The other day, the kids rode in their first Uber. Baby Girl had a scrape on her foot and James, the Uber driver, had OH MY STARS MOM A FIRST AID KIT WAITING JUST FOR ME!!! Little Man whispered to me, "Mom, he voted," as James the Driver had stuck an "I Voted" sticker on his dash. I told James that my son saluted his civic practice, and Little Man asked for whom he voted and then I was all, Don't ask that, Son, because secret ballot, and James said, "I can tell you who I voted for...Bernie Sanders." James drove an Outback Subaru with a moon roof that was cranked all the way open on a perfect day with a perfect breeze.
I can see the future, taking the kids to Banff and drinking glacier water, scaling Kilmonjaro, maybe even getting Little Man to eat a vegetable and I know what it all amounts to.
"That was cool, Mom. But it will never be better than our first Uber ride. Never."
You, too, can take $15 off your first Uber ride. Download the Uber app use this code: kendras589ue
I've seen my students punctuate tweets and statuses with a phrase, often in hashtag form, over and over: "Sorry not sorry." It's an anthem of their generation. The unrepentant declaration always bristled me. I'm not sorry. Ergo, I'm not apologizing. But I also get it--they're staking their claim for feeling the way they feel, even in the face of elders who've raised them to be more mannerly, puppeteering their sorries when they really were not very sorry at all.
What about when we really are sorry? What is required of us when we truly are sorry?
As a teacher, apologies are one of the currencies I am supposed to accept in the barter system of assignments and grades.
"I'm sorry I couldn't complete this assignment in time. Technology conspired against me."
"I'm sorry for being late for class today. My roommate turned off my alarm by accident."
"I'm sorry I was not able to come to class today--I was feeling under the weather."
I know there is a sincere sorrow in {some of} the sorries I receive. I know it does not benefit me to judge the sincerity of {any of} them. What is sorrow for something done in error if there is no repentance, though? What worth does an apology have that simply observes a custom of niceties?
Our tenant gives us a Christmas card. He apologizes that there's no envelope. He apologizes in the card for all the noise. But he's a musician. How can he not generate noise and how can he truly be sorry for the noise? He does not want to repent of noise--it's his job, his identity. He still feels sorrow for the ways in which the noise affects us and the hours, decibals that it reaches us.
In this instance, I realize it is possible to hold two truths, one in each hand, and for neither to eclipse the other.
In one hand, he holds sorrow for causing us irritation.
In the other hand, he holds an unrepentant love of making his music.
***
This last school year, the personal theme that has emerged for me is BOUNDARIES. How I don't have them, how I need them, how I'm afraid of instituting them, how ultimately I'm so mad at everyone because of my failure to embrace them. How I'm going to die if I don't learn how to nail them.
Ahem. So yeah. That's been my area of interest.
Like most hard-wired people pleasers, I have been learning to let the smallest biggest word to emerge from my mouth (it's spelled N-O) while my neck cranks back and forth in synchronicity. I've got a long history of saying YES while on the inside the feelings were rioting and the heart was launching an OCCUPY NO movement and my hands got clammy and my sleep vanished as I lived in dread of the things to which I said yes, sure thing, you got it, you bet, you can count on me, YES - party of one.
I just felt so much guilt in the saying no, initially. So I said, Sure, Friend, you can sift through my closet. Then I got mad when she took all my clothes. I said, Okay, Teens from the youth group--y'all can sleep over in my dorm room. Then I got mad because I was sick for the rest of the weekend and got nothing done. I said, Hey, why don't you come over to my house and cry at my kitchen table when you're sad. Then I got mad when she wanted me to be her therapist.
It was all so virtuous, the reasons I said yes, initially. Jesus shouldered the weight of the world, surely I could sign up for one meal train. Even though my kids never see me cooking during the school year. Even though I sit down to a bowl of cereal most nights. I can ferry over a casserole to the church member who just had a new baby.
If you really examine Christ's behavior in the height of His ministry, though, the Savior of the world had boundaries. He retreated. He made specific requests of other people. He delegated jobs to a bunch of knuckleheads even though He knew they lacked faith to even see them through to completion. He didn't get mad that He said Yes to living in a broken world, even though He knew how it would all end.
I started to awaken to this once I saw that Brene Brown video that should be required for all people-pleasers and those in recovery from people-pleasing. She says she learned about boundaries only after she turned 35. Oh look. I'm 35. Maybe that's why they don't let you run for President until now in the hopes that you've learned about boundaries. Dr. Brown says that once she learned about setting boundaries, she became less nice and more loving. I absolutely want that to be my legacy. Not to be remembered for being nice. Niceness is the sugar in lemonade that hides the sour, niceness is a smile that fades. Love is enduring and infinite and we have more of it to pour out into the people who need it and who matter when we identify and stand firm on the boundaries in the rest of our life where we can only offer cups of sugar for their sour pitchers of lemonade.
I am learning ever so clumsily to hold the two truths at once, out in front to a world that wants me to choose only one. I'm learning the art of being sorry I can't say yes, but also not sorry that I'm saying no. I've learned to say, "I'm sorry--I wish I could." I've learned to say, "But I can't."
You can hashtag that "Sorry now, not sorry later."
One of our FamiLee goals is to take our children to see all the major cities in the South. We are covering some good ground but Alabama, Louisiana and Mississippi are still relatively unconquered for us. One of the things that strikes a tourist about the American Southeast is how well-preserved many structures are, largely because the weather is more gentle than, say, Boston where colonial homes have weathered Nor-easter after decades of Nor'easters. The exception to this preservation is the many buildings that suffered fires which were incredibly common--even into this past century.
Our recent visit to Charleston, SC took us on the requisite carriage tour where we learned about the importance of the fire insurance medallion. I'll spare you the history lesson but Baby Girl was fascinated with how volunteer fire squads would totally leave a building to burn to ashes if it didn't have this emblem near the front door, indicating that it wasn't insured. Baby Girl talked about it at length, the whole phenomenon of that, and it gave me hope that maybe our daughter would grow up to understand the travesty of racial profiling, to resist the temptation to judge others' based on their income or insuredness, to be a real pillar of justice. Meanwhile, Little Man was downright indignant that he had missed seeing The Medallion. He was obsessed for the rest of the carriage ride with seeing a bona fide medallion, like it was a gold coin in Mario he kept bypassing, and his life, virtual or otherwise, would perish without.
Kids, man.
But we love them and we like to travel with them and explore new terrain with them. Here are some pointers I can offer if you venture with kidlets to Charleston, the belle of South Carolina:
Accommodations:
Our favorite lodging situation is always AirBNB, especially as having separate bedrooms is really nice now that our kids are getting older. We stayed on James Island at a fantastic home that I highly recommend. It had 3 bedrooms, 2.5 baths, games, DVDs, a beautiful fenced backyard with deck + grille, and the host was very cool. Here's a code for $20 off your first AirBnB stay anywhere.
Attractions:
Loverpants calls the beach "Nature's Babysitter" because our kids could dig in sand and troll for seashells for almost as long as you could binge-watch a whole season of "Fuller House." Although we were only in the Charleston area for about 48 hours, we made visiting Folly Beach a priority. We walked the boardwalk and hit the beach in the evenings and our last morning there. Even though it was too cold to swim, I recommend bringing the standard beach pail and shovel accoutrements if you're ever near sand and have kids who need to be thoroughly worn out in order to hit the pillow in peace each night.
Exploring King St. with one of my besties Ashley
As mentioned, we took a carriage ride through the Battery district in downtown Charleston. Lovely thing, that. The carriage tourism is highly regulated and I'm told all the companies charge the same and give roughly the same tour depending on what lottery ball the driver draws. This blogger explains the system better than I could. Tours cost $25/adult and $15/child. There are always coupons, if you are inclined.
King St., College of Charleston, and Rainbow Row were all destinations that we tried to check off our list, with intermittent reminders that whining was prohibited in Charleston and that using public restrooms that were not trees was encouraged. Hashtag five year-olds out in the wild.
Food
We generally try to bring our breakie with us (instant coffees, bagels, Clif bars) when we travel because waking up hungry and uncaffeinated and tending to the needs of littles who are hangry is not a winning way to start the vacation day. We kept lunch casual in Charleston (may I recommend Freshii on King St.) and had the best sorbet/gelato/coffee at this place down by the water. I'm serious. It was so fresh and so good.
We had two unexpectedly great dinners on Folly Beach. The first was at the 'Wich Doctor who carried Maine Root Beer which was my first sign that this place didn't mess around. Some fusion menu items that you wouldn't expect from a beach cafe, and the sweet potato pizza was just really good. Our second dinner was at Rita's, which looks every bit tourist trap but is actually a good family eatery. Kids' meals were served on frisbees as plates. Hard to beat.
Pizza-holding photo-bombing at 'Wich Doctor
This place was nice, too, and they have a laptop-free policy ;)
Please subscribe to our seasonal lovemail if you'd like more updates such as these in our Seeing the South with Kids series.
One of our FamiLee goals is to take our children to see all the major cities in the South. We are covering some good ground but Alabama, Louisiana and Mississippi are still relatively unconquered for us. One of the things that strikes a tourist about the American Southeast is how well-preserved many structures are, largely because the weather is more gentle than, say, Boston where colonial homes have weathered Nor-easter after decades of Nor'easters. The exception to this preservation is the many buildings that suffered fires which were incredibly common--even into this past century.
