's experiences, you would not only be heartless, you would be wrong. White people use more drugs, but black people are arrested for drug possession three times more often. Young black boys are 21 times more likely to be shot by AND killed by police than young white boys. A white male who has a criminal record is 5% more likely to get a job than a person of color who is just as qualified-AND has a clean record. In New York, 83% of the people receiving life sentences in prison were people of color. Even for children as young as preschoolers, black children are more likely to be perceived as being guilty, and receive school suspensions than white children. Preschoolers. 1 and 2

The list goes on and on. And that doesn't even begin to talk about misogyny, treatment of Muslims, disabled people. Okay, let's talk about that one for a minute. We just elected a man who went on television and mocked a disabled man. Doing what would have landed a school child in the principal's office, he moved his arms in an awkward manner repeatedly to cruelly imitate the uncontrolled movements of a reporter who suffers from condition that affects his joints. Do you know who else faces challenges controlling his movements? My son. Due to low muscle tone he often holds his arms awkwardly or makes odd looking repeated movements. He mocked my son.

He mocked my son.

We elected a man who normalized something that should be so unacceptable as to bring shame to anyone who even witnessed it. And that doesn't even begin to delve into the messages that he sends my daughters. This is not about politics, this is about humanity. This is not about red and blue states, who lives where, the city, the economy, or who speaks for who. This is about people. Loving people.

But.

You say, I know he is not a good man, but my vote is justified because of x, y, or z. And therein lies the problem. How did we get to a place where we have accepted the rationalization of racism, sexism, illegal and outright dangerous behavior? We didn't get to this place; we've already been here. Because we, the church, evangelical Christians, whatever you want to call us, remained silent in the face of adversity. We stayed on our thrones. We didn't want to risk burning some bridges so we completely failed in building others. Do not call me an evangelical Christian. I will not be associated with such hatred. But I will follow Christ and I will fight against oppression. If the oppression exists in the church, I will fight it there. And if I have to burn bridges to do so, so be it. He calls me to be His light and His love to all people. Not to some people who are like me. Not to stay quiet and not rock the boat. Have you felt tense this week? Good. Stay in that tension, don't leave it. Let it become unbearable. It is going to be unbearable and then we need to bear it together.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light, where there is sadness, joy.~St Francis

There are pictures all over the internet hashtagged, Not My President. I get that, yep, I'm there. But we have to move beyond that, maybe I am ready. Not my church.

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Out from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise~Maya Angelou

I feel like I could so easily insert a Hamilton quote here about rising up but I'll refrain. 

People of God, rise up. 

It should not surprise us to see evil, in all its forms. It should give us an opportunity to show good. If you see something, say something.  Be the voice for the voiceless. Be the hands and feet of Christ. "Fill up in [your] flesh what is lacking in Christ's afflictions, for the sake of His body, that is, the church." There are organizations in your community right now that are reaching out to marginalized people, groups coming together to speak out against racism, hatred, to work, to restore and repair. If your church is not one of them, then change your church.

Years ago when my own life was crumbling around me and I was vulnerable, afraid, a good friend said she was standing in the gap for me. An illustration from the book of Ezekiel, standing in the gap refers to people in need being oppressed by those in power. They needed someone with strength to intercede for them, to block the waves of transgressions threatening to overwhelm and destroy areas they were weak. My friend was saying she would put herself on the line for me, that she knew I needed support and she wouldn't just remain a bystander. In 2015 there was an incident on a bus where some frat boys sang a song with racial slurs. Again, what was shocking to me was not the fact that they sang the song itself-although of course that alone is disgusting and reprehensible. No. What made it far worse was that no one on the bus told them to shut up. How can we fight against oppression if we aren't actually willing to fight, to put ourselves on the line? We have broken down entire people groups and if we did not do the breaking ourselves then we have benefited from it. And the crushing weight of our silence has all but prevented any rebuilding from taking place.

I feel homeless, lost in my own country, "I am a foreigner to my own family, a stranger to my own mother's children." If I am not an evangelical Christian, what am I?

If you do away with the yoke of oppression

with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves on behalf of the hungry

and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness,

and your night will become like the noonday.

The Lord will guide you always

He will satisfy your needs in a sun scorched land

and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well watered garden

Like a spring whose waters never fail

Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins

You will be called Repairer of Broken Walls

Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.~Isaiah

I am a fighter, come fight with me. I am a peacemaker, come bring peace with me.

I am a Repairer of Broken Walls.

Mosaic

I am an artist.

Not just in the sense that all forms of art exist to help us better understand and appreciate the human existence.  More than that fundamental philosophy I believe art is entwined all around us, in everything we do, the very complexity of life is art. Once we see that fusion we can find beauty everywhere, in everything. I don't just want to create art, I want my life to reflect art.

I've thought a lot lately about the twisting and turning paths of my life. This spring culminated with two milestones and both of them have given me pause over how I fit into art, into life.

I am a woman I am an artist

And I know where my voice belongs

As our plane began its descent to JFK, I peered across the person sitting next to the window and looked out at NY Harbor.  I could see Battery Park and off in the hazy distance, the Statue of Liberty. Just as with my first trip to New York, from the moment my ears began to pop, a slow smile spread across my face.  You know that feeling you have when you've been away on a trip and you come home, exhausted, so glad to be back in your own bed and sink down on your pillow, ahhhhhh?! That's what I feel when I come to New York.  There's no rational reason for it, I've been there twice, only 4 days each time, barely able to breathe the city in, but it's mine and I'm home. Bard was next to me on the plane, oblivious, probably reading about the housing bubble, Brazilian economics, current political strategies or some such other muckety muck.  But you know who was not next to me? Any of my three ankle biters. Children.

Yep. We were off, gallivanting around the world! June 17th marks our ten year wedding anniversary and to celebrate we enjoyed (enjoyed is not even a strong enough term, more like drank in with the enthusiasm of Augustus Gloop slurping chocolate and drowning himself in its absolute fabulousness.) New York sucked us in. My first trip to New York I carted the girls all over the city to check off my museum bucket list (the one I started when I was 12!) And so this trip I wanted to plant my happy little booty firmly into a theatre seat and never leave. I made a bargain with the devil to afford Hamilton tickets (I promised him my 4th child.  Joke's on him!) and we also saw Misty Copeland dance with ABT.  Watching the legacy of Balanchine, just feet from where Mikhail Barshnikov soared, seeing a Broadway show for the first time (umm, someone please get me Daveed Digg's number I need to tell him how much I adore him.  I don't know what bitmoji to use for that, but I will figure it our!) It was unbelievable.  Bard dragged me out of the theatre, blinking, a few times, and we were able to connect with East Coast family, which was an absolute treasure as well. We spent dusk under the Brooklyn Bridge with the city's skyline layed out before us. As we were walking back to our stop a family friend asked me about teaching dance. I stopped and looked at him. For the first time in more than 20 years I am not teaching dance. He paused as well and remarked on how hard that must be. "Yes, it's very painful."

I am a woman I exist

I shake my fist but not my hips.

June 17th is also the dance recital for my old studio-a room, a sanctuary, a family that shaped my identity for 27 of my 38 years. It will be the first time I haven't performed with them, and oddly, because I was one of the first students, it will be the first time there's been a recital without me.  This studio has been a cool respite from the heat of the moment. Calm. Inspiring. Comfort. Home.  Little ballerinas whose shoes I tied and buns I pinned, who giggled backstage with me before going out for their first show have grown up to teach my own little ballerinas and wait for them offstage.  Girls, grown into women, grown into strong women, changing lives and pouring out the work of their souls. Living art. I embraced this life like no other. Teaching, choreography, leading, changing. Sweat.

And you give yourself away

And you give yourself away

And you give and you give

And you give yourself away

When I turned in my resignation letter I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.  I walked down the hall, alone, reeling, in a dream. I had to quit for all the wrong reasons, but quitting was the right thing to do. I remember studying Renaissance art ages ago. Artists operated within a patronage system, free yet shackled by their often ignorant benefactors.  It's true that without that patronage we would probably not now be able to enjoy some of the world's most famous masterpieces.  It's also true that patronage is but a step away from censorship. Throughout history art has rarely been able to exist without being tainted by political maneuvering.  A problem that is alive and well today in corporate America.

My hands are tied, my body bruised

She got me with nothing to win

And nothing left to lose

And you give yourself away

And you give...

With or without you

With or without you

I can't live

With or without you

So when Bard's cousin commented on my transition, it was almost as if I had spoken the words a million times but was hearing them myself for the first time. I was no longer a dance teacher. How could that be? I had sat that very day and watched Misty Copeland's smile lead her across the stage, her legs extended for miles, her passion for even farther. I soaked in the art of the city as I thought about the art of me. Diversity. Extremes. Light and dark. Grace. Spring.

New beginnings.

I am an endangered species

But I sing no victim's song

I am a woman I am an artist

And I know where my voice belongs

I've thought and thought about my identity over the last days, months. I'm sad that I am not currently teaching dance.  Although I've been able to choreograph for a few church projects and have more opportunities before me, I'm not actively dancing in my studio, shaping little feet and little hearts. And I don't know if that will change next week or next year. I could have never pictured this happening.  The weird thing is, ten years ago, if you had asked me where I saw myself in ten years I would have described for you my current life. Living in the North End.  Two girls, one boy.  One adopted. Working, serving, living in community. But let me tell you, and listen up because I'm done talking about Willy Wonka, I never could have imagined the road it took for us to get here. Even though the outward facade is the same as my naive little dream, the inside is nothing. Nothing. Nothing like what I dreamt of. I didn't dream of marital counseling and lost pregnancies.  I didn't dream of countless doctor's appointments, the suffocating fear of motherhood, the constant fight to remain a spouse instead of slipping into a roommate. I didn't dream of countries closing to adoptions, careers driven off of cliffs, loss of life, loss of friendships, loss of me. 

Letting go of every single dream

I lay each one down at Your feet

Every moment of my wandering

Never changes what You see

One museum that's still on my bucket list is The Art Institute of Chicago.  I'm not sure I'll ever make it-I have no idea why I'd go to Chicago-but if I do, I'll make my way up to the second floor to see Georges Seurat's A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. Similar to Impressionism, Seurat's style of art, Pointillism, is a study of colors, light, brushstrokes-tiny seemingly insignificant details come together to form a piece of art that is more than the sum of their parts. I love it. The painting is why I love New York. Millions of little details, taxis on Broadway, 1,2, 200 skyscrapers gleaming down, boats on the river, colors of skin, stilettos on the subway, honking, sweating, singing, sights and smells. They all dance in and out, night and day. Every little part means nothing by itself but woven together screams New York.

That is life.  You might walk down a street, past the world's most impressive museums, underneath gigantic architecture, through scenic parks, but along the way you'll smell urine in the streets and trip over garbage.  The man in the subway plays his saxophone while the rat scuttles away in the dark. Everything works together...

When You don't move the mountains I'm needing You to move

When You don't part the waters I wish I could walk through

When you don't give the answers as I cry out to You

I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You

Ten years Bard and I started a journey.  We bought a house, had a few kids, changed cars, jobs, schools, and dentists (my childhood dentist retired, so sad!) And I promise the next blog will be about the children again, don't worry they're all still as forceful, feisty, and fearless as usual. But along peaks and valleys, we've had a constant. And I believe it's the source of all art.  The Artist. I create because I was created. And nothing and no one can change that Truth. No amount of stress, pressure, emotion, demands, and chaos can strip my identity from me. Who I am.

I am not throwing away my shot!

Sigh. I tried SO hard not to put in a Hamilton reference.  People, you don't even.

I love watching people merge onto the freeway.  The more intricate the system, the better.  Bridges curving into on ramps leading to tunnels. Four leaf clovers, cars going every which way, highways, interstates, express lanes. Hundreds of cars representing thousands of people, touching millions of lives. Tiny dots coming together, layers upon layers of paint forming a canvas that is constantly metamorphosing into something new.

My life is varied and complex. You do not know me. Little bits, slips, jumps, turns, here and there, weld and meld. They make me. The sum of my parts does not equal a whole.  I am part of something much bigger. I may not be a dance teacher. But I am still a dancer.

I am an artist.

Outliers

Ten years ago, when I went grocery shopping I would be instantly irritated by the person who stopped his or her cart in the middle of the aisle, completely clueless to anyone on a mission to be the fastest grocery shopper. Ever.

Then I got married. More to the point, I married Bard.

Some of you are laughing (at me) right now, but for those of you who don't know Bard, I will tell you, he is not trying to win the race of life and he doesn't even realize that all of life is a race!

Silly rabbit.

Fast forward ten years and I am still trying to get off the race track.  Guess what, having kids makes that more complicated because suddenly you're racing them too. And it's exhausting. Add to that there are actually real battles in life that knock us down, over and over again. Now try adopting a child who has special needs and in fact, needs open heart surgery.

Bring your doubts

Bring your fears

Bring your hurt

Bring your tears

There has yet to be a doctor's appointment for my first two children where I was not awarded the golden good parenting sticker.  Evelyn was reading at a 5th grade level last September which means she's probably moved onto Tolstoyevsky by now.  She still has not had to study for her weekly spelling test, and if there is a song she can't sing, a line she can't act, or a dance she can't do, I have yet to discover it.  Cecilia started sounding out words last year, counts past 100 easily-just for fun-and has feet that would bring back Balanchine. They are winning the race.

But when I fill out questionnaires at the pediatrician for Max I get angry at the paperwork. No, he's not doing that yet, no he hasn't reached that milestone, no, no, no.  Yes, we'll make another appointment.  Yes, we'll get therapy. Yes, he'll wear orthotics.  Max is not even at the race. But I still am, and therein lies the problem.

Bring your tired

Bring your shame

Bring your guilt

Bring your pain

All through our paper baby (remember that little stinker?!) I had to live day by day and oh how I hated it. I longed for our next step, and the next one, and the next one.  But they were all so far away, so out of my control, so vague. Now the next steps are so clear that I have a visceral response when I feel, however right or wrong, that they're slipping away. Only they are not my next steps. They belong to a little brown eyed boy who calls me "Nana" and is far more interested in how many of our household objects can be rolled under the piano than whatever imaginary milestone I have set in my mind for him to meet.

He's not even at the race.

But as days piled into months and the months turned into a year and then kept going, I started to see milestones differently.  Each day was a milestone.

Give us today...

Max was not working toward some textbook compilation of goals.  Max was working toward being Max.  When I stopped trying to make each step faster than the one before, I was able to rest, abide, and Be Still.  The peace I gained by deciding to live for one day has been tremendous and it's helped me to see Max in a whole new way. Too often we view ourselves, our children, and our lives as being linear.  When in fact life is a dance. Always moving, forward, backward, changing shape, leaping ahead, repeating a pattern and then breaking into something new. Every day Max has struggles and victories. Minute and tremendous, he walks through them and ends each day in triumph. But as he continues to hit his own milestones in his own way, I've come to see another unique aspect of following Max. As fun as it is to see my girls develop, and as sure as I am that they will surprise me, I can see a little bit of where they're going and how they're going to get there.  Not a lot, but a little. Max is a statue within the clay. Just like the girls, I know he is capable of great accomplishments, I just don't know what yet.  He brings something different, an organic art to the way he develops.

So all hail the underdogs

All hail the new kids

All hail the outlaws

Spielbergs and Kubriks

It's our time to make a move

It's our time to make amends

It's our time to break the rules

Let's begin...

Our world would not exist without structure, without linear thinking and accepted greatness. But deep within our soul we hunger for more. Something that breaks the mold and grabs us from sinking into mediocrity.  And the more that I can see that truth lived out in Max, the more I start to see it in my girls and lived out all around me. Maybe it's a good thing I don't know what to expect from Max.

Just maybe, there's no race after all.

There'll be days I lose the battle

Grace says that it doesn't matter

Cause the cross already won the war

He's greater

He's greater

I am learning to run freely

Understanding how he sees me

And it makes me love him more and more

He's greater

He's greater

Christmas Letter

Nothing says “Christmas Letter” like open heart surgery.  But that is exactly how the Luippold Family began 2015! Surgery, new schools, new jobs, and weekly therapy lessons made for a busy year full of challenges, joys, a lot of fun and honestly, very little sleep J But through it all we’ve been supported by our friends and family, our faith in God, and as the line from my favorite Christmas special says, the willingness to “put one foot in front of the other and soon you are walking out the door!” So come on, walk a bit with us through the past year.

     We all know you only want to hear about the kids, but hang on, let’s chat a little about Kristin and Bard, shall we? I had two major events during the first half of the year, running a fundraiser auction for Serve the Children and also directing backstage volunteers (and my own classes) at the girls’ dance recital. Both speak to my passions and were an honor for me to be a part of. But lately I’ve felt God calling me to support the refugee crisis and be a part of what local organizations are doing to help refugees transition to the Seattle area.  I’m can’t wait to see what 2016 brings!  Bard ended the year with a bang by leaving his CEO position at ProGlass and becoming a Senior Product Manager at Amazon. Um, employee discount, yes please! It’s a tough commute but he loves the job and excited for growth.

Okay, how about our first born? Evelyn had a blast performing in the dance recital as well as her summer theatre camp-that kid loves the stage-but she also faced a different challenge, starting a new school. We experienced a lot frustration during the last school year due to the administration’s refusal to work with us regarding Evelyn’s allergies or the on-going bullying issues.  So, after a lot of prayer, a lot of talking, and a lot of angry conversations in my head(!), we decided to enroll Ev at the private school Cici has been attending and where Evelyn attended pre-school.  It’s been absolutely amazing, a great decision. And now she is not only physically and emotionally safe, but thriving in an environment rich with arts and classical education.

Now to Miss Feisty Four-Year Old. Cici has also loved dancing and her mama loved dancing onstage with her in Cici’s first real theatre dance recital. She has started reading and for Christmas really wants Dr Seuss books, but Santa may not have known that early enough…Cici has been in Jr Kindergarten and loves it.  She asks repeatedly to attend school every day, all day.  A fact I will remind her of when she is seventeen! She also joined Evelyn in piano lessons this past year and last week gave a lovely rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star at her piano recital!

On to Mr Heart Surgery, or as Cici calls him, “Mr Max!” In February Max was operated on by a team from Seattle Children’s Hospital and the surgery went very well.  He was in the hospital for less than a week and between his quick recovery and all the help from Grandee, who flew up to watch the girls, friends who provided meals and family who drove the girls around it was the least stressful that heart surgery can be! His cardiologist says his heart sounds great, so now the only one in the family with a heart murmur is me! Besides heart surgery, Max had several big changes this year.  After spending his first 6 months in a crib in our room, he moved to his first ever own bedroom! He transitioned really well and also showed great adaption when we flew to spend time with Bard’s family in New Hampshire. Over the summer, Max started walking and talking a lot more. While he still needs a little extra help and has been in therapy regularly, his speech, physical, and facilitator therapists all say he has made incredible strides over the last three months. So, next year look for Max to be in therapy less and even to start attending his own little two-year old class at school with Evelyn and Cecilia!

Even though 2015 brought so many changes, something makes me think that 2016 will as well.  Change can be sad and, just like this last year, I know there will be losses to grieve and disappointments to endure. But change also brings in something new, something fresh. And since we are surrounded by such a great community, we look forward to the future, to sharing life with each other, and sharing love as we go.