About That Boy Scout Motto

The other day, I learned the importance of being prepared. Of course, if you are a mother, this is a lesson you must learn over and over again. It doesn’t really matter how many children you have or how many mini-crises you survive, there’s always another chapter to be written.

And so it was last weekend.

Always rushing to get out of the house, we piled the family into the car, wiping noses and combing hair while enroute to a Freedom Rally. The kids love those street-corner displays of patriotism, and I do, too. They wave their flags earnestly from the sidewalk and clap excitedly when a motorist honks in affirmation.

For me, it’s a chance to meet new people and talk about what’s on their mind. Sometimes, as you can see from the photo, I even get to have my picture taken on a Harley-Davidson.

Ever mindful that I am the candidate’s wife, I dress carefully. First impressions are important, and heaven forbid I should look like a wild-eyed, frazzled mother.

I thought I looked pretty good, until halfway through the rally I looked at my shoes. I had my favorite walking boots on. I love those boots so much that I bought two pair, brown and black.

You probably know where this is going.

Sure enough, the black boot was on my right foot and the brown on my left. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it!

Once, when we were at a dear friend’s wedding, I wore a shimmery bronze dress with a short bolero jacket. Just before the reception, while catching up with out-of-town friends, Emma tried to signal me. I paid absolutely no attention. Then Kathryn gave me the “death stare” and pointed at the front seam of my dress. Sure enough, there was a 24-inch rip right down the middle. (So much for dieting.)

I learned from that to never leave home without safety pins and a sewing kit. Now, I can see I’m going to have to make sure there’s always a pair of matching shoes in the trunk as well!

Massachusetts Truck vs. California Bubble-Top

There's a lot of people talking about Scott Brown, the new Senator-elect from Massachusetts.

His truck is pretty popular, too.

Brown drove his vehicle (with 200,000 miles) to an epic victory over Democrat Martha Coakley. The truck became a focal point of the campaign when President Obama ridiculed it while stumping for Coakley a few days ago.

Well, move over, Mr. Brown: My 1990 Ford bubble-top van can take your GM pickup anyday!

Just as Brown's vehicle has a story, so does my bubble-top, and it's a doozy. It's become one of those family possessions that's right up there with our "favorite dog" memories.

We bought the van just after I'd had James, in 1998. My sister was valiantly fighting ovarian cancer and we made frequent family trips to Ventura to see her. While she was hospitalized, Dave and the kids would wait in the van while I visited her in ICU. When James was hungry, I'd run out to the parking lot, sit in the van and nurse him. Then I'd trundle back up to be with my sister.

The kids loved that vehicle, and still do. It's got a tiny television, a VCR player, and best of all, cup holders. Yessiree, cup holders.

But that's not all.

When my niece came to stay with us for a few months, I'm pretty sure the van became the site of an after-concert party with a heavy metal band from Los Angeles. She never told us the whole story, and I think I'm grateful.

I did, however, briefly consider asking our priest for an exorcism.

Our oldest daughter, Kathryn, nearly had to take her driver's exam using the van, but we were worried it wouldn't clear the overhang at DMV, so we quickly arranged for another vehicle. She learned to drive in that old bubble top, and now can get behind the wheel of practically anything.

We love that car.

Once, while camping with our guide-dog-in-training in San Rafael, James woke up in the middle of the night, scared and sick. We climbed over the dog, snuck into the van, and made ourselves a bed in the back.

To this day, I think it was the best sleep I've ever had.

Now we've put the old workhorse on standby status. Occasionally, we all pile in and drive to Shell Beach to see the sunset. Or we take it to the drive-in, where I curl up in the back and snooze during the second movie.

During the cash-for-clunkers program, a neighbor suggested we turn it in. After all, he said, it was worth $4,000 towards a new, more efficient, vehicle.

We pondered it. But in the end, we just couldn't do it. Like Scott Brown's truck, it's hard to put a price tag on an old friend.

Lessons From the Run

I'm a runner. Actually, that's overstating it. Given my speed, I'm probably more of a jogger.

But whichever, I do so faithfully, covering familiar neighborhood streets and sometimes venturing into new territory.

Although I'm new to this campaign life, I think there's some parallels between the sport of running and seeking political office.

In no important order, here's the lessons I've learned so far:

--Put one foot in front of the other. You can't leap to the finish line without taking one step after another. It's okay, perhaps vital, to visualize the end of the race, but you get there incrementally.

--Pace is important. Bursting out of the starting gate like gang-busters may give you an early lead, but the fizzle comes pretty quickly. This is a long haul. The primaries aren't until June; the election in November. What's done now is just the beginning.

--Smell the lavender. There's a certain corner along my path where dozens of violet-tipped lavender bushes grow. I never fail to inhale the aroma. It's a comfort and makes the run enjoyable. (It's also why I don't do treadmills.) I intend to embrace those moments during the campaign that both touch and bless me.

--Remember the purpose. I run because it's healthy and it keeps my weight under control. We're running for Congress because it's time to take America back.

--Never give up. I'm a fighter. When my stomach cramps, I keep running. When it's below freezing, I run. If I have to get up after just a few hours sleep, I still run. Campaigning is like that, too. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and think we're crazy. But then, I'm not a quitter. I think that's probably worse than being crazy.

And so, crazy or not, I'm determined to stay with it.

Won't you run along with me?

Anthony's Campaign Contributions

The other morning was typical.

Anthony, 5, really has no concept that his father is running for U.S. Congress. And frankly, he really doesn't care.

What does Anthony care about?

Right now, I'd say he just loves trouble.

Here's a snippet of our day that probably lasted no longer than 10 minutes, although the cleanup took considerably longer.

While I was busy cooking eggs for breakfast, Anthony grabbed a black permanent marker and scribbled all over the family room coffee table. "No, no," I cried, grabbing the pen and dashing over with Windex and paper towels in a vain attempt to wipe up. Just after I finished removing some (but not all) of the marker, I realized that Anthony was scribbling all over the kitchen wall with dark crayon. (It was, after all, just below the whiteboard where we keep our daily agenda posted.) So I quickly took the crayon away, got a wad of paper towels and tried -- this time completely in vain -- to remove the crayon jottings from the wall.

Had enough?

Not Anthony. While I worked to get the crayon off, the little guy had stealthily opened a case of 8-oz. water bottles, carried them upstairs and began launching them over the railing, where they burst like tiny bombs all over the hallway. By the time I reached the top of the steps, he had sent at least a half-dozen water chubs over and was giggling hysterically.

It didn't take me long to shake my head and join the laughter; walls can be painted and floors can be wiped clean. And, after all, he hadn't eaten the crayons or done any damage that couldn't be repaired.

It's important to keep a sense of humor, don't you think?

Godspeed, Ma Fille-fille

My daughter, Emma, has returned to college.

After taking the last 6 months to ponder her future, she made the command decision to go back to Franciscan University, where she is a communications major. She flew back yesterday to start classes today.

Parting is bittersweet. I am happy that she is returning to an environment that is rich spiritually, stimulating intellectually and teeming with good friends.

But we will miss her. While home, she devoted herself to teaching James to read. Worked tirelessly on Dave's campaign. She cooked. Cleaned. Learned to play the guitar. Served as jill-of-all-trades for her friend’s wedding. And laughed a lot.

Did I mention Franciscan is in Ohio? When I last peeked, the temperature was 3-degrees. The first text message I received from her was in picture form. It was all white. (I’m pretty sure that was snow.)

There’s a little hole in my heart. Mothers the world over understand it, I’m sure: the universe just isn’t aligned until everyone is home, safe, once again.

Be safe, sweetie. We love you.

Epiphany

"They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh." Matthew 2:10-11

My epiphany treasures are my two youngest sons. The elder, James, was born 12 years ago on Epiphany Sunday. We had no idea he had Down Syndrome.

I read once it was a little like getting on a plane to France and finding out you've landed in Holland. How true. There's no Eiffel Tower. No crepes. Not a glimpse of Notre Dame. But instead, there are tulips and windmills and water everywhere. Different, yes. But every bit as beautiful.

Six years after James was born, we adopted Anthony, who also has Down Syndrome. I often feel like I won the lottery. Twice.

Epiphany is special to me. James and Anthony may be mentally retarded, but they often have the wisdom of kings. And always they lead me closer to the "child with Mary his mother."

A Busy Week

The first week of the New Year promises to be a busy one.

In no particular order of importance, I've got to get the family ready for our photo session on Wednesday, help John register for a college class, get a website up and running, make a cheesecake for my friend's anniversary (strawberry, of course), and attend our first "Freedom Rally."

And did I mention that tomorrow is James's 12th birthday?

He's ordered hot dogs and french fries for dinner, a chocolate cake for dessert and a family movie night. I'm thinking "Dennis the Menace" because we've watched the National Treasure movies so many times I think we know them by heart. Ditto on Parent Trap.

But back to the Freedom Rally: I wonder if I should order buttons for the kids that say "My Dad is Running for Congress." Maybe that's a little schmaltzy, but I'm going to look into it.

Right after I finish frosting the cake.

A New Year

Just finished fixing Hoppin' John, a New Year's staple. I cannot stand the way black eyed peas mush in my mouth, but my grandmother used to make me eat it every January 1st for good luck in the coming year.

And so, to commemorate my beloved Gram, I fix it every year. I still don't like it, but who wants to mess up the prospect of good luck, especially this year?

Here's to health, family, and God's blessings in 2010. A primary victory in June wouldn't hurt any, either.