Your heart. Your treasure.

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also

Matthew 6:21

On our first vacation to the beach with our three month old son, I used to joke he was the rising SUN. Nestled snug in the baby Bjorn, he and I would trek down towards the water before the entire house would wake. This early morning walk became tradition, and continues to this day with all three of my children--all three children who still double as roosters!

There is a certain peace present during the wee hours on the beach. The silver rays highlighting the treasures left behind by the outgoing tide. The kids fill their buckets with broken shells, half clams, beach glass, and rocks. It was on one of these first walks a stone washed ashore shaped as a heart!  Another time, a heart shaped shell appeared at my feet while sifting my toes through the sand. And, so began a tradition...Each time we took time for ourselves rejuvenating and playing at a beach...whether it on the Outer Banks, the coastal waters of Florida or South Carolina, the paradise of Hawaii or even the Lake Erie shoreline...we found our heart.

So many imperfections but true to human form, our heart rocks:

A project that has been years in the making

We found part of our heart in Hawaii - permanently

The Power of Prayer

I learned to pray at A.A. Meetings.  I did not belong there and neither did my mother as I often thought.  But, she found comfort in the contrasted room of faces: white, black, male, female, old, young...not quite as young as me...but still, at age ten I found comfort in being there with her.  I had nowhere else to be.  I was certain my choice of powdered donut and the Styrofoam® cup, filled to the brim with sugared down coffee and cream, helped me look the part.

My mom would always inform me of who was leading that night.  I would learn that a "lead" is when one individual would courageously deliver their story.  The story that led many, broken to this church basement--encircled in cigarette smoke, but also in support. Their story often rewritten upon admittance; recognition; strength; mistakes; forgiveness and redemption would always unfold before my eyes and ears.

Whether you agree with my young presence in this atmosphere is not up for dispute, I thank my mother. She was doing the best she could as she has often implied. As I sat appearing busy coloring on paper, I observed and honed my listening skills. From the stories of others (many years my senior) I knew that I had choices in life to make. I knew there was bad in the world even if it wasn't in front of me directly. I knew the bad could consume me if I let it.

I HEARD the words of the rote Serenity Prayer spoken.  For much of my adolescence I often fell asleep each night saying this prayer - I committed it to memory but also to heart and head. It offered me guidance in life. Guidance, with hopes of making informed choices and changes yet accepting that we are not always in control of circumstances.

Recovering faces often seek these choices and changes after their battles have been waged and won. The words of prayer were not empty for me. Sometimes I attended church services with a neighbor friend's family. I often felt out of place within traditions that I wasn't subjected to normally. The familiarity of The Lord's Prayer spoken secured me however. Never until now did I let on to learning that prayer at A.A. meetings. Today, thirty years wiser I understand that judgment is not upon us.  There is no shame in how I came to learn that prayer.  I am witness to its teachings put in to play. I remember the contrasted faces -- from every race, gender and age -- holding hands, including the hands of a ten year old child. Together, we recited The Lords Prayer with conviction and unity in those smoky church basements.

Although, I have no plans to take my children on any field trips to A.A. meetings...my wish for each of them is to understand and examine how the words and work of prayer can offer a moral compass. And, how spoken prayer invites a private spiritual communication with a power greater than ourselves. I do believe that the power of prayer encourages clarity in the seemingly hopeless and provides faith among intangibles. I believe in the power of prayer.

It Takes a Good Man to Raise a Child

First, I'd like to THANK Gayle for putting together this AMAZING celebration! When she first asked me to say a few words, I joyfully accepted but moments later thought to myself...wait, I was once the little girl that was given the ONLY non-speaking part in the school play:  the Statue of Liberty. Today, I stand before you...

the proud daughter of a man we are all here to celebrate and honor, a man that we all love. Some of you know him as Bob, some as Robert, some as Scottish Bob...MAYBE some names I don't want to know...but Matt, Jenny and I know him as Dad our Father.

It was close to eleven years ago today, when Dad and Gayle exchanged their vows in this very setting. Thankfully, Gayle said, "Yes!" Gayle, always refers to Dad as HER rock (not so sure, but that might have something to do with Sean Connery) However, she is HIS rock and with their union, Dad gained a beautiful soul and daughter in Jenny and two beloved grandchildren: Will and Ella. As grown adults, Matt, Jenny and I can attest to the dedication and role he plays in the name of family and that of a father.

The word "Father," is a verb in many respects.  To father; means to bring into the world--anyone can father a child, but it takes a GOOD man to RAISE a child. This good man took on that role when I was three years of age (so that's about 37 years ago, if my math and gray hair serve me correctly.)

When I was five or so, Matthew Ian, my brother was born. He WAS a ginger and would carry on the Morrison name, as the only son of our Dad. The first time the word love appears in scripture is to describe the love a father has for his son* (Abraham to Issac.)

I wanted to share with you a few things you may NOT know about the birthday guy and how he has positively influenced my life :

I have an appreciation for color: any shade of green is forbidden and seemingly always out of style in any form of clothing apparel - thanks to the Kelly green wearing Celtics, the arch rival of the Glasgow Rangers. In fact, to this day I make sure Anderson, Alexandra and Sebastian are never wearing any green (not even a fleck on the sock) when visiting Grandpa.

He demonstrated work ethic and balanced time: I remember Dad never missing a day of work, he progressed with the same company for close to 20 years-something unheard of these days. Yet, he made time to take Matt and I to The Natural History Museum, The Cleveland Museum of Art, Indians games, Rocky River Park, Papa Nicks pizza and summer night walks to the convenient store: where Matt and I would use our change to purchase candy and comics...yes, we were that cool. 

He imparted culture awareness: He wanted to make sure Matt and I knew Scotland--having seen it through his eyes and heart.  He wanted us to appreciate countries and other cultures outside of our own. True story: only after him ordering pint after pint for me in Scotland, and I keeping up with him -- I found out that ladies are actually meant to drink half-pints in social settings. Drinking FULL pints classifies you as a "ladeete" a female lad. He is always one for equal rights.

He taught me a game that would ultimately change my life: - SOCCER provided me an outlet, took me to college, gave me life-long friends and introduced me to my husband, Andrew. However, it all began with kicking the ball around in the backyard with Dad. When I joined a travel team at eight years old, he respectively informed my coach that he didn't know ANYTHING...shortly after, he was named Head Coach. IMAGINE that!? There was nothing he could do about the donated Kelly GREEN uniforms we played in though!

                                                                             circa 1988

He inspired a love for books - As a young girl, I used to run my fingers across the numerous leather bound books he had in the bookcases in our house. With all the pages and so many words, I wondered what stories they all held. When I could read fluently, the first book he lent me was "The Hobbit." At times, especially my teen years, I thought perhaps he was Bilbo Baggins.

He encouraged a competitive spirit: he was a ONE man team when we played Trivia Pursuit. Since he knew ALL the answers to the questions we'd lose ALL the time.  Boy, it must of taken him days to read and memorize all those cards! Similar to the gameshow Jeopardy, it was him, Alex and the music never mind the contestants or us. I think he and Alex Trebek went way back to their Canadian days.

He taught fairness - during a soccer game, I had been hit in the head and was down on the field while the referee continued play. I do recall, Dad running on to the field and addressing the referee by his name which began with the very capital letter "F" followed by his second name that began with an "A." Needless to say Dad found himself watching the remainder of the game, from the parking lot.

He was the biggest fan and always MY coach: driving to many of my college games whether at home in North Canton, or away...in places like upstate New York, Indiana or Pennsylvania.  I used to ask him after the games, tell me what things I could've done better. I valued his opinion and he made it very clear to me that THIS college coach didn't KNOW a thing either. Years later, I found out that he and my teammates middle-aged parents enjoyed playing drinking games in their hotel rooms while all of us girls had a curfew!

If there is one word to describe our Dad, it is: Happy. On our wedding day, Andrew and I had a sign-in table for guests. Dad wrote, "Lots of love and happiness" and in case that didn't sink-in; he wrote in another space, "BE HAPPY LOVE, DAD"...in ALL caps.

There's a Scottish proverb that reads, "Be Happy While Living. For you're a long time dead"

Would you please raise your drink and in honor of our Bob Morrison and Dad, on his 70th day - May your troubles be less and your blessings be more. And nothing but happiness come through your door. Cheers! Salud!

* Smith, A. (2015). Seamless. Nashville, TN: Lifeway Press.

And here it is live, compliments of Andrew-thankful, he didn't bring the Dora Explorer microphone that he amusingly threatened!

https://youtu.be/w2x4-Z1yd6o

Year Eight

The motto of this year, "You don't have to be the best, you just have to try your very best." It has been that year, the one all seasoned Moms talk about, the change in their child that seemingly takes hold overnight. This was that year. This is that guy. An independence, a competitive spirit that can get the best and worst of him, a fierce desire to be right more than wrong. A loss in interest in all things previously loved. A somewhat perfected scowl. Someone once told me that character development occurs from age seven to thirteen. I believe it. 

Change encourages growth and helps to define us, but what we know to be forever constant - is your heart and its kindness, your mind and its intellect, your witty humour and your ability to teach us all the "Whip/Nae Nae!" You truly are a miracle; a gift Anderson. On this day and always, I wish you the happiest of birthdays. xo

Year Seven

To the little boy who made me a mother. Happy Birthday! Year seven welcomes a past year of whistling, piano playing, pumping his legs - swinging so high and jumping off, sass and rolling eyes, an interest in his hair, climbing trees, turning every rock over to investigate, preparing and cooking food. Always curious seeking answers and the why; brave and confident to follow his instincts, asking the hard questions and speaking-up. A sports nut with uber competitiveness yet leveled with a maturity - recently reassuring momma bear that when a bigger boy pushed him at practice: "It's ok mummy, he was just trying to score a goal." Always teaching us, we love you. xo

Originally written May 1, 2015 11:12am

Year Six

Six years ago, around this time I was just getting to know a little boy who had entered our world: physically, emotionally, spiritually. The years surpassed with first steps, letters, colors; today he's building 400 piece Lego sets and teaching me about U-bends in toilets and how to sign animals and colors. He has taught me and will always teach me. Happy sixth birthday, Anderson Jude Morrison Elliot. 

Mahalo

Blessed is to experience a place that awakens the senses. A place hard to capture with your camera lens, because the glory of it just doesn't translate to what is sought with the naked eye.  I call this place: Hawaii.

Maui:

Day two: Seeking out sea turtles but not really expecting to see them at the picturesque crescent shaped bay beach of Napili. The calm waters invite us in to explore the underwater orchestra of brightly colored reef fish all busy getting somewhere but the ones not in a rush are the docile and graceful creatures we get to know up close and personal, the Hawaiian green sea turtle. The waves gently push and pull these large turtles as they eat off the coral rocks paying no attention to the snorkelers they've attracted. Coming up for air every so often literally right next to us - we truly were swimming with them. 

Day three:  The thin cool air rising 10, 325 feet above sea level, the road snaking up the massive Halekalea dormant volcanic mountain highlighted in the predawn blackness by a parade of headlights from other weary sun rising seekers.  Long gone is the tiny coffee and pastry wagon some miles back...the seemingly best coffee, yet the most expensive we've ever tasted. 

Day four:  Today we drove the road to Hana, the road less traveled via the Puhini Highway - the southern most part of Maui, the way that is not recommended in the tourist books. Rugged and unpaved (to call it a road would be generous) for the first twenty miles - winding up and down through desolate country (other than the occasional free roaming cattle) flanked by the blue ocean to the right and volcanic rocks tufted with golden haze of brush. Nearing Hana, the landscape unwinds revealing a transforming masterpiece of lush and colorful vegetation contrasting the dry and dusty road first traveled on. The magnificent and powerful gush of the waterfalls reminds us how insignificant we truly are, when we stand beneath them or even underneath the cascade.

At Oheo Gulch, clambering over the slick rocks and wading against the constant stream of downward water we reach the waterfall fed pool where all seven of us frolic and swim, invigorating the soul.. The presence in the air is felt. These pools give truth to their nickname, "The Seven Sacred Pool"

We feel the spiny texture of the jack fruit; tasting and devouring the fresh mango that has been allowed to ripen on the tree - this makes all the difference, banana and mountain apples at the tiny organic farmers fruit stand outside the hidden gem of Hamoa Beach. It is a pale comparison to what we buy at our grocery store, as it offers a sweet and intoxicating treat in the afternoon Hawaiian sun.

Island hop, Kauai:

Day five:  There is a secluded beach, and thanks to social media reviews it has been documented revealing what is otherwise only known to the locals. In true treasure map form, we find the start of the tiny dirt path that doubles as a look-out point. In a steep descending path we are thankful that it is not rainy season-mudslides I'm certain fun and all, not so much with three young children in tow. We grasp the tattered ropes that someone before us as so generously tied to trees lining the narrow path and position ourselves in front and back of the kids to offer a sort of human safety net if you will. The crystal clear waters come in to view as well as the tiny stretch of secluded beach surrounded by cliff walls and tropical trees. Just a few snorkelers that have arrived by way of kayak are here. A reminder that here every adventure or exploration is rewarding and inspiring, just when you think you've seen all that she has to offer she reveals a bit more.

Mahalo.

Well. I have a job.

After reprimanding the kids for jumping (as in full out trampoline) on our bed, Anderson proceeds to tell me that the bed belongs to daddy. Followed by, AND this is daddy's house!

The message was clear: you can not tell me what to do because you're not the boss. I then remembered his theory from earlier in the year--he said, "Whoever is the tallest is the boss. So, mummy that makes you not the boss." C'mon kid I'm pushing 5' 6" on a really good day. 

Even so my gut wrenched and my worst fear came to mind. Our five year old thinks because I don't have to step out of my mummy uniform and leave the house every day for work (like daddy) that I do not have an authoritative ground to stand on. Visions of inequality stereotypes and the way of the fifties flashed over me...is he not seeing enough examples of women having careers outside the home? Will he respect our decision for me (lucky gal) to stay at home right now? 

We did just have this dialogue last month:

 

Anderson: Yes, mummy...girls can do EVERYTHING boys can do, well except stand-up to go number one. 

Me: Actually son...well, never mind - that is absolutely true.

Naturally, I think of Alex and what if she only aspires to be a mother and maybe not a working mother, because she thinks that is all women can do - because that is all she sees in me.  Luckily, for us she has gone from aspiring to become a mermaid to more recently - a "pink doctor." 

Still a bit gutted, and with an exasperated sigh I tell him that, "Daddy and I bought this house together ten years ago. It is indeed OURS, which in turn is all of ours now-our family." Anderson says, "Oh, I thought it was daddys since he is bigger than you!" Ah ha, his theory!  

He then curiously asks: "How do you buy a home?"  To which I reply, "Well, when you grow up you will have a job and you will need to save a little money."  With his head cocked to one side, he swiftly says, "Well. I have a job. My job is to be a kid!"

Right you are buddy.  Now go have a jump on mummy and daddy's bed! I might join you, as outlined in my job responsibility as your mummy.

 

 

"Though she be but little, she is fierce!"

This recent photo epitomizes her. She bustled into this world four years ago, fearless and full of zest! Intense and focused on the task at hand- whether it drawing an elaborate world of color or reading through a book.  With her kindness she easily makes new friends - both human and non; her bed has become a castle for a variety of stuffed bears, dolls and rabbits - to whom she reminds occasionally that she is the queen.  Happy birthday, to our Alexandra!

"Though she be but little, she is fierce!"

 - William Shakespeare

It is my H-O-N-O-R to be your mummy

Dear Anderson,

You started taking piano lessons the summer of 2013.  Within three months, you had your first recital at the amphitheater in North Park.  Having just turned five, you waltzed on to the stage in front of a sizable audience of strangers in Springboro and played "Old Macdonald had a Farm."

Fast forward, four months...as the youngest participant and only Kindergarten student you entered your school's spelling bee.  In the audience that morning, your mummy sat on the edge of her seat, beaming with pride yet conflicted with a nervousness that was causing my underarms to rain. I was so nervous for you, nervous that you'd be devastated if you didn't proceed to the next round. We are a competitive family, and I can honestly say that gene was undeniable. Sorry kiddo. How soon I realized my nervousness was my own, because when I looked at you and your dangling feet that were not quite long enough to reach the floor yet, you had a calm and collected confidence as you patiently waited, listening to the other hundred kids taking their turn. There is a reason your momma was chosen to play the Statue of Liberty, the only nonspeaking part in her elementary school "Coming to America" play.

You marched up to the microphone (that in itself would make me pee) and clearly stated your name and spelled: A-N-D-E-R-S-O-N-  E-L-L-I-O-T.  I jumped for joy that you made it past the practice round! As I told you before the event, just "do your best." You just being up there was enough for me, Anderson. But, what you did next simply amazed me - as you often do.  You made it through two other rounds, rounds in which the words dictated were random and not kind to age, grade or the like.  When you did have to take a seat, the word that took you down was H-O-N-O-R.  How appropriate.  As a noun, "honor" is defined as high respect; esteem and as a privilege.  As a verb, "honor" is defined as in "regard with great respect" or to "fulfill or keep (an agreement)." 

Anderson, it is an honor to be your mother.  I will honor you, always my luv. xo