Minimize with Meaning - Week One

Hi again... Did you enjoy my week of silence as much as I did? Well, don't get used to it because I am back with loads of thoughts and opinions and shenanigans to share. For example, I have committed myself to a little project for the month of November that I am calling #theminimalistproject. I have been doing a lot of  mindless websurfing  research about becoming a minimalist and since I love swinging from one extreme idea to another, I thought "Yes, let's!" To be clear, I am not getting too technical with the term "minimalism," I am more interested in purging whatever is unnecessarily in my life and home, as well as raging against excess, and an entitled American mindset. So, for the month of November I am attempting to become (my version of) a "minimalist." The challenge is quite simple, on Day 1, you get rid of 1 item. On day 2, 2 items. Day 3, 3 items. (If you need me to keep walking you through the rest of the month, I invite you to never read my blog again, because, no.)

Days 1-8 have been, quite honestly, very simple for me because I am - by nature - a purger. I do not like to hold on to things, for the most part. I will share embarrassing proof of my de-cluttering... but, for now you will have to take my word for it, because I wanted to kick off this project with a little perspective, which my friend Melissa  was manhandled into giving  happily agreed to offer. I will let her tell you her story, but here is what you need to know about Melissa:

1. She's the best.
2. She's smarter than you.
3. Don't worry, you aren't alone, she's smarter than all of us. Maybe combined.
4. She is humble and generous and amazing.
5. She might look like she hated posing for this engagement-style photo of the two of us, but she actually has it in an 8x10 above her mantle. 

Without further ado... I give you, Sweet Melissa.

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Greetings from Freetown, Sierra Leone.  It is perfectly fair to say that baby Jaylen’s arrival was the catalyst to my friendship with Lara, but as a childhood friend of Tom I knew of Lara’s blog and was an admirer of her writings for years - so it’s cool to be able to say a few things on here as a little contributor and not simply be known as the girl who hates kindness.

**warning  - this post is gonna get a little intense. But I know you can handle it.**

I send you well wishes from this vibrant country where the only things more beautiful than the landscape are the people. I was shocked at how gorgeous this place is with its rainbow of scenery --  a dance for the eyes.  Red clay roads along white beaches hugging sapphire pacific waves with green palm-covered hills jetting out the sandy coastline. There isn’t a single window with a bad view.  Also Sierra Leoneans are ridiculously attractive. I told my friends I’m surprised there aren’t modeling scouts here on a regular basis because wow. And almost every night I stand on my hotel balcony, and pray, and watch the sun go down because this happens

and this happens    

                                                                                         

Although this place could be paradise – it is not paradise.  Sierra Leone has suffered through years of war, exploitation, corruption, and disease. Only 35% of the people can read. There is limited access to healthcare. Education is meager. Jobs are scarce. And the people are poor – very poor.

…and now…Ebola. 

Although good work is being done here the infection numbers are still on the rise because these people were already so vulnerable and the region so challenged. I told Lara a couple weeks ago that she should use her powers for good and tell America to stop freaking out over Ebola. It was infuriating to see what I see here, to hear what I hear here, and then turn on BBC and watch another story about the Ebola panic machine taking over the United States. That unjustified terror was affecting aid relief here in West Africa and even now is rippling with unfortunate consequences. So let me simply and lovingly say that I’ve been here for a month and I don’t have Ebola - and you won’t get it either. 

Ok scolding moment over.

I’m here in Freetown working with the U.S. Embassy in their public affairs/communications office.  Yesterday we conducted a program for the sowie population about Ebola and how to prevent transmission. Sowies are women tribal leaders who are influential in their communities and are often sought after during times of illness or death. Seventy percent of Ebola transmission cases here are due to unsafe burial practices so we had to educate the sowies on how to care for their community without performing traditional burial duties. 

Sowies are lively and colorful and are generally older members of society. But I noticed a lot of younger women and made a remark to my colleague about one in particular, “Marilyn, did you see that one? She was so young. She looked like she was 12.”

“Did you see she wasn’t wearing shoes?”

“No.” I said.

“She doesn’t have any shoes.”

And that’s all I could think about for the rest of the day. 

I just kept repeating that over and over in my head.  “She doesn’t have any shoes.”

Ok - I live in New York City and sadly am no stranger to poverty or passing a neighbor who lives on my street….literally….on the street.

But I was so consumed by the Ebola prevention training that I didn’t even notice she wasn’t wearing shoes.

People. I’m only here in Sierra Leone for about a month. And I brought 9 pairs of shoes with me.  Three pairs of heels, three flats, one pair of rugged hiking shoes, one pair of sneakers, and one pair of flip flops. 

“She didn’t have any shoes.”

Even writing that now makes my stomach clench and my chest tight and my eyes water and yet I still have 9 pairs of shoes strewn about the floor of my hotel room. 

There was a similar moment a few weeks ago that sent me into that same soul spin which I wrangled Lara into when I sent her this picture

Lara asked if they were playing and I said no, “they’re collecting drinking water from the ground.  Look closely.”

“I was afraid of that,” she said.

I couldn’t get those little ones out of my head. I told Lara that I stood on the balcony of my nice hotel that night and sobbed like an infant because I felt like such an ass. Here I am, up here with my ocean view - and there you are, little ones, with your puddles of drinking water.

That image also had an effect on our faithful blogger because the following day Lara sent me this message, “Our texting was very convicting to me last night. Which is what I needed. I am in that mode where I am exhausted, and drained emotionally, and just feeling done. And it makes me want to go to Jamaica.  And I really mean that. I believe I NEED to go on a vacation. REALITY CHECK: I need clean water. Check.”

I know the next segment of posts from Lara will focus on the “stuff” in our lives. And knowing Lara I’m sure she will touch on all the different layers of stuff that we pile up. There’s the stuff that clutters up our homes and makes us reluctant to let guests in. And there’s the stuff that clutters up the deepest recesses of our hearts that makes us VERY reluctant to let Jesus in.

But maybe if Jesus had access to those deepest darkest mustiest places in our hearts -- maybe we wouldn’t be so unnecessarily fearful (about Ebola in the U.S. or life in general), maybe we wouldn’t be so obsessively, and often times unknowingly, materialistic (about shoes or life in general),

maybe we would have wisdom to know how to be good stewards of what we’ve been given in this world (so babies don’t have to drink rainwater off the street), maybe we could be more like some of the people I met here in Sierra Leone. They would give you the shirt off their back, and for some of them it would be their only shirt. 

Matthew 25:34-36 Then the king will say to those at his right hand, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me."

  

Ok that was a really heavy post so I’m gonna conclude with this picture because a woman with a head full of maxi pads is awesome and needs to be shared with the world.

Day 31 - Part 2: Looking Up

My favorite act for Day 31, was to bless my sweet friend Chrissy (or Crispy as London says). In August, Chrissy unexpectedly lost her 28 year old husband, who drowned in the Genesee River.  Her husband, Jake, was such a full of life, compassionate, adventurous, fun loving, jump-off-the-roof kind of guy that it seemed nearly impossible to believe that he was no longer full of life, let alone gone. My friend, Mike West (recipient of Day 1) was with Jake when he went in the water. My father-in-law met with Jake on a weekly basis and was a sort of second dad/mentor to Jake. My mother-in-law continues to do that for Chrissy each week. My in-laws consider Jake and Chrissy their other kids. So, we have come to think of Jake and Chrissy as extended family, and losing Jake was a shocking blow to us and to everyone who knew and loved him.

Jake devoted his life to living and ministering to his urban community. He and Chrissy are missionaries in the city of Rochester, where they live in community with others who share a passion for reaching out and loving this city. Jake and Chrissy have three young children, two little girls and a newborn son, just a few weeks old when Jake passed away. For the funeral, Chrissy allowed me the honor of using Jake's favorite shirt and tie to make boutonnieres, headbands and corsages for Jake's family members. 

Jake - pictured here in his favorite shirt and tie - with wife Chrissy, and children Ruthie, Nadia and Chase. This was taken within days of Jake's passing. Below are the memorial keepsakes I made for Chrissy, their children and family members.

 Miniature necktie for Chase, just like his Daddy.

Although I made these keepsakes for the day of the funeral, I held onto the remaining pieces of the fabric, knowing that the things our loved ones leave behind can feel sacred... and I did not want any of it to go to waste. So... for Day 31 I used the remaining pieces of fabric and I created two mirrors for Ruthie and Nadia, on each one, I wrote "Daddy's princess." I wanted the girls to have a reminder every time they looked in the mirror, to view themselves through the lens of their Father's love. They will not have Jake telling them every morning before school how beautiful they are, so I wanted to give them something that reminded them that they now have two Fathers in heaven who adore them. I like using old fabric for that very reason, because it is a beautiful reminder to me of what God does with us... he takes what the world has rejected - the out of style, the useless, the old, the ugly, the discarded - and He makes it beautiful, useful, worthy. So, my prayer is that Ruthie and Nadia will look in these mirrors and know that it doesn't matter what this world tells them about their appearance, or their bodies, or their worth. The only thing that matters is how their Heavely Daddies see them: as perfect.

For baby Chase, I made him a bowtie that I can cut and resize so that he can wear it for as many years as he likes. And I added a couple of leaves to a pair of baby slippers, to remind him that he is not walking in this life alone, but that he too has a Father guiding his steps.

And finally for Chrissy... I gave her a spa gift card for a one hour massage, foot scrub, and something to do with magical hot stones or something. I don't exactly know what all is involved... but I know that in the past two months, Chrissy has lived a lifetime's worth of pain. From searching for her husband in a boat on the river the night he was swept away, to telling her girls that Daddy is never coming home, and all this after just giving birth. If somebody deserves to have something magical happen to her back for an hour, it's her.

Just two weeks after Jake passed away, my sister-in-law, Shannon, lost her father in a similar way. Shannon's dad, John Tull, was out in Californina visiting Shannon's sister, Kristin, and her family. They spent the day at the ocean, and were all together as John decided to do some bodysurfing... letting one wave carry him, he went under and he just never came up again. Kristin and her husband and their two little girls watched as this beloved man, living in the adventure of the moment, simply vanished before their eyes.

First responders tirelessly searching for Shannon's dad.

I cannot imagine the trauma of watching someone so dear to me literally be swept out of my life. Shannon (and Tom's brother Brandon) flew out immediately to join Kristin and their family as they walked the beach day in and day out, searching for some sign of their dad's life, or sadly, his death. They walked and waited and searched, then ultimately had to say goodbye and create that closure they had hoped to have by finding his physical body. But, with a beautiful rose ceremony and tribute to their dad, they had the unbelievable peace that comes with knowing that this life, and all its pain, is temporary. And while they will miss their dad so terribly, they have assurance of his faith and, with that, the knowledge that the eternity they get to spend with him will be anything but temporary. 

 Waiting, searching, then saying goodbye.

 "The ocean may have my dad, but heaven has his soul." - Kristin Rogers

So, for my last #AdamsActs of 2014, I wanted to honor these two beloved daddies, Jacob Bradley Baxter and John Tull (and their legacy of living a life of both faith, and adventure). I chose to honor them by making a donation to an organization that is near and dear to my heart. The Great Lakes Beach and Pier Safety Task Force is an organization associated with the Beach Survival Challenge, which is an event held every year in my hometown of Grand Haven, Michigan, created by the family of Andrew Burton Fox after his tragic death in 2003. Andy was the adored younger brother of our high school friends, Jaime and Ryan Fox, who drowned after being caught in a rip current when he, like my Adam, was just 17. He did not have the knowledge about these currents to enable him to escape, and his family has courageously devoted themselves to the mission of spreading beach and pier safety awareness to prevent senseless deaths.

I remember at Andy's funeral, his Young Life leader shared a story of Andy's response during an early morning Bible Study he attended, when he was asked who he related to in the story of Peter stepping out of the boat, and walking out to Jesus on the water. To most 17 year old kids, the options are either Peter, or the guys still in the boat. But, Andy wasn't like other 17 year old kids. He and my brother were similar in this way, I think they saw this world differently, and Andy showed that in his answer. He did not say he could identify with any of the obvious characters in that Bible story, instead, he said he would be most like a fish, down in the water, observing. 

As I wrote the check to an organization that was born out of death, I thought about that story. I thought about Andy and Adam, our boys, both forever seventeen. And I thought about how Andy, Jake and John, these three guys that never knew one another, shared a faith in the same God, possessed the same zest for life, and were all taken by the underestimated, yet extremely powerful force of water.  And I can't help but think that in their last heartbreakingly beautiful moments, as their eyes were closing under the water for the last time, that they - like Andy's fish - were looking up, at Jesus.

--

If you are interested in helping Chrissy during this unimaginable time, a relief/college fund has been set up. Please consider donating here: http://www.gofundme.com/Untimely-Loss

If you are interested in supporting the mission of the Beach Survival Challenge, learn more and please consider donating here: http://www.respectthepower.org/

Special thanks to whoever anonymously mailed me money, your #AdamsActs donation helped treat Chrissy to some much needed relaxation, and made it possible to give to toward life-saving education of beach-goers. 

--

To Adam,

I write about you, but I have never written to you. Tonight, I don't care who else is reading this... I just want to say this to you. You are my hero. No, not were, are. You ARE my hero. I know that while you were still alive, I would say that Norm Green was my hero, but that was just because he was so good at basketball and was seriously the tallest person I had ever seen. But, I change my mind, is that okay?  Because it's you. It was always you, but you were just so much shorter than Norm Green, and plus I was so little, so I didn't know at the time that you were going to be the best person I ever met.

Thank you.  Thank you for everything you taught me. Thank you for letting me sit and talk to you in the bathroom and watch you do your hair, which took forever for how short your hair was. Thank you for telling me the truth. Thank you for letting me follow you around like a puppy, for teaching me to dance, how to be funny enough to get out of trouble, how to forgive.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I went skiing on your last birthday. I am sorry that I went trick-or-treating instead of watching the last soccer game you would ever play. I am sorry that I cannot remember your hands. Or your voice. I am sorry for hiding your sugar-free candies from you. I am sorry that you ate those disgtusting candies to begin with. I am sorry that you don't get to know my children, they are so amazing Adam, I know you would love them.

I wish. I wish we could make fun of mom together, you wouldn't even believe how much material you have missed out on. She can't remember anything, you would love it. I wish I could call you, and we could talk on the phone late at night, and we could be grownups together. I am so much cooler now, I swear, and I think you would like me as a full size person. I wish you were at my wedding, and at my graduations, and not in the room at my births, but at the hospital when I had my babies. I wish you could have gone through these adoptions with us, you would have loved every minute of it. I wish I still had you.

I could write all night all the thank you's and I'm sorry's and I wish's... but, you probably already know them. I cannot wait to see you again, and have it be forever.

Love,

Your Baby Sister

In Loving Memory of Adam H.Provencal, my real hero

Day 31 of #AdamsActs - Part One

**Alright people...I was up until 2:00am completing the grandest grand finale blog post I could. Then, I deleted it. I am not going to lie, when I realized that I could not recover the FOUR hours it took me to write everything, upload pictures, add in links, etc... I wept like a toddler.

This is how my toddler weeps when there is no more cake.

You won't even believe this, but this picture was not taken last night. It was actually a different low point for me as an adult, and was taken before Jay's picture above. I was not reenacting Jay's tantrum, I was hungry and had no groceries and I gave up and laid down and (without my knowledge or permission, my  horrible  friend Lexi took this picture, because she likes to photo-document me at my most pathetic. I think she is saving up pictures to make a coffee table book of my most embarrassing moments.)

So, I was able to recover an early draft of the blog, and it is below, as Day 31 - Part 1. I will post part 2 tonight or tomorrow at the absolute latest. I guess for those of you who said you didn't want me to be done blogging, your prayers were answered. Thanks  but no thanks  a lot for shot-blocking my prayers for an earlier bed time. 

Day 31.

It is with such a heavy heart that I sit down to write my final #AdamsActs for 2014. Before we get into all that, my first act of kindness will be to bless you with photographic evidence of the following:

1. How clearly I overcompensate for grief while making Halloween costumes.
2. How unabashedly foolish I am willing to be in public.
3. How much superhuman neck strength I have.

You ready for all that?

The family theme this year was Super Mario. Now before you judge me for doing a family theme... let's revisit last year when we had two brides, one groom, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Spiderman and a chili pepper. What a disaster, not cohesive at all.

So we tightened it up this year and went for the family theme.

Actual Mario

Harper as Mario

(After party Mario)

Actual Luigi

London as Luigi 

Believe it or not, that wasn't the after party version. This is...

Actual Princess Peach 

Marlie as Princess Peach

Actual Toadette

Annalee as Toadette

Actual Toad

Jay as Toad

Jay and I as Toad and Toadette

That is a full size bean ban on a bicycle helmet.

Actual Awesome Gamer Costume

Tom as lamer Gamer

(Not pictured because Tom forgot the holster of nerdy gaming remotes he was going to wear with his Nintendo shirt.)

The gang's all here!!

Okay, now let's get down to the business of  weeoping  kindness.

To kick off Day 31, I chased the garbage truck down my road because they whizzed past my house at 100 miles per hour and I wanted to give them a little something. I was hot on their trail when I realized that they were going so fast because they need to go down a different street first to turn around and come back in the other direction to get all the garbage on my side of the road. So, for my first act of the day, I entertained my neighbors by running like a mental patient down the street in my pajamas and socks, with my hair Mustang Sallying behind me in all it's wild glory. Maybe it's a stretch to consider this a kindness, but just like there are a few duds in every fireworks finale, I am throwing anything and everything possible into my fireworks finale-o-kindness.  

Eventually, the garbage truck pulled up to my bin and I went out with a little more dignity, but still the same outfit, and handed them a thank you note and a Starbucks gift card.  They seemed completely  afraid of my appearance  unphased by the gift and threw it in the cab of the truck and continued on their way. I don't know how often they are acknowledged for their services, but I can't imagine it's happening frequently. So, I'd like to believe that it made a small impact at least. Like, they probably both ugly cried and sang some hymns a cappella at the end of their shift. I'm just guessing, but that's probably definitely what happened.

Garbage truck...

That is all for now, sadly. Prepare yourself emotionally though, because Day 31 was a bit on the heavy side. So, until then, enjoy my absurdity.

Day 30: Peaches, and Pits

Can you guys even believe that tomorrow is the last day of October? I can't help but feel the crippling self-doubt that tries to creep in at the end of this kind of project. It's so easy to harass myself with criticism and accusations that I didn't do enough, or that I wasn't as consistent as I wanted to be, or that I offended someone on accident, or that even if I did do some good things, I didn't always have that cheerful heart I had hoped to have by now. On the other hand, I feel absolutely exhausted. I feel physically and emotionally drained... so the pride side of me spits back its own ugly accusations, that I have done plenty, too much in fact, and I shall never be kind again, and I need a vacation, nay I deserve a vacation. And then I realize what a sick, sick woman I am, and that's when I decide to stop all the  maniacal  internal dialogue and just show you a picture of this peach.

This was Day 30. I delivered this enormous peach to my daughter's fifth grade teacher, who's adorable baby girl is named Georgia, and is lovingly referred to as "The Peach." So, after searching high and low for an infant size peach costume, he was desperate. And since we are in the business of making frivolous, fruit-related dreams come true... we stepped in and made this adorable little Georgia peach. I painted some upholstery fabric so that it would not only look like a peach, but feel like one too. (Okay, it was a crusty-fuzz after all the paint, but be quiet and just love my peach.)

Then we made a little stem-blossom headband.

Look at all that gorgeous fuzz!

I will post pictures on my business FB page (Piccadilly Rose) once there is a baby stuffed in that thing, because you will throw up on yourself when you see how adorable she looks in it. 

So, delivering that bad mamma jamma was one part, but the second part of #AdamsActs has been in the making since the end of September. I have been trying to organize a team of people to serve my friend's mom who lost her husband of 35 years, suddenly and tragically, just 6 months ago. 

She and her husband lived in their dream house (that he built for her) and together they raised two children who would grow up to devote their lives to full-time ministry. And although this sweet woman, and her children, have had their lives turned upside down by the loss of such a wonderful man, their grief has not taken everything from them. Even in the midst of despair and anguish, their grief has not won. They have a hope in something beyond this life, and they know that one day, they will see and touch and hold this man once again, but when that times comes, he will be in his perfect form, because he has been seen and touched and held by his Healing Father.

And as this woman waits for the moment of that reunion, she is bravely facing this new chapter of her life with such grace. She is beginning this new adventure in a new home, in a new town. That is a lot of new! And while she is looking forward to being closer to her beautiful grandchildren, she is undoubtedly overwhelmed at the task of making this new house feel like home, especially when her husband was a gifted craftsman who built and created such beauty in their home. So, I have been putting together a small group of people to go to her new house on Saturday to help make this feel less like a space more like a home. We plan to paint a couple of rooms, and do whatever jobs she finds us fit to do.  

That won't officially happen until November 1st, but since the planning is half the battle, I am using it for half of Day 30. I painted a peach, and then I am going to paint some rooms. One is frivolous and fun and quite adorable if I do say so myself, and the other act (I hope) brightens up more than a house, but my prayer is that this act of love and service will brighten up this new season of life for her. 

Day 29: It happened.

Today, our friend and pastor, returned from a trip to the village of Maramara in Chad, where he went to see how the people are fairing since our church body donated money to provide a well for clean water (as well as the training to repair and maintain the well, independently) and to build a school. (Talk about your Act of Kindness!) We got the privilege of seeing videos of the people of Maramara drinking their clean water and readying themselves to begin school next week! It was amazing.

One thing that David shared that stood out to me was how the people of Maramara recovered from a fire which recently destroyed virtually all of their homes. When asked how they were feeling since the fire, they simply stated that "It happened." For the people Maramara, health is a luxury, and one that has only recently been made available with the arrival of clean drinking water. Conveniences are non-existent. There is zero sense of entitlement. When their village burns, it just burns. It happened, and that is all. Nobody expects otherwise.

Americans do not suffer like that. We talk about how we feel about what happened. We want to know why it happened. And we especially want to know how bad things could happen to good people. We feel that we don't deserve to suffer. We feel entitled to our safe and convenient lives. We don't suffer well do we, us Americans? I know I don't.

Don't get me wrong, I am thankful to live in a community where a woman dying in childbirth is extremely rare and appalling, I am glad that when someone's home burns down, it is recognized as a tragedy. I appreciate that the way my brother's life was taken from him is still shocking. I don't want to live in a world where that stuff just happens and that's that.  Still, I think we could learn from the people of Maramara when we are focusing on our grief, our loss, our idea of stress or inconvenience. We are spoiled, and we are rich, and we don't even realize it. Even our suffering is defined by our expectation that we be spared from such pain. We get so angry and shake our fists at God and demand an explanation, as if the Creator of the Universe owes us anything.

Anyways, I was struck that the people of Maramara expect to suffer, but they probably didn't expect to have clean water. They can rejoice so freely because they see the gifts as gifts, and the suffering, not as a curse, but as part of life, just something that happens. I want to be more like that, where I am so pleasantly surprised that anything good could happen to such pitiful people as us that I see it as a gift, a mercy. I want to feel my grief, and I want to continue to be shocked and saddened when horrible things happen, but shocked because I haven't been desensitized, not because I felt entitled to a comfortable life.

I always dream of doing something big like that, going to Africa and making some big impact. But, the truth is, they don't need me there. They need clean water, and education, and they need their own people to be equipped to lead their people, they don't need me. This is when I wish I was a dental hygienist, or a doctor, so I had some skill that would be useful to a village in Chad. But, alas, I do not. So, until they need tutorials on how to make a fool of yourself in a blog post, I am staying stateside.

Which brings me to Day 29. I went, under the cover of night, to rake leaves for our friends who have a really busy schedule (both work full-time, three kids, etc.) They were talking about how their yard has been overrun with piles of leaves, and I have it on good authority to say that they were not exaggerating.

To save time, I will summarize Day 29's #AdamsActs and what I learned in the process:

• I learned that these friends live on a corner lot. 
• I learned that corner lots are bigger, and that means more leaves, and that means more  work  kindness, so, woohoo! I  hate  heart corner lots.
• I learned that if you are 5' 9", you are too tall to hide behind a limp, quarter-filled leaf bag, and the homeowner will see you crouching like a criminal if they pull into their own driveway.
• I learned that I am exponentially more afraid of pedestrians after 10 pm, than I am before 10 pm.
• I learned that I am slightly more afraid of pedestrians that are smoking than those that are not. (I really, truly did not know I felt this way, and I don't know why that is. Perhaps, deep down, I believe that someone who is willing to completely disregard the collective world-wide opinion that something is horrible for you, is also - just slightly - more capable of ignoring the notion that skewering me with my ancient rake handle is a bad idea. I don't know, maybe it's something else, but this was a new discovery.)
• I learned that damp, dead leaves smell like the breath of a drunken man.
• I learned that they also sometimes smell like poop.
• I learned that when leaves do smell like poop, it's because you are actually smelling poop.
• I learned to always wear gloves when scooping leaves into a bag by hand.
• I learned to always keep baby wipes and hand sanitizer in my car.
• I learned that if it's really dark, you can still see how many leaves there are left, but you can't see your rake.
• I learned that once you lose your rake, you have to go home. Ashamed.
• I learned that even if you aren't a doctor doing important medical missions in Africa, you don't need a PHD in poop-raking to make an impact in your own city.

So there it is, Day 29. It happens. Suffering just happens. Literal and figurative crap happens. Right in the middle of a good thing, there is this heap-o-fecal matter just waiting to get scooped up into your bare hands. That is life. It stinks, but I think I am learning to expect it in this life, knowing that on this side of heaven... we can either focus on the whole corner lot of gifts we have been given, or we can let the one pile of poo rob us of all our joy. I think it's a worthwhile pursuit to just dig in and hope for the best.

The first/worst rake ever made. And bags that promise more than they deliver.

I didn't know I was raking crop circles until just now.

That's like nine bags, son! 

Day 28: Vidglogger

I don't vlog. First of all, I am not mature enough to handle video blogging, and second of all... I think the word vlog sounds dirty and I refuse to say it.

So, tonight we made a vidglog. It's terribly ridiculous. Enjoy.

Day 26: Cider, Santa and Squalor

For Day 26 we delivered cider to some neighbors. This doesn't sound like that big of a deal, because it isn't, but we did make the cider ourselves which I think earns a few extra effort points.

Our friend, Dave, came for dinner and brought over a medieval torture device, that doubles as a vintage cider press. The kids absolutely loved it, and my blood pressure  was  wasn't at all through the roof as the children's precious fingers continually came too close to the finger-remover  spinning gears.

The kids got to make their own cider with this contraption, and it was some seriously good cider too. So, we jarred some up and delivered it to people down the street. I had a nice conversation with the girl, who remembered that I brought her husband some curry last year because all he had eaten that night was potatoes. #worstdinnerinhistory

Every year, I also give myself kindness credit for the amount of time I spend making Halloween costumes.  I spent a lot of years not participating in Halloween. It wasn't because I thought it was dark or evil, or anything like that. Sure, some people take it too far and make it dark and sinister, but to be honest, we grew up making silly costumes and carving pumpkins and hoarding candy under our bed, ya know, like Americans. So, for us, it was never about anything scandalous. We didn't use it as an excuse to dress like prostitutes, or sacrifice animals in satanic rituals. (That's what Thanksgiving was for in the Provencal family.)

Still, as harmless as I found Halloween to be growing up, I felt some loyalty to my brother to sit on the sidelines each year. On the night that Adam was killed, I was dressed as him for Halloween.  I wore his wrestling singlet and warm-ups and had his head gear dangling on my hip, just like he did between matches.  I braided my hair into pigtails, because, obviously, that made me look more like a teenage boy, and I was him. When everyone else dressed up like their favorite super heroes, I dressed like mine. It just so happened that my hero was a 17 year old kid. And truth be told, Adam loved Halloween. He loved to be silly, he loved to laugh and play, and he inexplicably loved hammer pants.

So, right around the time I had kids, I decided that I would let them experience all the fun and shenanigans my sisters and I experienced with my brother when we were kids. Nothing dark or scary, just haphazard and offensive hobo costumes, harmless gender swapping, and juvenile diabetes.

But despite my decision to embrace the fun of Halloween, rather than the sad reminders... I still struggled so much when the holiday actually came around. I just dreaded all the leading up to it. Then I discovered that I could throw myself into making the kids's costumes, and it would help me look forward to the fun, and distract me a little from the grief triggers. It doesn't always work, but hey! we have some pretty fun costumes out of it.  So, here is a little smorgasbord of costumes from Halloweens past.

 Annalee's first Halloween... speaking of gender swapping, we went as boys. Okay, she went as a boy, and apparently I went as a pedophile. (I worked at a preschool at the time and, I kid you not, they would not let me into the building. True story.)

Baby's first sideburns.

Marlie as Jessie from Toy Story 2

l

Danielson and, if memory serves me correctly, I believe I called myself Captain Awesomehook 

The year of all the Santas

Accompanied by Mrs.Clause and an elf.

I feel very strongly about drawing facial hair onto young children whenever possible.

Chick hatching out of an egg was pretty epic. London was afraid of Lebron James apparently.


Two cupcakes and a candle

As much as I preach kindness this month, none of my #AdamsActs would make my brother more proud than the fact that I have become so much like my mother in all her costume-making glory, that I (spoiler alert) sewed a bean bag to a bicycle helmet today for one of our costumes. Absurd and wonderful and truly something that Adam would have appreciated.

Tom's act of kindness, besides continuing to help with all the kids while I continued to recover today from the pink eye of the throat... was dealing with the mess of homemaking Halloween costumes. He secretly loves living  in squalor  with such a fun, creative woman. 

Day 24 & 25: The Better to Slap You With, My Dear

The past couple of days have been a hodgepodge of #AdamsActs. I manhandled the post lady into letting me leave a book of stamps at the counter for anyone who might need a stamp. She kept saying that she didn't think she could do that, and I kept saying that I believed in her and that I knew she could do it. Eventually I said "Thank you, bye! Pay it forward!" And skipped out in the midst of her protests. 

I also gave my mother-in-law a free haircut, which I always do, but when you devote a whole month to kindnesses, you count all the usual stuff too!

Before I de-mudflapped her...

And after

Before

 

So. Now that my mother-in-law looks younger than me, let us move on to the rest of the family.

Annalee volunteered our crafting skills to make a Hallowern costume for her teacher's baby.  

Marlie had to dress as a storybook character for school.  She chose to be Little Red Ridinghood and brought a basket of apples to deliver to teachers and bus drivers. (Though I think her greater act of kindness was looking this adorable in her costume.)

I am in a particularly busy season of life, and in Tom's words have "run myself down to the point of being sick." So now, I can wheeze every time I breathe and bark like a seal every time I cough. I have felt miserable all day and for Tom's #AdamsActs, he has banished me to my bed to rest. I am not the best at staying in bed or being a patient, but he has been quite insistent.

As evidenced above, Tom is very aggressive about his kindness. And he thanks you for your continued prayers for his rage problem.

Day 23: Adopted.

We have an open adoption.

A lot of people think we are crazy.  (We also think we are crazy, but for totally different reasons.)  Actually, maintaining a relationship with our son's birthparents is one of the least crazy things we have ever done. When the alternative is withholding a relationship with people that created him, it seems insane to do anything else. Trust me, I am not being judgemental, I know that there are a million nightmare scenarios where a relationship must be withheld for the child's safety and well-being. But that's not what I am talking about.

I am talking about two people who absolutely adore their child. I am talking about a beautiful, bright, amazing young woman who created a life from scratch, and then birthed absolute perfection. She not only gave him the gift of life, she gave him the gift of a family. And for some reason that blows my mind every single day, she chose us to be that family.

I do not think of choosing open-adoption as some heroic act of mercy like some people think it is. Mercy is when we don't get punished for something, even though we deserve it. I think that is how a lot of people look at it, like birthparents lose their right to be involved if they choose to place their child for adoption.  If I gave birth to a child that I did not feel prepared to parent at the exact moment of their birth, I cannot imagine the pain of receiving a life sentence of separation from my child because of it. I honestly don't feel like we are doing anything remarkable by facilitating a relationship with Jay and his first mommy and daddy... rather, I think we have the privilege of being part of something remarkable.

We fell in love with our son's birthmama, Miss N., the moment we first spoke with her on the phone. She and I have been texting and calling and facetiming and sending pictures and videos... almost daily ever since. Yes it is a huge commitment.  Yes it is time-consuming. Yes it can sometimes be messy and enmeshed (see why I have a low tolerance for that with neighbors!?)  No, it is not easy or convenient to travel to New York City every few months to visit them. Still, it is nothing remarkable on our part.  What she did was remarkable.  She entrusted us with the life of her only son... and we are merely reciprocating the trust and respect she showed us, even though we did nothing to deserve it.  That is called grace.  To give a blessing that someone does not deserve.

Adoption is such a sweet picture of our belief system. We actually believe that we are adopted by God, because he essentially traded in His only son so that we (ie; heinous sinners) could be made His perfect sons and daughters. That is both grace and mercy. He showed us grace in pursuing us though we did nothing to deserve such love... and He showed us mercy by not separating His perfect self from us, even though I sin enough in my sleep to warrant permanent banishment from His perfect presence.  I know how crazy this all sounds... which is why I admitted that texting my baby's birthmom is hardly the craziest thing I do.  I actually believe this Jesus stuff, and I know that makes me wacky to a lot of people.

But, here's the cool part. Because I actually believe this stuff, I get to live with a peace and a reckless abandon that nothing else in this world can give. So, sharing my son with the only other people on this planet who adore him as much as we do, is not that hard in light of my own adoption through the grace and mercy and loving kindness of my God.

Day 22 was a lot of adoption love. I spent time talking with Miss N. and messaging back and forth with birthdad (or "Pop" as Jay calls him). I also spent an absurd amount of time searching online for a very special fox. When Jay was first born, we bought Jay two adorable stuffed woodland creatures. He has a bunny - which represents Miss N.- so she has a matching one. And we got him a fox - which represents Pop. I have been searching for a matching fox for Pop and have planned to give it to him in November when he comes to Rochester for his first visit here.

On the train going to see Jay and Miss N. in the hospital when he was first born.

I ran into a little glitch while attempting to get a couple foxes, one for Jay in case Mr. Fox 1.0 has an accident of any kind and one for Pop. Eh hem... the stinkin' fox has been retired! Sooo... instead of ordering that for Pop as an act of kindness, I had to ASK POP to take a train all the way to the Bronx and SEARCH FOR IT AT THE HOSPITAL GIFT SHOP AND BUY IT FOR ME, FOR HIMSELF.

#fail.

So, as much as I had hoped to bless him with a really meaningful, matching woodland fox... instead, I sent him on the world's worst errand. Buuuut... I did send them both some adorable pictures of Jay, and I thanked them both for procreating the world's most adorable child. This is not an opinion, this is a fact. That I will prove to you.............. now.

I enter into evidence, Exhibit A

Photo cred: Me, but that was easy thanks to his DNA.

DNA cred: Pop and Miss N.

Photos by Ebersole Photography

Day 22: I See Your Note & I Raise You A Sheet Pizza

How about another round of applause for Tom's very first guest post!

For those that asked if it was really Tom who wrote the post, I have a few things to say to you:

1) Why would I lie about that?

2) If it was me, pretending to be Tom, the section about how great I was, would have been much, much longer and more detailed.

3) If there are any lingering doubts about the identity of the last post's author, I would encourage you to re-read the portion (approximately 50% of his post) where Tom describes his disgusting lunch with obvious romantic feelings. If you think I am capable of speaking fondly, let alone romantically, about a slice of American Cheese then you are dead to me.

So, it really was him and I am thankful that you all got a little taste of who he is, before he becomes incapacitated from heart disease and other cheesesteak-related health problems. Pray for him, please and thank you.

So, Day 22.

 

We have tried to keep the kids involved in our #AdamsActs, and it is always awesome to hear their suggestions for different acts of kindness we could do. My four year old, London, has notoriously horrible ideas that almost always have to do with chocolate, and somehow she gets the chocolate in the end. Harper's are usually some over the top plan (like to buy a new house/car) and always for Jim, the neighbor who had back surgery. You may recall, during our ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, he challenged Jim.

He did have his first idea that was doable, and not Jim-centric.  He came home with a letter written for our neighbors on the other side of us.  It was adorable, and I will translate it below.

Hello. 

Hello Neighbors, Hope you had a great day! Just wanted to say you're nice and I love when you play football with me. (heart) Harper Next Door

  This goes for both of you.

 Harper brought the letter over to the neighbors, but they were not home. We had tried to bring them an apple crisp a couple days earlier too, but they were not there then either. So, Harper put it in their mailbox and put the little red flag up. I thought it was really cute, but I honestly didn't think about it a second time, until we got this the next day.

They went out and bought Harper an age-appropriate thank you card, and a gift card to get pizza and wings during the next Bills game. Harper practically wept with joy. It was so cool for the kids to see (in such a ridiculously instantaneous way) that when you sew kindness, you reap kindness.  I wish that I could say that they have already learned that lesson, because I am so sweet and pleasant and I always have the good of others right on the forefront of my mind.  But, I would be lying. The truth is, I am the worst. 

I love my neighbors, all of them, I really do.  But before this current set, we had a pretty rough run of neighbors. One potty-mouthed neighbor got so drunk that she peeled out of her driveway, she actually drove her car into her own house, obliterating her new wrap-around porch... if she had gone in the other direction, she would have obliterated me, Marlie and three of her little friends who were all sleeping in a tent in our back yard for Marlie's campout/birthday party. I had a hard time getting close to that one. Still, I acted kindly and I reached out, which you can read about here, but honestly, instead of loving my neighbor, what I really wanted to do, was report her.  

I had neighbors that, during a particularly low point, I remember wanting to hit with a shovel, I can't remember why, but I know for a fact that it was, in no way, an overreaction.  And some of you may remember this post when my elderly neighbor made out with me a little about my Act of Kindness two years ago.

So, you can see that I have tried, that I am still trying.  But, the reality is that I love the neighbors I know, and I am scared to get to know the neighbors I don't know. Maybe it's because we all live so close, but I am always cautious to get enmeshed with new neighbors. So, I am embarrassed to say that Harper did this on his own. Not because of my shining example of kindness... if he was following my example, he'd be pacing around the perimeter with a shovel. He just loves people, and he loves football, and he loves to throw the football with the neighbor.  I love people and I also love keeping a polite distance when I can because otherwise, it just gets messy.  

And as much as I wish I had reminded my children that we are to love our neighbors, even when it gets messy, even if you get enmeshed, even when you get a little frenched by the elderly... in the end, it was my children who reminded me. 

Day 21: All Tom, All the Time. (ATATT - Special Edition)

Disclaimer:  Today’s post will not be witty, deep, or compelling.  You all know that Lara is a beautiful, intelligent, and inspiring woman.  And although I am none of those things, I do get to be married to her and that’s a totally awesome thing to be able to say.  Yeah – this is a cameo.  It’s Tom and this here is a “guest post”.

So I’m not good at this.  If you know me you know I’m a man of few words, and sadly even fewer thoughts.  But I’m still going to give this my best shot.  Lara had a hard day today – nothing catastrophic, but one of those days where, you know… everything just takes longer that it was supposed to, the Salvation Army didn’t have the right shade of blue pants to make a homemade Super Mario costume, there was a lot of driving kids around, and all you want to do is not write about it.  So I’m taking over.  Just for today, though, so don’t start writing in.

I could count this gesture of “guest posting” as my act of kindness, but since I didn't even know that Lara would need this sweet relief (of which I’ve so gallantly offered), my dad and I had already chipped in with our own #AdamsActs today.  We pretty much saved the world.  We gave away 2 cups of hot chocolate that we got for free and didn’t even want and also threw away 1 plastic grocery bag.

Here’s how it all when down.  My dad and I have been trying to spend more time with each other.  This past year, along with this month, have been potent reminders that you just don’t know, well anything.  I’m not talking about my aforementioned lack of original thoughts.  I’m talking about how we don’t know what our circumstances will be tomorrow.  We don’t know if we’ll be healthy, if we’ll be safe, or if we’ll suddenly be forced to miss someone we love because they’re gone.

So my dad and I have decided to hang out more, eat together, and talk about how life is going.  Today, he stopped by MCC (where I work) for lunch.  We put both generations of our wisdom together and chose a community college’s version of “Philly-style pizza”.  Picture a regular piece of cheese pizza lovingly sprinkled with shreds of Steak-Umm.  Then, and this is what gives it the authentic Philly feel – there’s a Kraft single melted on top to pull it all together.  We felt like we were on South Street.  Then, because I was with my dad we had to chase our heartburn with coffee.  We sat back down at our table with our coffee, when the woman working at the stand yelled, “Your 2 hot chocolates are ready!”  We stopped talking.  “She’s looking right at me.”, he said to me in a low voice, barely moving his lips.  We both froze - like in Jurassic Park when Dr. Ian Malcolm’s only chance of not being eaten by the T-Rex is to remain absolutely motionless.  “Hey, you in the green sweatshirt!  Come get your hot chocolates!” I will say that if he had been on the island of Jurassic Park, his green sweatshirt might have blended in with the large tropical ferns and we would have been spared from the T-Rex barista.  But nope.  We told her we didn’t order them, but she wasn’t having it.  We were taking them.  At this point all of the surrounding tables were watching our little scenario play out and enjoying the show.  So, we decided to give away the hot chocolates as an act of kindness.  We were rejected by the first table.  So, that felt great.  However, another student overheard our offer and said he’d take them.  We handed over the hot chocolate, then told them to smile for the picture.  We explained nothing.  My dad just said, “Smile”, took the picture, then said “Acts of Kindness!” in a really cheerful voice.  It was great.  We considered going back and explaining what just happened, but ultimately resolved to go ahead and keep it awkward forever.

The second act of kindness we bestowed upon the students of MCC was to pick up a plastic grocery bag and throw it out.  This opportunity presented itself after this kid, sitting within arm’s reach of the trash can, reached out and tried to throw it in.  The dude didn’t even ball it up first.  What?  You know how far you can throw an un-balled-up plastic bag?  I’ll tell you.  Approximately 1 inch.  So after the young man’s 1 inch toss didn’t do the job, he watched it slowly float and land beside the trash can.  Then, he just left it there.  Here’s my dad gettin’ the job done.

 

Lara always finishes her posts with an amazing one-liner.  I have to tell you that I’ve been staring at the screen for at least 12 minutes trying to come up with one, but it’s not going to happen.  So, I’m out.

*drops mic

Day 19: Random Acts Of Poor Circulation

My big brother, Adam, was known for making people feel special, like they mattered.  When someone felt small, or invisible, he would take the time to get to know them, have a conversation, reach out. He was the kind of kid who would take the time to walk a mile in someone else's shoes.  And part of honoring his memory and trying to share his legacy with others, would be doing just that.

But, I must warn you... if you are going to walk a mile in another man's shoes, you might wanna steer clear of the guy from Day 19.

Yes, it's true, walking a mile in his proverbial shoes would not be fun.  He was clearly homeless, pushing all his belongings in a shopping cart, and he was not properly dressed for the cold, rainy evening.  So, yes, walking a mile in his life, would be hard, if not miserable. But, I mean, literally, you don't want to get assigned to walking in his actual shoes.  I know you would be very uncomfortable walking in his shoes.  I know this, because I bought them. And they are accidentally, a size 6. 

Sooo... if I had to pick one of the most horrifyingly sad sights, it would be someone on a cold, wet city street with bare feet. I am always cold, and I quit when it's cold, and I hate being cold and being cold hurts my feelings. So when I see someone with their poor, cold grubbies just hanging out in the elements, it physically pains me.  For Day 19, I wanted to buy a decent pair of men's boots that were used (read affordable) but still in very good shape, would be warm and also waterproof.

I went to the thrift shop and found only one good pair of boots.  The whole bottom foot part was rubber and one full piece,  so there was no place for cracks to form or for water/snow to leak in.  I picked them up and looked at the bottom and saw they were a size 9. (Wait for it...)

When I got home and showed Tom the boots, he remarked that they looked really small, and I agreed that 9 is on the smaller size for most men's shoes, but that they were the only good pair, and they weren't that cheap, even at a thrift store... so, we would just have to find a guy with not-huge feet.

Then, I packed up some dinner to share with someone, including homemade white chicken chili, jalapeno cornbread,  fruit and some chocolate. (The chocolate was London's  demand  suggestion.)

We loaded all the kids in the car and set off to find someone who met the following criteria:

1) Must be homeless.

2) Feet must be smaller than average.

3) Feet must be exposed to the elements.

Well, if you found this criteria to be quite specific, you won't believe how narrow our pool of recipients became when I looked at the inside tag and saw that they accidentally printed the size 9 upside down.

 

NO they didn't. That's a 6.  I bought a pair of doll shoes for a homeless man. 

Operation Shoe the Shoeless, Criteria 2.0:

1) Must be homeless.

2) Must be the petite-est man alive.

3) Must be willing/able to curl his tiny feet up and stuff them into these child-size boots. 

And now I had to find the match to that absurd new criteria, in a city full of people who, apparently, are always committed to wearing shoes because I couldn't find anyone with their toes just out and about. And I certainly didn't see any grown men walking atop dainty, feminine feet which had been bound since birth to prevent normal growth.  

I did find a reeeeeally short fella who did not have good shoes, and figured this would be the closest possible match. I approached, introduced myself and said "I happen to have a decent pair of warm, winter boots, but they are quite small, like a men's size 6... you wouldn't happen to want or need those would you?"

His response?  "Oh yeah, sure, that's just my size!"

No. No, sir, it's not.

Still, he heartily accepted the minuscule boots, which I am certain are going to be ill-fitting, and thanked me multiple times as if I had given him, I don't know, something saaaay... useful and adult-sized. It was kind of a fail moment for me, but he seemed to truly believe that these boots would fit him, and I hope they do.  I hope that when he sat down at night, and slipped his delicate little toddler feet into Polly Pocket's boots, that it was a Cinderella moment. No jamming or tugging or forceful shoving, no step-sisters screeching "Then I'll make it fit!" Instead, just a quiet, magical moment where the he and the grand duke exchange a knowing glance as his foot slips effortlessly into the tiniest boots ever made. And when that moment takes place, I hope he feels loved, and I hope he feels like he matters.  I hope, for that moment, he does not feel invisible. And even though his feet are just a precious baby whisper at the bottom of each leg, I hope that feeling seen meant he did not feel small.  

These are the boot

Day 18: Mustache Madness

Day 18 was a date nigt.

This does not happen super often. We have an awesome community of people who love us and are willing to help with babysitting, but the reality is that we need to save our willing friends and family for things like parent-teacher conferences, or mandatory meetings that we both have to attend, or  emotional problems emergencies that aren't my fault. The other reality is that we have chosen to just blow right past the average/reasonable family size and make it impossible to do things like "swap kids with friends so we can take turns going on dates."  

A) Nobody wants to swap their two kids for our five. 

or

B) The people who wouldn't feel like they are getting the raw end of the deal, are people who think being a family of seven is normal, and I don't trust those crazies.

So, a date night is kind of a big deal.  We decided to incorporate our #AdamsActs into our date.  A couple next to us overheard us order a really good dessert, and the guy joked that we would have to let them know how it was. Well, sir, it was very good.  Like, so good, that one might get excited and hit said guy in the arm to tell him how good it was. How embarrassing for one, should one love dessert enough to forget about appropriate social boundaries, like not hitting, or, like not touching strangers during their date, or, like not touching strangers ever.  Once  my  Tom's dessert haze lifted, we decided that we should order that same dessert and have it sent to that couple's table. In part to be kind, and in part to make him forget  that  I struck him  about the stresses of everyday life.

So, we had dessert ordered and paid for and we left a note for them to enjoy the dessert and to follow along for the month if they'd like. I also wanted to leave a "Sensational Mustache Message" for our waiter, who had clearly taken the sweet, sweet time necessary to have waxed his mustache tips, and put them in curlers before his shift. Tom felt that doling out mustache awards would not be deemed an acceptable act of kindness, but this comes from that guy down there, who sat down to dinner with a bald face and grew that amount of facial hair before our drinks had even arrived.  He grows a full - lumberjack edition - beard overnight... so he can't really appreciate how hard it is for some  less Italian  men to grow such a fine, curly moustachio. 

Day 16/17: Beauties and the Sweets

My favorite #AdamsActs are the ones where people have big reactions to small kindnesses.  Day 16 was definitely one of those days.

We handed out candy bars with little notes on them.  Once again, I had plans for how it would all go down.  And in keeping with the theme of my whole life, nothing went as I anticipated.

I envisioned bringing treats to a bunch of guys working road construction, and it would make them feel appreciated, and loved and encouraged, and then they would finish the roads faster.  For those of you who live anywhere besides upstate NY, you may not understand.  But, Rochester has two seasons... Winter/Dry Nasal Cavities - 9 months out of the year.  Construction/Humidity/Mosquitos - the other 3 months.

It's basically paradise. 

So, you can imagine my surprise when I couldn't find a single road construction worker. I can't express the melancholy I experienced when I realized that my clever construction-oriented pun would likely go to waste.  

When we couldn't find a construction crew, we changed plans. By that I mean that I made the kids hand them out to strangers. 

Annalee (left) was okay with it, Marlie (right) was not so sure.  The first recipient was just getting off of work and seemed really happy with the unexpected gift, then totally zoned out and stared at me for a long time. We finally realized that we knew each other.  This woman had been my very first client in Rochester.  When I was first starting my little business, I met a hairstylist named Wendy who, for some reason, really believed in me. She bought a ton of my stuff, she encouraged me, she took me to different salons and shops to meet other small business owners who might be interested in carrying my products.  She introduced me to some really important connections, and that led to my first account at a local store, and also the confidence to keep going with my fake business!  I was able to thank her again, and tell my girls about how Wendy had shown me such kindness when I really needed it.  It was actually a cool, full-circle moment for me.  

The second recipient was a guy who seemed totally normal, until we gave him the candy bar.  He looked at us in a bit of shock, and said "Oh my goodness REALLY!?" then held out the candy bar in front of his own face and proceeded to hunch and sway with relief, the way someone would if they were on day 30 in the dessert and could finally see a watering hole up ahead. I guess that guy really needed a Hershey bar. It got, even Marlie, pumped up for the next giveaway. 

Fortunately, most of the messages applied to anyone working.  We decided to go through the Tim Horton's drive through, not order anything, and just give the candy bars to whoever was taking orders.  I forgot that they take your order first, and then you drive up to the window... so we just blew past the voice on the intercom and pulled up as close to the car in front of us and waited our turn.  I did not want to try to explain to the person over the speaker that we didn't want something "to go" but that we had something "to stay" because they would have thought it was a bomb. 

When we got to the window, I explained briefly what we were doing and why, and told her that she deserved a little something and could pass one along to whoever was working hard too.  She said "Ohhh, you're making me feel so special!" I asked if she wanted her picture taken for the blog and she held this adorable pose for a ridiculously long time because I couldn't get my camera to open.  She was a good sport, I was sweating profusely, but we got the picture and I think it made her night. It definitely made mine.

Now... what to do with that very specific rhyme "You deserve a treat, for fixing our street!" when you cannot actually locate someone who is currently fixing the street???  We considered giving it to a police officer since they, too, fix up our streets, in their own way.  But, similar to the construction workers, the police apparently leave the streets of Rochester to their own devices at night.  So, we found a manhole under repair and threw a candy bar on one of those huge, orange barrels  that I one time hit with my car on accident. 

I'm sure a raccoon found it ten minutes later and was really blessed.

For Day 17, I put to use that small business I mentioned earlier. Basically I upcycle fabric/jewelry/buttons/andwhateverchotchkyicanfind and make unique accessories.  I mostly do headbands, bridal headpieces, and a lot of costuming for dance/theatre productions.  I absolutely love doing it, and it pays huge money.  Okay, that is a lie, but I do love doing it!  

I decided to gift some of my creations.  I put together a variety of styles (sort of like these) for my friend Nancy and her two little girls. 

We were having dinner there, and I brought a bunch of headbands for her to choose from.  Nancy's five year old was apparently very excited and enjoyed going through the different styles, and the baby could care less because she is only 4 months old.  But, she looked adorable... as you can see here:

My last #AdamsActs for Day 17 was to finish up a Halloween piece for my step-mom, Jean. Her Frozen-themed costume was, admittedly, a little understated.

Really Grandma Neen, that's the best ya got?

So, we needed to jazz it up... I decided that she needed something epic. I almost made her a tutu, but, thought better of it and decided on this instead...

That should snazz up a t-shirt, no?

So there you have Day 17.  Every little girl needs to feel beautiful with hairbows, and while it may not seem like an act of kindness to make one's step-mother a huge ice queen tiara, I swear it was by her request and was made with nothing but love and kindness in mind.  

Day 15: A Cornucopia of Kindness

We are about half way y'all.

I can't believe it!  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you have two choices

a) catch up on Day 1 and all the days thereafter, and catch the kindness!

or

 b)  a plague on both your houses.
 b) hate kindness.
 b) be the worst.

Okay, maybe you only have the one option.

Great, now that all the rookies have been properly  threatened  encouraged, let us take a look at some of the #AdamsActs we've seen so far this month. Thought we could all use some fresh ideas!

Deliver a pumpkin bread to a neighbor like Colin - also, start looking this awesome in your glasses.

Leave candy and messages on windshields like my adorable nieces and nephews.


Provide poop bags and doggie refreshments for deadbeat pet owners in your neighborhood!

Provide gift cards to eat chocolate for ladies during that  unstable  special time of the month!

Get your kids to part with some toys, and donate them!

Bring snacks to work, and  humiliate  bless your co-workers by documenting it.

Leave notes of encouragement in places where moms need them most (playgrounds, public changing tables, the pediatrician's office, etc.) *I had to provide my own photo for this because my sister Kristin and her friend did this, but didn't post it publicly... (I got the loud mouth in the family, she got the looks.  What can ya do?) But I imagined it looked something like this...
Except that there is a nice note pinned to that kid's khakis.

Mend something special that got torn.

Paint a rock of reminder.

Bring toys to a shelter.

Treat someone to a train ride.

Donate sick days for someone who needs them (terminal illness, maternity leave, emergency)

Use a penny to ride a mechanical pony, leave a penny for another child to ride, like my niece!





So many great ideas!  My #AdamsActs for Day 15 was buying a snickers for the checkout lady at the grocery store... and sharing all these great ideas with you!

Happy kindnessing!  

Unless you opted for the plague.

Day 14: Geriatric vs. Gentleman's Club

So, yesterday was rough wasn't it guys? Can you believe how all of us had that mental breakdown?

Oh wait, was that just me??

Well, we are due for some jokes about old people are we not?  I am totally kidding, but not really because this is going to get playfully offensive.

For Day 14, I spent the day with some friends (named Erica and Erika respectively) and we made homemade applesauce to share with others. The Eric/kas and I peeled, chopped and simmered until we had enough cinnamony mush to feed any and all people who have outlived their teeth.

We had grand plans of delivering the applesauce, still warm, to a nursing home where we would have the children hand out homemade cards and people would spring up, miraculously, out of their wheelchairs and would twirl and celebrate like school children.

So many things that I just wrote did not happen. Including all of it. Well, the applesauce was warm at one point, but other than that... none of our plans came together. It's probably all for the best because can you imagine how disgusting it would be to see people twirling in those loose, flowing gowns with the back just open and flapping in the breeze?  Just not seeing anyone's ancient buns makes me consider Day 14 a moderate success.

Still, we had a lot of applesauce on hand. and we were not going to let this cutie's hard work peeling apples go to waste!



So, Erika got in touch with a woman in the neighborhood who has lived in Rochester since colonial times. This woman, Marian, is 91 years old, lives alone and is blind. I don't know what a P.C. term for "shut-in" is, but she's a (insert less offensive term.)

Or so we thought...

We brought our children (twelve of them between the three of us) to meet the first woman God ever created.  And let me tell you, ain't nothing shut in about Miss Marian. This old whippersnapper gave the children quite the  inappropriate  education.  I knew it was gonna get crazy when she opened with the fact that ladies are more likely to get urinary tract infections than men.  This tidbit was followed by the history of shootings in the area, as well as the rise and fall of a "night club" which she suspected was a "front for some other operation."  When Marian and her outraged squad of neighborhood watchwomen tried to crack the case, the "good looking black man" who owned the  Gentleman's  night club assured them that the only thing that people were doing behind the smoke and mirrors was exercise.  Well sir, you can't push that kinda crap past Miss Marian, no matter how fine she thinks you are. Marian and the gang had him run outta town quicker than you can say "they used to leave the urine samples in the milk drop box."

No, seriously, she actually said all of this. In front of the children.

So, as you can see, lives have been changed.  Our children will never be the same.

I dedicate this post to Tom, because I will probably end up being an old, inappropriate whippersnapper myself someday. I'm already feeling bad about your future.
Happy Almost Anniversary...

Day 13: All Things New

For Day 13, I did a potpourri of kindnesses. I bought some donuts for friends and their kids, and also for Tom, but  I ate his before I even pulled out of the parking lot  it got stale and it wouldn't have been safe for him to eat. Or find out about until he reads this. 

 #RandomActsOfGluttonyAndSelfishness

In less embarrassing news, I also left dollar bills in the little free libraries that have been popping up around Rochester.  If you haven't seen them, then this would be an awesome #AdamsActs to do!  They are basically a teeny tiny micro-library on a pole.  Think dollhouse-library-lollipop set up in people's yards or at parks or playgrounds. 

 It's such a cool way for people to borrow books or even take a book to keep, and also to donate books that they are done with or have an extra copy of. We love it.  It was a simple and small thing, but I love that it is the opposite of the regular library, where you go to check out a free book and have to pay a fine because  I  Tom checks out too many books  50 to be exact  and  I  he forgets to return them.  He lets stuff like that slide all the time  I tolerate it because I'm in it for the cheese platters.  So this #AdamsActs was fun... get a free book, but also a free dollar! Which is much better than getting no dollars, and a significant improvement on paying dollars.

A few close friends and family members have expressed concern for me in the past two weeks.  The people who know me best have noticed that this year the 31 Days of Kindness (#AdamsActs) seems to be harder for me than the past two years.  There is truth to that, and I wasn't really sure why that was, until today.

I'm going to tell you the truth.

The truth is that I want to do right by you guys.  Each day I want to have a grandiose act of kindness that inspires you all who are participating, and I want it to matter, and I want to share stories about who Adam was, and I want people to understand that his life was worth remembering and honoring.

Doing this for the third year in a row has taken its toll on me, and not for all of the obvious reasons: being busy with five little ones, running my own little business from home, having a limited budget to work with, trying to have the energy to be so emotionally vulnerable, and so publicly, etc. Sure, those things can be challenging.  But, that is not why this year has been so much harder.  Today I realized that I am struggling, because I have used up my Adam stories. You see, I don't have any fresh stories, because I don't get any fresh stories.  Because he is gone.  It makes me so immeasurably sad to write this down, that I will never, ever get new memories with Adam.

And the pressure of trying to share him with you all, when there was so little time with him to begin with, has felt overwhelming to me.

So. I am all done.

No, I'm certainly not done with #AdamsActs.  I will never stop trying to impact this world in meaningful ways as Adam would have, had he been given that opportunity.  I will never stop trying to keep his memory alive.  I will never shut up about this Jesus, who became my leader and my forgiver, because of a conversation I had with Adam in a maroon Pontiac 6000 when I was just a little girl.  I will never forget how my faith in that God got really real, really fast when those concepts, heaven and eternity, were no longer some "off in the distance" kind of notion... but was my 17 year old brother's new reality.

So no.  I am not done with all this. But (and I have to say this only for my own sake), I am all done with the pressure I am putting on myself for each day to be something new.  A man with a gun robbed my family of the luxury of new. What I have of my brother are the old, (and the cherished) memories.  There are few of them, and they are sacred and precious and I will share them because I think his life mattered, and it was too short, and as with any valuable and limited resource... we have to preserve it, and pool it together to see it's true beauty.

So, that's that. I am going to repeat myself guys.  Forever and ever Amen.  And I am going to be fine with that, because I don't want death to win.  I want his life to win, and in order for that to happen, I am gonna have to get repetitive up in here.  If I don't get new memories with Adam, then I am going to make memories that he would be proud of.  If my husband and children can't know him, then they will know his legacy.  If I cannot call him up and invite him over for dinner, then I will share my dinner someone who doesn't have one.  If I cannot see his face, or remember his voice, or watch him run just one more time... then I will spend my Octobers, and hopefully all the months of all my years here being a friendly face, using my voice to speak the truth in love, and I will run until I cross the finish line and finally get to meet my brother and my Jesus, and they will welcome me to a place where, in fact, I will get my new.  

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. And he who was seated on the throne said, 'Behold, I am making all things new.'" Revelation 21:4-5

Day 12: Cleaning the Clean

My brother could walk up stairs on his hands.

I am not even kidding.  The wrestlers had to practice walking on their hands  because wrestlers love pain for no reason  for balance, coordination, and upper body strength.  Adam had to take that challenge a step further.  Or a flight of steps to be more exact. 

I once remember him going to painstaking lengths to write as well with his left hand as he could with his right.  He would show me his full name written out on a piece of paper, one on top of the other.

Adam H. Provencal

Adam H. Provencal

"Guess which one was written with my left hand, and guess which was with my left" he'd say.  If I guessed correctly, he would be back at it, for who knows how much time.  And if he stumped me, he would be smugly satisfied with himself, and still continue to practice until there was no discrepancy between the two.

He was just like that.  He wanted to walk up and down stairs on his hands, and be ambidextrous, and make the world's largest wad of gum on his nightstand and pull apart an alarm clock just to see if he could put it back together and make it work using even less parts than the manufacturer.  

I really like to believe that Adam and I are actually quite similar.  I have been told most of my life that Adam and I have similar personalities and that we looked a lot alike.  He was such a phenomenal wrestler (taking 2nd in the state of Michigan his junior year) that his nickname was "Pinner."  We were just alike enough that I was then dubbed "Lil' Pinner."

But these things I just described, this is where he and I part ways.  I can't imagine committing myself to such futile pursuits.  I'm just enough of a quitter that after attempt 1,001 I would have quit, set all my pencils on fire and bought myself some dumb t-shirt that said something like "I'm right handed, and if you have a problem with it, I can still punch you with my left."  I just wouldn't do what he did, because I don't have in me, what he had. It breaks my heart when I think of what his tenacity would have changed in this world.  If his life had been lived out, what would he have solved? Or improved? Or created?  

He didn't have that opportunity.  But I do.  So, even though I don't have that grit and determination and drive that he applied to every miniscule detail of his life... I have learned that I have it when it comes to stuff that really counts.  Like, I haven't quit being a mom.  Or a wife.  I know that sounds like the barest possible, minimum standard... but, to me, those two roles are the hardest of my life, and the most important.  And when it gets really hard, I throw the legs up over my head, and I walk up and down the steep stairs of my life and I do. not. give. up.  

For Day 12, we chose to honor a woman who hasn't given up.  Tom's grandmother, or Nana as my kids call her, has had a really hard year.  She lost her husband, who she was with since she was 16 years old, to pancreatic cancer.  The two of them were adorably inseparable and they lived together and served each other and raised their three kids for close to 150 years or something unheard of.  

So, when we lost Papa, she truly lost her other half.  

In his absence, she has kept living.  She has been brave and strong and she has continued to love others and serve others without him.  But, her windows and yard have been a little neglected.  So, like the Italians they are, we cooked up an insane amount of food and pushed past the food coma to get some work done for Nana.

We washed windows...

We raked leaves... (by hand apparently)

(Ps that is my mother-in-law if you can believe that.)

We vacuumed the porch?

 (Yes, you read that right.  When I say that things have been a little "neglected" I mean that Nana must think we live in squalor because I have never in my life washed such clean windows... their home and yard is immaculate, but whatever, when the lady wants the clean windows scrubbed and the porch vacuumed, you just do it without asking questions.)

So it was a total success.  These two made a huge impact by spending all afternoon ripping that one strip of blue tape off the edge of the porch. 

The kids were a huge help.

 

And since I am so pleasant, absolutely nobody irritated me one single time.



Oh, unless you count that time I hit my Father-in-Law with my mop. For irritating me.(No, he's not an actual homeless person. Yes, he does steal tattered jackets from the homeless.) See? He deserved a whack.

So there you have it. Day 12. We didn't achieve anything great like, say... tricking someone into thinking we were left-handed, but I think we did our #AdamsActs for a great mom and a faithful wife, and when it really mattered, she stuck it out. 

For Papa, with love.

Day 11: Saturday Salon and Tom Still Wins.

#AdamsActs is all about transformation.  Choosing to do 31 Days of Kindness during a month when I would, historically, do 31 Days of Crying and Inexplicable Mood Swings, shows transformation.  I wanted to transform my expression of grief from one that sucked the life out of me, to one that was beautiful and life-giving, and also a blessing to others.  

Day 11 was also about transformation.  Not a deep and spiritual one, but hopefully one that made people feel beautiful and blessed.  For Day 11, I opened my home for free transformation via haircut.  I asked haircuttees to either participate in #AdamsActs for the day, or to make a donation ($5 maximum) which would be used in future #AdamsActs this month. (I may or may not have accepted one payment of homemade jam, because I am shameless and I love homemade jams, and I don't homemake jams, and it benefitted no one but me, and shut up about the jams and just accept me.)

I did a total of 9 haircuts.  Which, I will be honest, felt like a lot of haircuts. One of Tom's #AdamsActs for the day was putting coffee and fixin's out for the haircuttees...

I knew the day-o-cuts was getting a little long when I went to dip my comb in the cup of hot water and instead dipped it straight into my coffee.  But, it went well and everyone seemed satisfied!  Here are a few of the before and after pics from the day.

The lovely Miranda Before

After her trim and side bangs (believe it or not, I cut a couple inches off!)

The beautiful Becca Before and After we did a trim, added layers and discovered some gorgeous waves in that hair!

The adorable Madden, top left corner was Before when the last lady left a little mudflap on top... And the other two are After I cleaned it up a bit and deflapped him.

Miss Aliyah, top two are before and bottom two are the midway point after getting rid of a ton of length and reshaping...

And After the cut and final deep conditioning. 

Sweet Kailah Before...

And After trimming/reshaping those amazing curls, and a little braiding in front. 

And the fabulous Erica After...

You may have noticed that I forgot to take a before picture, so I found the closest likeness off her Facebook page. It has not been tampered with in any way. 

Erica Before I got my hands on her. 

So, as you can see, the day of free haircuts was a day of true transformation.  Tom, once again, showed me up right when I thought I had out-kinded him for the day.  I finally sat down at 6:30, realizing I hadn't eaten anything all day   except comb-stirred coffee and a piece of Finnish chocolate and he presented me with this.

Really Tom?  A platter of fine cheeses? The only thing missing was the homemade jam. 

Oh wait, what's this?  Homemade jam and a decorative spreader with little muffins on the handle?

Tom, you considerate s.o.b.

Days 9 & 10: Sandwiches, Sobbing and Sleepovers

I'm not gonna lie, Day 9 and 10 make me feel like a bit of a slacker...

A beautiful new friend of mine treated me to lunch and the privilege of knowing her story.  Telling your story is really scary.  It's weird how giving those sacred pieces of yourself to someone can make you feel so vulnerable and exposed, but also somehow really free.  It is a gift to share your story with someone, and it is equally a gift to have someone take the time to hear your story.  To be heard and known is one of the great human desires, I believe. So, in that way, I think Day 9 was a total success.  We mutually, slid our sacred bits of story offerings across the table to each other. Then we cried. Then we stuffed our feelings with enormous messy sandwiches.  And also bread pudding.

Then I dropped some clothing and toy donations off at the V.O.A. for her because not only is she sweet and fearless and beautiful  and can eat a sandwich like a boss  but she is tough enough to run until her legs break. Okay, technically it is just the one leg, and I am pretty sure it is the ankle... but it is a true story that her ankle was not broken, and then she ran it broken.  So, she can't drive.  So, I delivered her #AdamsActs for her.  This inspired me to go through some of our toys and clothes and donate  stuff they outgrew one hundred years ago  a respectable, non-embarrassing amount of stuff as well.

For Day 10, I bought some candy bars from my step-goddaughter (long story), named Macey.



I mean, what kind of step-godmother would I be if I didn't buy my favorite candy in support of her musical theatre class? As tempting as it was to just eat all the Reese's by myself, I decided to give a couple away to the hardworking employees of Panera.  The vacuuming guy gave a nice smile and seemed to appreciate it, and the smoothie maker was a little busy to care, but I am pretty sure that tonight, she will cry herself to sleep due to her overwhelming gratitude.  Or she'll just eat the candy.  




I was at Panera because I meet with some of my favorite people once a month for a book club.  Which brings me to my husband's act of kindness.  It's hard with that one, because he just starts out so much kinder than me, that my feeble attempts pale in comparison.  For example, I didn't just go to book club and hand out candy... I abandoned Tom to man a 9-child sleepover all by his lonesome.

7 little girls and my two sons, all ten and under.  Alone.  In the words of my friend Courtney, "he is practically a prophet."  I think she meant saint, but let's be honest... manning a sleepover of 9 kids must be a requirement for both sainthood and prophetdom.

If it weren't super obvious that he was selfishly overseeing the sleepover for the age old slumber-party-overseer glory, I'd give him that last Reese's.  But... he's gotta learn.