She Made Me Who I Am

Marty and Gabi, 1970

Exactly forty-three years ago, on a July morning at 7:00 am,
Gabi made me a mom.

I wasn't quite twenty-one when she was born, and I didn't have a clue about what it meant to be a mom. I just knew it was what I was meant to be. (My big fear as a teenager was that I would die before I had kids. I wasn't afraid of how I would die, or being dead, but that my dream of being a mother wouldn't come true. I must have wished on a lucky star!)

She was born breach (and totally natural, I might add) folded in half, and she inhaled before she hit oxygen, leaving her breathless. The nurses worked on her for a few minutes and then whisked her away somewhere, without telling us anything about how she was. After over nine months of togetherness, it was terrifying to be apart. Several hours later they brought her to me. I was overwhelmed—now I was breathless!

For a couple of days I kept trying to say a magnificent prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for letting me have her, but I couldn't find the words. I felt ungrateful just saying "Thank you, thank you" over and over again, but I think He may have understood.

Early days.

Gabi came into my life only 18 months after Dee did. She's known us almost as long as we've known us! In fact, she helped us become US. She lived in our first tiny trailer home, our second less (but still) tiny trailer home; she rode in the VW and the Vega, and saw Dee as a soldier. She was part of our college life, and part of our pre-TV, pre-income days. We started leaving shoes out for St. Nickolas Day, and cookies for Santa because of her. She made us a family.

I read out loud to Gabi from the day she was born. Mostly I read Dr. Spock as I nursed her, trying to figure out when she'd do something interesting. Dee laid on the floor with her for hours demonstrating how to roll over. It actually took hours of watching her for him to figure out the steps of rolling over. He practiced with her for about six months until she caught on. We figured we'd taught her, not realizing that she'd come already programmed to do every important thing. We didn't have to teach her much. In fact, she taught us.

'Noopy

I read an article about how to make your child a genius. It said to tie helium balloons to your baby's wrists and ankles, and their eyes would catch the movement. Eventually they'd realize they were pulling the strings! I tried it, and it must have worked. She became a genius, and knew how to pull all our string.

She could sing dozens of songs, say the Pledge of Allegiance, recite poems and ask questions by 18 months. By the time she was two, I was asking her questions.

Gabi 1972

Looking back, I see that she brought color into my life. She became my best friend. I'd even consult her about what I should wear! (She knew exactly what they were wearing at the laundromat, and milk depot, which were my usual destinations.) Her siblings started arriving about that time, and it was a joint project for us. I saw her as my confidant and support.

She was an awesome babysitter, first for me, and then for many others. She became a nanny, and tended kids for weeks at a time while their parents traveled. She worked at a nursery school and daycare center during high school, and then majored in Elementary Education. She taught 6th graders who were taller than she was. She also taught Kindergarten and Pre-school. She was born to teach.

She met her perfect match, they got married and worked their way through college for a few years before they graduated. Being the perfect parental candidates didn't translate to being parents. While they waited, they built careers and houses and moved across the country. They traveled and had fun together until the other shoe dropped. They did become parents . . . twice in three years, and then again with twin boys . . . and they did it with a flourish!

It's stunning to look at this woman whom I admire and respect so much, and realize she's my daughter! She sets an example of kindness, hospitality, charity, spirituality and energy that I can't come close to emulating. She changed me forever and I'll be forever grateful to be her mom.

Happy Birthday, Gabi!

A Driving Force

The Blue Bengal was our inheritance. It had a giant steering wheel with the gear shift on the column, no power steering, and driving it dislocated my shoulder. It called out to a teenage boy, and we had one. They were made for each other. They were both totally unique.

Josh could make that car do anything. One busy Saturday he took it downtown and entered the twisting driveway of a parking garage. Halfway up the ramp, with several cars stuck behind him, the Bengal stalled. Josh got it started again, but it wouldn't go into first. With the honking becoming louder, and his face getting redder, he leaned all his weight on the gear shift and forced it to slip somewhere inside, allowing the car to drive forward. Later he realized he'd created a new gear. From then on Josh was the only one who knew the combination. The Bengal was his.

Josh has always been ingenious. He laid on the floor at eighteen months and figured out how to work the transformer on the electric train. He already had the patience to carefully place the tiny wheels on the track and start it chugging slow enough to keep it from slipping off. Then he'd turn on the speed. That's the story of Josh's life.

He looked so pure and innocent with his blond curls, but that kid kept me on my toes. Before he could even walk he was trouble. One midnight I heard the front door slowly open. I woke Dee up so he could go check on things, but he rolled over quickly and left the rescue effort to me. I quietly walked to the entry just in time to see the door close. I peeked out the side window, and there was Josh! He had climbed out of his crib, crawled down the hall, and since there was nothing going on inside, he had left! Is that scary enough?

Another night I woke up because I thought I could hear mice. There was a rustling sound coming from the kitchen. I went to investigate and there was Josh, sitting in the bread drawer, in the dark, having a midnight snack. We had to put him in a bed because he was such an acrobat on the crib railing, and that gave him freedom before he had any sense. I used to sleep on the floor of his room next to his door so he'd have to climb over me to get out. I don't know why we just didn't lock him in. I didn't have a lot of sense either.

Josh soon became our fix-it man, our go-to guy. He was agile, and handy and full of ideas and energy, and very independent. When he decided to take guitar he didn't bother to mention it to me. He lined everything up, figured out how to strap a big bass guitar to his bike and informed me he was going to his lesson several miles away. He was twelve. He did the same thing with gymnastics. He wanted to take lessons, and I put him off. It was dangerous, expensive and inconvenient. He researched it all, found a gym, signed up, and arranged to clean the gym to pay for lessons. He planned to ride his bike about 6 miles each way a few times a week. He was about thirteen at the time, and it was all set before he consulted us. He was totally self-motivated. How could we stand in his way?

He was my yard crew. One day I left him mowing the lawn, and when I came home a few hours later he had pulled down the fence that separated the front and back yard, taken out all the rose bushes and was redesigning the landscaping. He was fifteen and had not discussed it with me. He had just decided it could look better. Within a few days he had planted some new grass and bushes and it did look much better. I learned to trust his judgment and abilities.

Josh needed some extra money when he was a sophomore. He was already teaching gymnastics and cleaning the gym to pay for his coach and workouts. One day he came home from school and informed us that the high school had hired him. He was coaching the girl's gymnastics team! He was on the staff! He arranged their meets, taught a class during school hours, met regularly with the school counselor over extra-curricular activities, and received a paycheck from the school district.

While he was still in high school Josh finished our basement. He designed it, bought the materials and did the construction. We had electricians and others come in to OK his work, but he was the contractor. He built our deck about the same time.

Ever his own man, Josh informed us a couple of months before he graduated from high school that he had applied and been accepted at a college in a different city, and was going to start summer semester just two weeks after graduation. He had housing lined up and a job arranged. We had been nagging and wondering about his application to our local university, but he demonstrated that we really didn't need to worry about him. While he was away, he survived on oatmeal for months saving for contact lenses. It wasn't that we wouldn't have provided them for him, he just didn't want to ask!

When Josh was 21, cruising up the highway to life, something hit him like a truck! A cog slipped into place and a new gear was created in this most independent of men. He fell in love! Like everything in Josh's life, it was fast and furious, and six months later he found himself married, with a whole new life to plan.

Now a husband and father of three, Josh is a leader in his field. He got a double master's degree and went on to jobs with great prestige. Head hunters have found him and shipped him off to diverse places around the country, and now he is heading up a new office with even greater opportunities. He's already tearing out walls and redesigning the basement of their new house. He's planning Eco-challenges with his boys, and searching for ways to get off the grid. (He has never been on the grid!) He teaches and inspires those around him with his unique talents and energy.

The Blue Bengal eventually gave out enough sparks to set the road on fire. Josh is doing the same thing.

An Attorney, in Brief

This is my lawyer. I used to be fooled by his innocent demeanor, but he won me over so often I decided it was no contest. One of our early debates was over his bedtime. I was unhappy because he was riding the headboard of his bed and yelling "Yee-hah!" while using his bathrobe tie as a whip to gallop faster towards midnight. I went into his room for the 100th time, temper flaring, and announced very firmly that he was supposed to be asleep. He responded with, "Mom, you're beautiful when you're angry." Of course I tucked him in with snuggles and tickles, and he knew he had me.

We used to have interviews with the kids on Sunday afternoons. Dee and I would alternate and invite one child or another in to chat. The idea was to let them know we cared about their inner psyches, and to find out what was going on in their crazy, little minds. One Sunday I was visiting with Miggs (age 6) and I asked him if he had any problems. He hesitantly said, "Yes, just one." I coaxed a little, reassuring him that he could confide in me without concern. He finally said, "I can't fly. I've tried and tried, but I still can't." I must have given him a good answer because he took off about that time and he's still flying!

He is a fabulous writer. He became a journalist in Jr. High. He worked for the school paper there and continued through high school. I caught him sluffing at a local coffee shop, during school hours, and he convinced me it wasn't really sluffing, "It's where the journalists hang out." By then I was used to believing him. I envisioned him as Bob Woodward. When my friends reported they'd seen him there, I told them it was part of his job. In college he continued to work for a newspaper. In fact that's how he met his wife.

He interviewed her for a job. He could feel the sparks flying, and told me later she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He saw her later that day on campus. He gave her his best imitation of Clark Kent, daily reporter of a great metropolitan newspaper, and she gave him a disgusted, get lost kind of response. The sparks had gone out. He met her again at a party that weekend, and she was all "Come, hither," which confused him. She solved the mystery by explaining that she was a twin! He'd seen her sister on campus, who had no clue that he had been subtly encouraged to make his move. He had found the girl of his dreams, but he had to figure out which one she was. It all worked out and they got married in the end.

She became the wind beneath his wings and he was definitely flying now. He honed his idealism by working for the ACLU, and graduated with an English major. He and his wife posed in matching caps and gowns with their 6 month old baby. It was on to Law School to polish his briefs and learn billing skills. With those abilities and another baby in tow, he set off to make his mark.

For me, one of the great joys of being a mother is discovering the traits kids have brought with them. Before I had kids, I thought they were like a chunk of clay that I would mold into the person I wanted. Now I see them as a chunk of marble waiting (like Michelangelo's figures) to be freed from inside. I think of myself as chinking away a few pieces of stone until they can stretch out and remove the rest of the rock themselves. Then we'll both discover who they've been all along.

This particular kid was a charmer from day one. In fact the first day I took him to church was the Sunday before Christmas, when he was two weeks old. I laid him in his infant seat on the floor while I got the other kid's coats off. An ancient man who I'd never seen before and never saw again stood gazing down at the baby. He looked up at me and solemnly said, "This is a special spirit sent from God to you. God knows where he is and will watch over him. He is more intelligent than most, and has a great work to do." I don't know if this guy was moved by the Christmas story, senile, or just stating the obvious (couldn't this apply to any baby?) but it was impressive to me. I always felt privileged to have Miggs in my home.

I had to confront a few of my own devils as I was raising Miggs. At age five he came home with a few catchy four-letter words, and one particularly catchy three letter word. Knowing he hadn't learned them from me (I used different four-letter words), but realizing my own vocabulary was star-studded at times, I made a pact with him that if he didn't swear, I wouldn't either. I don't know if that changed him at all, but it changed me. Twenty eight years later I still remember my promise to him if one of those words slips out.

I could often recognize a lie because I had become proficient at them myself as a teenager. I could sometimes "feel" that Miggs was protecting me from his antics, and we had many little chats about what he'd told me and what had really gone on. One dark wintry afternoon he told me that he and his high school buddies were going to play basketball. He had a broken arm at the time, so I questioned him about playing with his cast. He joked me off and said he'd be home by dinner. I could tell there was a lie in there somewhere, but there was nothing to confront him with so off he went.

By the time dinner was cleaned up I was getting nervous. I had called around and found that there hadn't been a basketball game amongst the friends that day. I knew he would not want to be caught in his own web, and would be trying to get home on time, so I worried that something serious had happened. By 8:pm I was pacing the floor, letting loose with all my star-studded words, and at 9:pm I felt like throwing up. Finally the phone rang.

Apparently they had gone up into the mountains deer hunting (in the dark? with guns? no adults? without telling anyone where they were going?....oh, no, no, no, no,...this was so not allowed...) and had killed a deer far from the road. They were dragging a two million pound deer a mile or more and decided they needed to gut it. With his arm in a cast, my mountain man had reached in and pulled out all the insides of the dead animal. With a lightened load, they made it back to the truck and down the canyon safely.

I don't remember what happened to the poor deer, but my poor dear could not argue his way out of this one. He received justice. For one thing, no amount of cologne poured down his cast could cover the stench of his sins. He lived with that for another four weeks. He also had to find his girlfriend another date for the prom, (but he still had to pay for it) while he sat at home and counted up his billable hours. I think it may have been during this time that he learned to write numerous defense arguments, only to have a wise judge shoot them down. The Supreme Court was just as harsh, and this infraction is written up in the annals of our family.

The prediction came true. Miggs has always been involved in great works. He's been a star athlete, a leader, a counselor, a teacher, an adviser, trusted in his young life with huge responsibilities, which he's handled magnificently. He is kind, and fair, exacting and very intelligent, plus funny and fun and witty.

Experience is a great teacher, and Miggs has become a wise father to four darling kids. The girls are brilliant and perfect like their mother and the boys are going to follow in their father's footsteps. When one of them throws rocks at the sheriff's windows, and then dashes in yelling, "Mom, Mom! Do we have a lawyer???" She'll calmly say, "Yes, Dear, we have a lawyer."

"She Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby...."

I was actually stopped by strangers who told me they'd never seen a prettier baby! Amy is the middle child of our 7 kids. But for 2 and a half years she was the baby. Later she could go either way...if the big kids were in trouble, she was a little kid. If the big kids got an outing, she was a big kid. But she really was a little kid. Every entry in my journal for years refers to her as being tiny. "She's the littlest thing..." "She's so petite..." "She's way too little to be 4..." "Everyone comments on how little Amy is..." "She won't eat a thing." But everyone also commented on how cute she was. She had jaundice which gave her a beautiful complexion, she was overdue and not fragile, and it was summer so I could be outside and show her off.

Having 3 older siblings toughened her up. Although Amy looked like a little doll, she could handle herself. She was smart enough to know when to hit back, and when to cry like a little girl. She took ballet, but was also the only girl on the Little League team. Her goal was to be a tomboy but her looks never let her pull it off. Being a tomboy did put her in touch with the boys, though, and she ended up liking the perks.

In fairness, I must mention that there was a stage of gawky-ness where Amy wore giant round purple glasses, leg warmers and greeted friends she'd just left five minutes before with giggles and hugs that were decidedly dorky. She incorporated some strange eye-blinking techniques into her persona, followed by constant throat-clearing that became annoying after 5 seconds. She had very short legs and a big head of curly hair, and she looked a bit unbalanced. She added baseball hats (worn backwards) into her ensemble and for several months tried hard to look more like a boy than she did a girl. I had high hopes that this would pass. It did.

One night when Micah was a sophomore in high school, hoping to be seen as cool, he invited a bunch of his new buddies over. They were all sitting in the kitchen grazing, when he came bounding upstairs to our room, in quite a state. "Get her out of there! She's ruining it!" Apparently Amy had wandered in and was "totally bugging" all the guys Micah was trying to impress. I understood. I had had little sisters to contend with, too. I went down to the kitchen to shoo her away, and the image I saw has never left my mind. Amy was holding court. She was standing at the head of the table laughing and talking, and the boys were sitting, staring with their mouths hanging open, eyes glazed, bits of drool noticeable on their lips, mesmerized by this 9th grade interloper little sister. Taking in the scene made a very clear point. Amy had grown up.

Amy is an artist. Check out her blog. She draws, sketches, and illustrates, and has darling handwriting, with a great eye for color and balance. She was always my go-to girl for posters or invitations when she was young. She loves interior design. Her home is full of personality, with every shelf and corner a work of art. Yet it is also comfortable and welcoming, a place for a family. I've walked into her bedroom when the bed isn't made, and the pillows are tossed on the floor, and still it all looks so colorful and cute it could be featured in a magazine. She can make even chaos look artistic. She's not afraid to let her kids finger paint, etc., and she never worries that they'll make a mess. That's part of the fun! She crafts, cooks, and colors with her 3 little girls, sews and crochets, and every day feels like a holiday. Except holidays, when she decorates and celebrates and entertains even more.This is a mother/wife extraordinaire. Her girls enjoy field trips to gardens, art galleries and museums. At 2, 4, and 5 years old they know the states and capitols, Broadway musicals, and how to grow sunflowers. They've learned to read, and read music, and appreciate Jane Austen while they're still in diapers and sucking on binkies. Amy's husband Sco is a brilliant mathematician and they call him The Count as he tutors them in number concepts. They visit the elderly (me), take treats to neighbors and go Caroling at Christmas.

Amy plays the violin, and taught herself to play the piano. She plays the mandolin and the guitar as well, and has played in a Bluegrass Band. She is a graphic artist and has designed books for publication, as well as a scrapbook a year for each daughter. She has organized huge Easter Egg hunts for her neighborhood, and was in charge of a 4th of July Breakfast attended by hundreds of people in the community. I could list her activities in volumes, but you get the gist.

Can you imagine that this woman doubts herself? She sometimes feels inadequate, and worries that she's not accomplishing anything of worth. She wonders if she's doing all she should. She doesn't trust the feedback she receives because she doesn't see herself as anyone out of the ordinary. She worries that her hair is too curly, or that her figure's too curvy.

She's oblivious to herself and her abilities, and that blind spot makes her even better. She is humble and unselfish with her time and talents. She'll listen for hours, not pass judgements, but always encourage. She'll tend people's kids, design their flyers, and give them violin lessons. I heard someone singing the other day as she walked by:"She must have been a beautiful baby, cause baby, look at her now!"

Marathon Woman

Marathons seem to be big in my family. Several of my kids and in law kids have run them or are planning to. Heidi is in the final stages of preparation for a huge marathon.

She is having twins.

She has been in training for a few years.

Her first effort was pretty feeble. She was unknowingly dodging Jac. He was jogging after her, but she didn't seem to notice for a while. She actually invited another girl to go on her first date with Jac, not realizing it was a date. Another time she invited another guy to meet up with them on a date, not realizing it was a date. Then she broke up with another guy while she and Jac were on a date. Finally Jac told her they were dating and she immediately stopped running. Then it was a quick sprint to the finish line. She couldn't have received a better prize.


Heed moved into the fast lane when she had Lucy who is now 3 and 1/2. She then picked up even more speed with Chelsea who is turning 2.



Identical little girls will put her on a new track altogether. She's taking it in stride, but she's looking forward to a second wind! This marathon is a little different. The organizers plan to spring the date on Heidi, sometime between now and the end of May, and surprise her with a 20 yard dash to the starting line. She'll be panting before she even gets there. There might be some pushing and shoving as they jostle into position for their starting positions, and then with a cry of joy, the marathon begins!

Heidi is already a winner. She has been passionate about everything she's done. In 5th grade she was writing letters to the government for better treatment of cows that were raised for their meat. She wouldn't eat beef, and especially veal, in protest of the conditions they lived in prior to their demise. She became a freedom fighter for the separation of Czechoslovakia in the early '80's, writing letters as a 6th grader advocating the Velvet Revolution. She would have fought in it if she wasn't only 12. Her fight for women's rights took guts and skill. Right on the playground she took on The Green Gang, a group denying Heidi's friend the respect she deserved. "Are you friends with that fat girl?" they asked Heed, who stood up proudly, and took the mean 6th grade girls on with her fists. Then they practiced running....fast!

Later Heidi became a photographer and editor for her yearbook, rolling her own film, and developing her pictures in the darkroom. (She's still having a tough time accepting digital cameras as legitimate.) She wore her press pass proudly to every school function, covering sports, assemblies, clubs, classes, etc. while working with the publishers and writers to put it all together, with captions, indexes, and text to bring it all in on time. It was a race to the finish every year.

She had a job at a bakery where she made the bread. Every morning at 4 am she would be there grinding wheat into flour, preparing hundreds of pans, mixing, kneading, baking, and then later slicing, packaging and selling. The bread store was the hang out because they gave warm slices of your choice of bread, with fresh butter and honey, for free. The high school crowd worshipped Heidi because she was so generous. The store had hip music playing and the bakers were all modern day hippies, making their own food and sharing with the masses. After breathing in 3 years worth of flour dust, Heidi developed Baker's Asthma. Flour was coating the inside of her lungs and she was sick for several months until that was out of her system. Endurance and discipline were marathon skills learned there.

In the meantime she was an officer in a sorority. She incorporated her photography career into that, as well as her baking, and became famous for the muffins she brought to her 6am meetings all winter long. Running to and fro was incorporated into her training plan.

Heidi was an on-again-off-again college student, working for tuition a semester ahead, then going full time for a semester or two. She was able to plan and save enough to do a semester in Sienna, Italy and then travel for a few weeks afterward. She's traveled Europe 4 times, having gone to school in England for a year when she was little, as well as taking college classes in Italy. After she got married, both she and Jac finished college and graduated the same day. A fantastic accomplishment. They'd set a pace.

There is so much to Heidi, that she has a lot to offer. She loves music, nature, crafts, and people. She hikes, camps, reads, travels. She and Jac recently bought a fixer-upper house and have turned it into a place worthy of a magazine spread. She is compassionate, sensitive, funny, smart and beautiful. This is a marathon...keep going....

Heidi's a Political Science major and has worked on several local campaigns. She knows her stuff, and keeps up to date on issues both local and national. But there's more...

Even with 2 young kids she has taught guitar to neighbors, choir and music to kids, and she's been president of both the Young Women's and Children's organizations in church. She has been the girls camp leader for several summers, contributing her cooking, music, organizing and planning skills, and love for the girls. She's encircled by teenage girls who want to be like her.

I can picture a queue of little girls up in heaven saying "I want Heidi to be my mother..." Sensing the end of the line, a super enthused girl must have jumped on her friend's back and announced they'd come together. They're running at full speed, anxious to catch up with their older sisters.

There will be quite a support team watching this marathon. As long as Heed remembers we have a real stake in the race and our offers of help are sincere, she'll be able to keep her pace up, take necessary breaks, and the race will ultimately be hers. She'll finish with honors. She won't believe the worth of the prize.

There's a line in a song from Annie that applies to Heidi.

"Some women are dripping in diamonds, some women are dripping in pearls
"Lucky me, look at me, look at what I'm dripping in...little girls!"

I am psyched for this Marathon!

Peter

We always knew he would go places. Pete was an entrepreneur at age 5, selling used fireworks he collected off the street to his buddy for "$3" (he actually received 3 twenties, stolen from the friend's brother.) He was inventing from the age of 10. His favorite Christmas present was a box of 1,000 tiny, unidentifiable pieces that he assembled into a remote controlled car.

One day he and his friend Garrett were downstairs creating something. They surfaced long enough to eat all the cereal in one box, and then headed down to their project. Later they were working on it in the driveway. This was typical Pete. I'd ask what he was doing as he was racing down the stairs or outside to the garage for some tool. He'd always answer but moved and talked so fast, I couldn't really follow his reply. Dee's home office was upstairs with a huge wall of windows overlooking the street. The kids usually didn't disturb him during the day while he was writing. I was cleaning in the bedroom and suddenly I heard whoops and hollers, and Pete and Garrett came pounding up the stairs. I followed them as they ran to the windows in the office. They breathlessly explained that the airplane they'd made from the cereal box, remote control car parts, and fireworks had taken off and was now on fire on the neighbors roof. We looked out and sure enough, it had crash landed in flames! Luckily the breeze that lifted it off the ground blew it out. This is also typical Pete. He does everything by trial and error, his results are usually huge in one way or another, and it always turns out well.

In high school Pete came home one day with a great deal. For only $350 he could buy an old VW that he could restore. It didn't run, but he knew he could fix it. He already had a landscaping business and had the money, so if we gave permission, he wanted to buy it. A few days later the exterior of this car arrived in our driveway. Apparently the engine was extra. He'd be purchasing that with his next check.

Soon we had lots of VW parts laying in our entry hall. I complained about this but Pete assured me it was only for a day or two. He had them all in a specific order so he would know how to put them back together, and nobody could touch them. The project stretched into weeks. We were vacuuming around the pieces, and guests were stepping over them to get into the house. Our guests included several of Pete's friends who huddled over the car and watched while Pete worked. They were all in and out of the bathroom using some kind of smelly orange soap to clean the pieces and their hands. I had totally lost control of the situation. Finally I issued the ultimatum: the car parts had to be gone by Thanksgiving (a few days away.) I was not going to have company climbing over this mess!!!

I came home from the grocery store Wednesday evening ready to load everything into a giant garbage bag and say good-bye to the VW project and all the 16 year old mechanic wannabes that were living in my house. I drove in just in time to see the boys lifting the car up so that Pete could insert the engine. After a few tantalizing tries, the car started and Pete drove it off around the block. I'll never forget those boys all leaping in the air, hugging each other as this little car clanked it's way up the hill. It was later painted to look like Herbie, and even later Pete sawed it in half, hoping to turn it into a truck.

By then Pete had purchased a new fixer-upper, a 1970's VW bus. He worked on that for months. The interior was torn out and replaced, cleaned and painted. He haunted the car graveyards for parts: a steering wheel here, a gear shift knob there. He got it running and was extremely proud to be part of the VW club. He'd always report that other VW owners would honk and wave, giving a thumbs up to his restoration. One night he was on his way to a movie and all the other drivers on the road were giving the routine honk and wave, but even more enthusiastically than usual. Pete was the man! He waved back, grinning ear to ear over his masterpiece when someone pulled up beside him and yelled, "You're on fire!" Pete quickly pulled over at a TGI Fridays, ran in and got their fire extinguisher, and put his tail out.

Pete had become a computer whiz. He worked in people's yards all day and spent the proceeds online at night. Packages were arriving at our house by FedEx almost every day with new equipment. He had purchased a video camera, and was now making movies on the computer. This was cutting edge technology at the time, and Pete was following it all and applying it. He started making videos for his classes, and others utilized his talents. There was a steady stream of high school kids coming in and out of our house. Pete raced home from school, and set himself up downstairs at the computer. The doorbell rang constantly all afternoon and evening as Pete prepared book reports, presentations and movies for his classmates.

We were not very patient with this. It seemed to us that all these people (including some teachers, and adults from the neighborhood) were taking extreme advantage of Pete. We called for a stop. Our home was not a business, Pete was a student and shouldn't be giving away his time and skills when he had his own homework to attend to. Besides, by then he was doing work for Dee, too, and that was more important than a bunch of book reports! He pleaded his case...he had promised...he just had to finish two more...he needed to work on the graduation video...In the meantime he was buying the newest equipment, selling his older equipment online, and actually setting up a business. He just wasn't getting paid for anything, and he was supposed to be a high school student.

One of Dee's projects that year was to create an archive for a huge business. He told Pete how he was organizing it all, and that the company was then donating the collection to a big university in another state. Pete suggested it could be archived digitally. Dee was very interested and Pete assured him they could do it. Dee took the suggestion to the business and they went for it, to the tune of $35,000. Pete purchased the necessary equipment and they had a year to complete it. This was huge to Dee, of course, but Pete was just inserting it into his own schedule of work. Dee continually asked Pete how it was coming, but Pete usually was finishing some project for his German class, and would be getting to it soon. When Dee had done all that he could do, and with the completion date 3 months away, he sat Pete down for a business chat and it came out...things were at a standstill. Everything was scanned and ready to go, but in Pete's research he couldn't find a program that would do what they needed it to, and Pete was going to have to create it. "Don't worry, Dad."

Dee had been paid on a monthly basis, and had to deliver. I won't go into the periodic panic attacks happening in our bedroom at night, or the nausea the regular meetings with the company produced. Pete delivered...as always! With only a few days to go, he was working 24/7, and the morning they were scheduled to leave, he came upstairs with the digital archive, one of the first of it's kind. The next day, in front of TV cameras and city dignitaries, this 18 year old demonstrated his product and taught the librarians at the university how to use it.

Dee had been brought into the technological age and was now preparing a manuscript on a computer. One morning I heard a blood curdling scream from his office and I ran in to find that he'd lost his manuscript. It was now floating somewhere out in cyberspace and he had no idea how to find it. He told me to call the high school and tell them to send Pete home because his dad was having a heart attack. A few minutes later Pete screeched in, and was soon on the case. The phone rang an hour or so later, and it was the computer teacher at the school. I was ready to lie for Pete, knowing Dee could not spare him, but the teacher quickly said he didn't need Pete to come to class, he just needed his help for a minute over the phone. The school's computers were down, and Pete walked the teacher through the repair process, and then went on to find Dee's manuscript.

I could fill a book with stories about Pete. He was our 6th child, and teased by his older brothers. When he was little, Dee assured him he would probably end up taller and bigger than they were and they'd soon look up to him. As it happened, Pete is the shortest of the boys, but everyone in our family looks up to him.

Pete started his own business when he was 21. He dropped out of college 3 times because his company was so successful he couldn't keep up with the demands. He was selling projects using technology his computer professors didn't even know about. He realized his skills were being developed in the process. We could finally see that the work he was giving away in high school was his education. He had learned how to work, how to learn, and how to apply his skills with confidence. He found an office downtown, and moved into his own apartment when he was 22. He was on his way.

After traveling to Europe several times on his own to ski, make a documentary and just explore, Pete finally decided he wanted a partner. This past year he found the most perfect girl.

She completes him! They were married in September after a very quick engagement, and took a 3 week trip to England and Europe, backpacking all the way. Together, they are really going places.

Dream Daughter

I had the dream again. It's the dream where I've lost my baby and I'm searching between all the cars in the parking lot trying to find her. People are helping me, but I'm panicked and I can't find her anywhere. Then I see Marta helping me search. That's when I realize it's only a dream. Marta's the baby I'm searching for, and I suddenly remember she's not lost, she's just grown up! It's the only repetitive dream I've ever had, and I started having it when two of my daughters got married within a few weeks of each other. At one of their bridal showers a friend pointed out the meaning: I was losing my babies!!

I think the dream happens whenever I rediscover what awesome people my babies have become. Yesterday I went to lunch with Marta and she blows me away! She's 25, and married to Dan who is in law school. He studies like crazy and has a part time job in another city, but she never complains about being on her own most of the time. She has 3 jobs, plus her own card design company. She works from 8 am until 6 or 7pm, rides the bus home in the dark, and then works for clients that are spread coast to coast. In between all that she hosts showers and luncheons, dinners and open houses, with darling decor, favors and handmade invitations. She's an awesome cook and brings cookies and treats to work regularly. She teaches the 5-year-olds every Sunday at church, is on the Activities Committee planning parties for 300 people, visit teaches 4 college girls with crazy schedules, and she's a designated invitation maker for Enrichment Night.

She loves to make personalized cards, books (which she binds herself) and collages. She surprised Dee with one using photos of antique cars. Not just any antique cars...the exact ones he loves. She searches dictionaries and quote books for very individual words, and creates unique gifts representing the person she's honoring. Her work has been displayed in art shows and libraries, and she's been honored for her designs. She doesn't spend a lot of money, but she spends hours and hours, and her creations are priceless.

Marta has 28 nieces and nephews of various ages who she dotes on. She buys them presents, sends cards, babysits...the older ones are like the younger brothers and sisters she never had. She advises them on dates, prom dresses, colleges, and even drove all the way to California with an 18-year-old nephew. She loves and visits Dan's grandparents, taking treats and going on outings with them. She's an awesome, attentive daughter and sister to her family and her in-laws, starting many traditions and supporting the old ones. She has many friends, and has gained lots more by marrying Dan; she emails and blogs creatively to keep in touch and build these friendships.

Her major role is being a wife. She's been married for over 5 years, and yet they act like newlyweds. She adores her husband (who is adorable) and tries to be available for fun whenever he is. She secretly saved money so they could get a new car, and surprised Dan with the means to move to a new state when a great opportunity came up. She is positive and upbeat, creative and funny, organized and efficient and unselfish beyond belief.

I realized yesterday that she literally will give the shirt off her back. She tried on a shirt she really liked, but it was $60 and she couldn't afford it. She makes about $20 an hour. Three hours of work would buy the shirt. I know she's given at least 3 hours of her time recently, unpaid, to help with invitations for a church function. This is the exact kind of work she would otherwise be paid for! I know from experience that helping someone is much more time consuming and tedious than just doing the work at your own speed, yet she patiently worked with the person, borrowing time from her marriage, her other projects, and money from her budget. Her generosity is her gift to others.

When Marta was little she had an imaginary friend named "Gnome." He went everywhere with her, and we always saved a seat for him at any event. She carefully lifted him onto his seat, and made sure he was comfortable, and never forgot to include him. It seems she was practicing for real life. If she was that nice to an imaginary friend, you can imagine what she's like with her real ones. I'm so glad she's one of mine!! My dreams came true. I didn't lose a baby, I gained a friend.