Gretchen Frampton

College drop-off was great, but the second day wasn’t.

Last weekend we dropped our oldest daughter, Mary, off at college. She was in a new city, Chicago, with new people around her. She’d wanted to go somewhere on her own – where no one from her highschool would be. A fresh start. I remember doing the same when I went to school. I grew up in Oregon and chose a school in D.C., so I understood.

My brother and his family live in Chicago. We flew in on Wednesday evening. Drop off was on Friday. Staying with them was a bonus. It was also a distraction. The night before drop off we were more focused on catching up with them, enjoying dinner on the patio at Athena, a Greek restaurant. The knowledge that this was our last night with Mary pushed to the back of our minds.

The next morning was easy going. Drop off was at 1:30pm. I went for a run. Chad and Mary packed up her things. At about noon, we realized Mary hadn’t eaten breakfast. Despite her desire to get going, we refused to let drop-off be ruined by the hangries. So we found a vegetarian restaurant nearby and ordered lunch.

From then on, it was all about logistics. How long would it take to get there, where would she check-in, would they offer large bins to help get things from the car to their room, where would she get a room key, do they use room keys?

When we dropped our son, Payton, off at college two years earlier, we’d only been allowed to help him unload the car. We had 15-minutes to do it. Covid-19 was a concern, and they wanted to limit exposure.

After we unloaded Mary’s things we stayed to help her unpack. She’s like Chad. She wanted to settle in before doing anything else. Everything needed a place. So we helped unpack her clothes, set up her desk, hang pictures on the wall and organize everything else under her bed. Her brother Payton had come with us. The four of us squeezed into her tiny (“efficient”) room and got it done (Oh, and by the way, they don’t use room keys. She just taps her school ID on a pad on her door, like a hotel room. When I asked about a key at the front desk, the guy gave me a funny look. Apparently things have changed since I was in school).

We’d planned on leaving her that night. A few of her soccer teammates had also arrived and she’d planned to hang out with them. But, after she finished unpacking, no one was around (Fall athletes were all moving in before the rest of the students, so when they weren’t around, the dorms were empty). She texted her teammates and learned they were each having dinner with their families. Mary looked at us. “Of course you can have dinner with us!” We were pleased to have her just a little longer and neither of us wanted to leave her in the empty dorm by herself.

My sister-in-law had arranged a picnic at Millenium Park. We sat on the grass, eating bread, cheese, and salads and drinking wine, listening to music and looking at the skyline. I felt excited for Mary. What a cool place to be. So much going on. She’d have a lot to explore and, when needed, some family around to make her feel at home. It felt really good.

After dinner, we drove Mary back to her dorm. She said she was looking forward to some time alone, snuggled in her bed watching Netflix. She didn’t feel lonely or sad. She was ready to go. As we drove away, we felt accomplished. Our mission was complete. It was the next morning when the sadness started to settle in.

It was the same way when we dropped our son, Payton, off at the University of Portland two years earlier. The day after we left him at school, I felt sad. A piece of me had been left behind. The Frampton Clan was breaking up. I felt a sense of loss. Tears fell quietly throughout the day. At first I hid them from Chad, ducking into another room as they’d start. Giving myself a few minutes to cry, then I’d dry my eyes and rejoin him as if nothing had happened.

The morning after we left Mary was the same. Tears quietly fell. I hid myself again, not wanting to alarm my brother.

This time I told Chad as soon as it started. “It’s happening again. I’m sad. I’m okay, but today I’m going to be sad.”

“Me too,” he replied.

I took comfort in the familiarity of my feelings. I knew what this was. I knew the sadness would pass. And, perhaps most importantly, I knew The Frampton Clan was still together.

Saturday we got to see Mary one more time. She’d encouraged us to come by the campus in the afternoon to meet her roommate, who’d be moving in about 3pm. Our good friends Rene and Mark live in Evanston and joined us. They would be another safe haven for Mary should she need anything while at school. At 5pm we walked with Mary to the soccer field, where she was going to kick around with her teammates. We got to meet her coach. Mary gave us hugs and said, “It’s time for me to go.”

Yep, it was.

Hangaries almost ruined a great day, but Emily’s kindness saved it

It was a random day in May, and we were in San Francisco. Mary had a soccer tournament nearby and we arrived a day early so we could explore the city. It was the five of us – me, Chad, Mary, Emily and Ellie.

We started the day by taking the BART from Dublin into San Francisco then the bus to Golden Gate Park. There we rented bikes and cycled our way through the eastern half of the park towards the Japanese Tea Gardens. There’s a ton to see in the Park, but with only one day, we had to pick. A kind man noticed me looking at the Park map and asked where we were headed. I told him, and he offered to show us the way. Also on a bike, he led us straight there. It was further than I’d expected and not as simple as the map appeared. We were grateful.

The Japanese Garden had a little something for everyone. Emily was excited to see Koi jump in the pond. Mary felt satisfied seeing the neatly groomed rock garden, and Ellie took the opportunity to take pictures of the sunlight dappling through the Japanese maples. I wanted to stop for tea in the open air tea house. It was only 11am, and we weren’t really hungry, but it seemed like an opportunity we shouldn’t skip. So we sat and had tea and cookies. We justified it by saying we’d have a late lunch after our ride across the Golden Gate Bridge.

Our plan was to ride our bikes to, and across, the Bridge, then back to the Fisherman’s Wharf where we’d drop the bikes and get lunch. To get to the bridge we rode 3-miles. The paths were nice and we looped near some affluent neighborhoods. The ride across the bridge proved stressful. It was loud and full of people and other riders. Squeezing next to the guardrails to avoid hitting pedestrians was challenging. Our handlebars occasionally nicked the rail or other bikers’ handlebars. Needless to say, that wasn’t the highlight of our trip. But, we could say we’d done it – we’d ridden across the Golden Gate Bridge.

It was about 2 o’clock when we rode off the Bridge. Everyone was hungry. Sustenance from the tea and cookies was used up. It was time for a real meal. Sticking to our plan, we rode another mile to drop off the bikes. Then we walked to nearby Ghirardelli Square where we found a bench. The sun was shining, and we sat for a short rest while I used Yelp to look up food options. Being in Fisherman’s Wharf, we knew the focus would be seafood, but we heard the food options were plentiful, so we assumed there would be several – including vegetarian options – nearby.

People throughout the square were eating delicious looking Ghirardelli ice cream sundays. The twins were eyeing those, but we’d already eaten treats. I knew Mary wanted and needed real food (Emily and Ellie did too, but they can live happily off sweets). So I searched for healthy vegetarian options. They weren’t as prolific as we’d hoped.

I was using two phones, mine and Chad’s. I found a place, then passed the phone to someone to look at the menu. When they were done, they passed it to the next person. Using the second phone I found another place, uploaded the menu, and passed the phone. By then, the first phone came back with a declaration “sounds good” or “I didn’t see anything good.” Mary and Chad liked most of the options, Ellie didn’t like any of them, and Emily was lukewarm about all of them. This is normal – we never find a place everyone is excited about, so when I heard Ellie say, “I’m okay with this one,” I checked the distance – 0.4 miles away. “This is it,” I declared.

We got up and started walking with a fierce determination, following the directions of my Apple phone. Everyone was quiet, focused on getting to the food. The hangaries hovered nearby, recognizing the weakness of their prey.

We walked up a short hill, then past a park. My phone told us to take a right at the next street. Emily heard it and looked ahead. She quietly asked me, “Are we going up that?”

“Yep,” I replied. To our dismay, ahead to the right was a giant hill.

Seattle is a hilly city, but San Francisco has it beat. I knew this might send the others over the edge. I also knew we couldn’t change our minds – stopping and looking through Yelp again would create no less frustration.

I kept walking without looking back. Chad and Ellie were behind us. Mary marched past me and Emily in silence.

Despite being tired herself, Emily chatted quietly, taking note of cute dogs and commenting on the architecture of the houses we passed. As we climbed, I noticed Lombard street to our right – the most crooked street in the world. I pointed it out but didn’t stop – no one was in the mood.

At the very top, we found the restaurant. It was a pick-up window. No seating. We stood awkwardly on the street corner looking at the menu – the five of us taking up most of the sidewalk, trying to make space for others passing by.

The menu was taped to the window, but instead of looking and finding what she would order, Ellie sat down on the sidewalk and stuffed her head between her legs. This was her way of declaring her dissatisfaction with everything – the place, the location, the situation….all of it.

The ordering process took a while, and we had to work through some confusion. At one point, Mary declared she wanted to eat and then leave. She didn’t mean leave the street corner – she meant leave San Francisco. She’d had enough. I suggested we wait to make any decisions until after we’ve eaten. Mary grumbled something derogatory in response.

Somehow Emily kept herself from going to the dark side.

She quietly took her phone, knelt down beside Ellie and worked with her to find something Ellie would eat. While we were waiting for our food, Emily approached me and asked if I was doing okay. I’d moved away from the family, feeling a bit hurt by the tension because it felt like it was being directed at me. I was also frustrated that we’d let our great day be overcome by the darkness of the hangaries.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I replied half-heartedly. Clearly I wasn’t.

Emily smiled. She admitted that she’s usually the one with the hangaries. But, for some reason, she wasn’t feeling mad. She stood with me, chatting. I don’t remember what we talked about (sorry Emily). I remember the kindness of her gesture. Her simple acts lifted some of the negative sentiment away so, instead of descending into anger and self pity, I noticed the sunshine, the smiles of the people passing by and the tasty food (after all of that, the food really was good).

Without Emily, this could have been a whole lot worse. She was the bright spot. She showed me how kindness and small gestures can make a valuable difference.

After eating everyone was in better spirits, but we never recovered. Even our return to Ghirardelli Square and the chocolate shop didn’t turn the tide. So, Chad ordered an Uber and we headed back to Dublin.

If I had to do it over, I might have gotten Emily and Elle crepes or something. There was a spot near where we’d dropped off the bikes. Something small and quick and then looked for Mary’s healthy option. But I didn’t know Ellie was so far gone. I mostly wish Mary and Ellie would learn from the past. Learn that how they’re feeling is temporary. Learn and accept that we were doing our best. And learn from their sister – kindness goes a long way.

Especially after such a nice day.

Anxiety: When Intervention Is Needed (Part 2)

We often think of interventions as surprise meetings where family and friends gather around the person of focus, inform them they’ve gone off the rails and insist that change is needed.

That’s not always how interventions go. Intervention is defined as “action taken to improve a situation.” They can be subtle. Our first action was taking Mary to the doctor. We were disappointed with the result.

The doctor met with Mary alone. Afterwards, the doctor met with me. She acknowledged that Mary’s weight was low, but I could tell she wasn’t as worried as I was. My guess was Mary had come across as pretty level headed. Because she is. The doctor asked me about my concerns. I told her. I focused on the fact that Mary was denying herself everything she loves. That she limited herself to salad for dinner, despite having just finished 90 minutes of soccer practice. We’ve been going to this doctor since Mary was born. She knows I’m not one to overreact. We agreed we’d come back in four weeks.

We got in the car after the appointment, and I asked Mary what they’d talked about. Mary said she gave her a list of healthy snacks she could try – Yogurt and granola, a bagel with peanut butter. “She told me to add one of these a day.”

One snack? That was it?! I was perplexed. There was no way adding one snack would make the difference Mary needed. But I was also hopeful. Maybe we were overreacting. Maybe things are okay. I wanted things to be okay.

Over the next four weeks Mary ate her snacks. We returned to the doctor’s office. She’d lost more weight. I also learned she’d stopped having her period.

What happened next is a bit of a blur. I asked Mary what she remembered about the order of events. She didn’t remember either. She did remember this: “You and Dad told me I had to go see a psychologist. I did NOT want to do that.”

Ah, it came back to me. Chad had found a family treatment center for teenagers with eating disorders. It was a multi week program, three afternoons a week. We’d presented it to Mary.

“What about soccer practice?”

“You’ll miss practices. This is more important than soccer. This is your long-term health.”

Missing soccer was, in Mary’s mind, not an option, but she could see we were serious. We gave her one more choice.

“Mary, we’re willing to take you to a nutritionist first. But we’ll need to see some changes in your eating. Otherwise, we’re enrolling you in the center.”

“Okay.”

The first appointment with the nutritionist started with all three of us together. Her name was Michelle. She asked each of us to share our thoughts about Mary’s health and why we were there. She listened as Mary shared her eating regimen. To our relief, Michelle immediately acknowledged that Mary wasn’t eating enough. She said it without judgment. It was an observation.

Before we left, she talked Mary through a new regimen that included three additional snacks every day. She told Mary to eat before every soccer practice and then again afterwards. She supported Mary’s desire to eat healthy food – she added things to the list that were healthy and also contained fat and protein. Michelle made it clear – Mary’s dinner salad wasn’t enough. We stopped at the grocery store and picked up some of the foods Michelle had recommended.

We watched Mary everyday. She was taking more snacks to school. Her mood slowly improved (she wasn’t starving!). Four weeks later, we returned to see Michelle. Mary had gained weight. It was the first time in months. She’d only gained a few pounds, so she was still well below her ideal weight. But this was the first time in months that she hadn’t lost weight, and it was worth celebrating.

They say it takes a village to raise children, and we engaged ours. We told our family and our closest friends what was happening, including the parents of Mary’s best friend. We knew they’d be supportive and respect her privacy. When the opportunity arose, her best friend provided encouragement, “Mary, that looks so good! You should eat more!” Her soccer coach checked in regularly. “You okay to play?” “You want to come out?” Of course, Mary always said she was fine to play and never wanted to come out. But, by asking he acknowledged her situation, he was subtle about it (show of respect) and he made space for her – if she needed to step away, she could.

Over the next few months Mary’s weight went up and down – mostly up. She wasn’t always eager to eat six times everyday. And sometimes she didn’t. But she inched towards her ideal weight and, once she reached it, stayed there. Her period started again.

Looking back, Mary acknowledges that she had anorexia. She’d looked up the symptoms – tendency towards obsessive behaviors, maintaining an excessive, rigid exercise regimen, refusing to eat certain foods, strong need for control, menstrual irregularities. It hasn’t gone away. She’s aware of it and makes conscious decisions to keep herself healthy.

“Mary, what got you through it?” I asked, as I got ready to write this post. I was truly curious – hopeful she’d give me “the” answer. Her response was non-committal. She wasn’t sure – she thought it was several things. She didn’t want to see a psychologist. Her eating was negatively impacting her soccer (she found herself so tired she didn’t want to go to practice). She learned what and how she should be eating from Michelle. She also learned about eating disorders – that she’s not alone. They’re common. Especially among young women and female athletes. I noticed a new podcast in our family feed – Real Pod with Victoria Gerrick.

Victoria is a former D1 athlete who had an eating disorder, and she speaks openly about her experiences. She shares how damaging the environment for athletes can be – physically and mentally. She brings guests on the show who share their experiences. Not always about eating issues. Anything that proved challenging. Through that, Mary learned the pressure she was feeling was real and others experience it too. She learned that her instinct to moderate her eating and follow the crowd might be unhealthy. She learned that eating yummy treats is okay and even encouraged (thank you, Victoria, for being part of Mary’s village).

In August, Mary will start college in Chicago. I asked her if she’s thought about what might trigger her anorexia. Will the stress of the new school, the soccer team, studies, create a desire for control? Will she revert back to her old eating regimen? She answered honestly. “I don’t think so.” For Mary, her eating isn’t triggered by events. She’s got a new regimen that keeps her healthy, and she’s committed to it. I’m hopeful, and I’ll keep watching.

Anxiety: When Intervention Is Needed (Part 1)

I’m a big fan of giving kids space. Letting them make decisions for themselves and reap the consequences. When my son was ten-years old, I let him go to school without a coat. It was October in Seattle. Cold, misty, rainy. He’d lost his coat at school and was making no effort to look for it. So, he went to school without one. This was the third coat we’d gotten him. I didn’t buy him a new one until Christmas (my mother-in-law was horrified). Guess what? He didn’t lose any other coats after that. Sometimes kids need to learn the hard way.

But, when the child’s decisions become dangerous – for themselves or others – it’s time to intervene.

Mary has always been self-sufficient. She’s on top of her schoolwork, she is ready for practice on time, she does her chores without being asked. She even helps around the house – vacuuming and cleaning the kitchen. So we give her lots of leeway. We don’t track her grades, or check to see if she’s done her homework. It took us a while to realize something was changing.

It happened slowly. We noticed her mood becoming more testy. At first, we chalked it up to being a teenager. The eye rolling, frustrated comments under her breath. These weren’t new (we get that from all of our kids – it comes with the territory). But they were more frequent and intense.

Eventually we noticed a pattern. Her worst moods were before dinner. She would get really angry if dinner wasn’t ready when she got home from soccer practice. It wasn’t teenage angst angry…it was deep rooted anger. Like she couldn’t help it. This alone was strange, but then, when dinner was ready, she barely ate. She’d filled her plate with salad. No pasta, no Korean beef over rice. Just salad.

“An active teenager needs more than salad for dinner,” we’d comment. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“No, this is good.”

We didn’t go much further than that. She genuinely seemed pleased with the salad. And she’s always done such a good job taking care of herself, even these minimal questions felt pushy.

Then we noticed something else. She stopped eating all of her favorite foods. Fresh bread and brownies are at the top of her list, but she wasn’t letting herself have any. I get watching portions – to keep yourself from eating the whole pan of brownies, limit yourself to one or two (maybe three). But none? We’ve always talked to our kids about eating healthy foods, but we always made space for treats. “Balance” we’d say. “Eat healthy foods AND a treat.”

To this point, we still didn’t know there was a problem. We assumed, or maybe hoped, this was a temporary thing. A teenage phase Mary was going through. Reading this, you might wonder how that’s possible. It seems pretty obvious. But, over her 16 years, there have been so many times that things just worked themselves out. Realizing an intervention is needed takes time and a lot of evidence. Enough to break through the inertia of daily life. The key is to keep watching. We did, and the need for intervention became clear when we saw her playing soccer.

Realizing an intervention is needed takes time and a lot of evidence. Enough to break through the inertia of daily life. The key is to keep watching.

It felt sudden, though it shouldn’t have. People don’t lose weight overnight. Mary was very, very thin.

Her anger before dinner suddenly made sense. She was hungry. Really hungry. Her body needed food. She was eating just enough to satisfy the hangries, then stopping. She wasn’t getting enough calories – that was evident looking at her. The question was….why?

How do you walk to a teenager about body image and eating? What should you avoid saying, what should you be sure to say?

“Mary, we’re worried about you. You’ve lost weight – weight you didn’t need to lose. Why aren’t you eating?”

Or,

“Mary, we’re worried. We notice you’ve lost weight. You don’t eat much. Why are you limiting yourself?”

Or,

“Mary, you’re too thin. We’re worried about your health.”

Or,

“Mary, an athlete needs fuel. You aren’t eating enough given all of the working out you do. You need to eat more calories.”

We tried all of those, and more.

Mary’s responses were dismissive. “I’m fine. I don’t want anymore.” She didn’t reveal anything. She wasn’t talking.

Curiosity turned to frustration. Frustration that we weren’t getting through to her. Frustration watching her continue to serve herself tiny portions. Frustration turned to anger as her pre-dinner hangaries continued.

“No Mary, dinner isn’t ready yet. I got off the bus from work 20 minutes ago. I started it as soon as I got here. You’re angry because you’re hungry. Guess what – you control that. EAT something!”

We called my sister-in-law, who’s a nutritionist. She taught us we should avoid mentioning calories. We don’t want her counting calories – we want her eating what makes her feel good. “Encourage her to eat things she loves – ice cream, bread, brownies.” We did. Mary declined.

She wasn’t listening to us, and nothing was changing. It was time to get help.

“Mary, I’m taking you to the doctor.”

“What?”

“I’ve made an appointment with Dr. Gromko. I think your choices are dangerous for you, and you’re not listening to us.”

“Mom, it’s not serious. I’m fine. I don’t need to go see the doctor.”

“It’s not an option.” We weren’t letting her dismissive attitude win this time.

I could tell she was a little surprised. She wasn’t used to us inserting ourselves like that.

This is how, and where, our intervention began.

I’ll share more in the next post. I’m pausing here because I want to make space to recognize how hard it is to see when intervention is needed. Hind sight makes it seem obvious. But when you’re in the middle of it – it’s not. As I look back, there are a few steps you can progressively take to prompt a change in behavior. And, if these don’t work, it might be time for action.

Admit to yourself that what you’re seeing is true. This might be the hardest part. But it’s the most important. Mary wasn’t eating enough. Mary was too thin.

Share observations. “Mary, we noticed you’re not eating very much.” “Mary, why aren’t you eating any brownies? You love brownies!” “Mary, we noticed you’ve lost weight – including muscle that you need as a soccer player.”

State your concerns openly and explicitly. “Mary, we’re worried about your health. You cannot sustain eating so little.” “You love soccer – if you don’t gain some weight back – especially muscle, you won’t continue doing well, you need strength.”

If none of the above prompt change, Take action. “Mary, I’ve scheduled a doctor’s appointment.”

More next time…..

Why I Deleted Instagram

A month ago I followed my daughter’s lead and deleted my Instagram app from my phone. That led me to find out what connection really means to me and how I can do it better, without social media.

Mary announced she’d deleted the app during MIdwinter break. She’d committed to it for a week because, according to her, “I spend too much time scrolling.” I’d never been one to spend a lot of time on Instagram, but I understood what she meant.

I use Instagram because I want to stay connected. I like seeing what’s happening with my family. I see posts about my sister’s family visiting Central Oregon, nieces and nephews at college, and my cousin’s family in France (Ishe married a Frenchman, has two adorable French-American sons and posts beautiful pictures of their adventures). I like seeing what’s up with friends I don’t see very often. Friends who live on Bainbridge Island, friends in Oregon, and the East Coast. Even my dear friend who’s right here in West Seattle, but whom I still don’t see as often as I’d like.

Despite my desire to stay connected, I decided to follow Mary’s lead, and I deleted Instagram. At this point it was less of a commitment. It felt good because it meant I wasn’t supporting Meta (aka Facebook). There have been news stories about former employees who say Meta ignores important data about the harmful effects their algorithms are having (e.g. emphasizing diets and extreme weight loss with girls) and lack of action against people and communities proliferating information known to be false (2020 election was stolen). So, deleting it felt good. But it would leave a gap.

How would I stay connected to friends and family? I’m not very good at reaching out. Instagram had given me a way to quickly, on my terms, see what was going on in their lives. How would I fill the gap?

The answer turned out to be really simple.

One night, I sat on my couch after dinner. A blanket draped over my legs and Freddy, our orange and white cat, curled up in my lap. I’d been thinking about one of my friends, wondering how she was doing. I think about my friends often, but normally I let the thoughts come and go. This time I picked up my phone and sent her a text. “Hey, thinking about you and wanted you to know it. Hope you’ve had a good day and week!” I thought of another friend. I texted her something similar, but not quite the same. I texted two other friends. Different words, but the same message – I’m thinking about you.

Those four people are important to me, and it felt good to tell them so.

One friend responded right away. We went back and forth for a while, sharing updates about each of our lives. I learned a lot in those few minutes. Some of what she shared I probably could have learned on Instagram. But I also learned stuff that’s not posted anywhere. She told me it had been a tough day because she was struggling with a couple of things. She thanked me for reaching out. It had made her feel a bit better.

Another friend responded. She asked, “You up for a call?” I hadn’t talked with her in almost two years. “Sure!” My phone rang. When I picked up and heard her voice a smile spread across my face. It had been too long. We diligently shared updates on each family member. She’s good about that – she makes sure to check in on everyone. And she remembers scary details. Like my kids’ birthdays. I couldn’t even guess at her boy’s birthdays. She talked about her husband. He’s in law enforcement and it’s been a tough two years (“defund the police”). We hung up at about 10:30 pm. It was late for a weeknight, but my heart was full. I felt more connected to these friends in one evening than I had in years of following their Instagram posts.

That night, I understood something I’d been trying to figure out. Why staying up to speed on social media doesn’t fill my cup.

On social media, people only post the good stuff. Happy gatherings, dinners out with friends, traveling, funny anecdotes. Everyones’ smiling. It’s beautiful and fun to see. But what about the rest? Where are the stories about the days that don’t go so well? I don’t feel happy all the time. To feel connected to someone, I want to see all of their sides. I want to share all of my sides.

The algorithms are a problem, too. One day I’d scroll through a few posts, like some of them, and the next time I checked in, the algorithm had adapted and focused all of my posts on the sites I’d liked last time. Friends and family who didn’t post very often were deprioritized. I’d spend time looking for them, scrolling and scrolling, passing the ads and the multiple posts by the same person. I was spending more time navigating than connecting.

That night I learned that I can stay connected, and I can do it better without social media.

I’m not using social media to connect to friends or family anymore. I’m going to use my good old fashioned phone. I’m going to reach out and say “hello” when the thought comes to me. Texting lets me do that without interrupting them. And, if they’re available, maybe we’ll make time for a live chat.

Talking to Kids About War Is Like Talking to Them About Sex

Okay, so it’s not.

Talking to kids about war is not like talking to them about sex. However, the approach I’m using is similar. Stick with me.

When Mary and Payton were in Elementary School our PTA had a speaker come and talk to us. The topic: How to talk to your kids about sex. It was one of the most highly attended events. Everyone was eager to learn yet…uncomfortable. We’d all grown up with parents who either avoided the conversation altogether or took us through a horribly long, awkward conversation where they never named a body part. Instead they used nicknames. Penis was more comfortably referred to as “pee pee.” Apparently some parents referred to “broccoli.” Yikes.

Two things stuck with me. First – name it. Vagina is vagina, penis is penis and so on. Avoiding the names of body parts, she pointed out, makes them seem like something we should be ashamed of, embarrassed about and ultimately, something we shouldn’t talk about. The second thing that stuck with me – ditch the 2-hour conversation. Instead, have 200 one-minute conversations. One long, awkward two-hour conversation is something you get through. 200 one-minute conversations give kids the sense that it’s safe and comfortable for them to come to you when they have questions.

So, what does this have to do with war?

On February 23, 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine. After it happened, several experts admitted they were surprised. It was a bold move motivated by Putin’s desire to take back what Russia once had. This is the first time since WWII that an invasion like this has happened among the Western countries. I want my kids to understand the gravity of the situation. But I don’t want to terrorize them.

We learned Russia bombed a building marked “Children.” Ukrainians had intentionally labeled the building so Russian’s would know civilians were there. “Don’t bomb us” was the underlying message. Russia did anyway. When talking about it, I find myself wanting to replace “murder” with some other, less disturbing word. But then I think about the advice we’d been given – Name It. It was murder, and I should say it. Sugar coating it with less intense words doesn’t explain the reality, and it’s an injustice to the Ukrainians.

Hearing about and talking about murder and atrocities of war day after day is hard for me as an adult. Adding that to the thoughts of anxious teenagers could be twice as intense and possibly crippling. When 9/11 happened, I remember my doctor telling me how traumatizing it was for kids to see news stories showing the planes flying into the World Trade Center buildings. Younger kids, she pointed out, didn’t realize it was the same scenes being replayed. They thought it was happening over and over, across the U.S. There were terrorized. Specialists started encouraging parents to moderate how much news they watched.

Learning from the past, we manage the frequency and depth of the news and conversations we have about the war. The news is on the radio in the morning and evening. We want to know what’s happening. Chad and I highlight information we believe is important for them to hear. But we keep the conversations short.

Mary came home one night after soccer practice. She’d filled up the car with gas and was shocked at the gas prices. “The price of gas is $4.65 per gallon!” Chad and I nodded. We knew the war was having an impact on gas prices. Chad took the opportunity to explain this to Mary. While the war might feel far away, there are ripple effects. War impacts all of us. He didn’t go into a deep explanation of how gas prices are set. A one-minute (okay, maybe two-minute) conversation.

During a news story one morning, a reporter shared what Russia was broadcasting to Russian citizens. Apparently they’re claiming Ukraine is bombing itself. “That’s absurd!” I blurted out. “Why would anyone believe citizens would bomb themselves?” The kids were making their lunches. I wanted the kids to hear what I was saying. “You have to think about what you’re being told. If it doesn’t make sense – ask questions. Something’s wrong.” We talked briefly about the Russian press and the importance of a free press. Then they continued getting ready for school. Another 1-minute conversation.

Figuring out what to say to your kids requires a fine balance. You want them to be informed, to understand what’s happening in the world. But you don’t want them to be afraid. As I navigate these conversations, the advice I was given to help me talk to my kids about sex feels relevant and useful as I try to talk to my kids about war. Hindsight will tell.

Masks Off In Schools – Why Now?

On Monday, kids won’t have to wear masks in school anymore. The governor lifted the mask mandate. In a time of confusion and constant change, I wonder if this will help us move forward or if it will create unnecessary angst and conflict.

On the side of taking masks off, the omicron variant is milder. People are getting it, they’re sick for a few days, then they’re over it. The hospitalization and death rates are lower. Our hospitals are no longer overwhelmed with cases. Patients who’ve needed treatment for other ailments but were displaced by Covid patients are finally able to make their appointments.

Some teachers welcome it, too. I ran into an acquaintance last week. She’s a kindergarten teacher, and I asked her what she thought about the mask mandate being lifted. “I love it!” she exclaimed. She told me how hard it is to hear her kids through their masks when they’re reading aloud. She can’t wait. Then she hesitated before saying, “I hope it’s as easy for them to take the masks off as it was to put them on.” When we taught kids to put their masks on, we had to impress upon them the gravity of the situation. Did we do such a good job they’ll be scared to remove them?

On the side of leaving masks on, some people within our communities have underlying conditions that make even the omicron variant dangerous for them. Teachers with at risk family members, kids with at risk parents or grandparents. For them, the thought of walking into school everyday interacting with people who are maskless induces a whole new anxiety. “What if I give it to my grandmother?”

To those who are concerned about their families, we try to reassure them by saying, “You can still wear a mask.”

Are we aware of the underlying message we’re sending? “I’m sorry you’re in that situation, but you’ll have to deal with it on your own.”

Mary came home Friday and shared that one of her teachers asked kids to keep wearing masks. She’s worried about one of her family members. Another teacher told her students teachers aren’t allowed to ask students to wear masks (apparently the first teacher doesn’t know this yet). All of the teachers are trying to learn what the rules are and how best to adapt to the new expectations. All in one week. We’ve been wearing masks for two years, and we gave the teachers one week. Emily and Ellie’s school is in a city building where, apparently, masks are still required. No one is spending their weekend trying to figure out how to transition to new expectations.

The divide will be visible. Students and teachers with at-risk family members will continue wearing masks, feeling constant anxiety they might bring COVID-19 home with them while others will feel the freedom of walking around maskless.

The question is, how will we handle it? Will we band together in support of that teacher and voluntarily put on our masks in their classroom? Or will we celebrate our new found freedom dismissive of what our fellow teachers, friends, families are going through? Afterall, they can still wear a mask……

Mary isn’t sure what to do. She feels badly for the people she knows who are worried about their families. She’s planning to keep wearing her mask. They’ve been doing it for so long, she wonders what’s being gained by taking it off.

That’s the question I keep asking myself. What’s gained? We’re about two months to the end of the school year. Are we creating a change management nightmare? We’ve gotten the kids to put on their masks. Now we’re going to encourage kids to take them off. Maybe struggling to convince some it’s safe. What if another variant surges and we have to put the mask mandate back in place?

It would have been easier to keep masks on for the rest of the school year. It would have given us several months to see what’s next with Covid-19. If we’re really through the worst, great. Those who are feeling angst today will feel greater comfort and confidence returning to a maskless environment next Fall. If another variant emerges, no change in mask policy will be needed. As we approach the new school year, a decision can be made and new expectations can be set. Implementing change at the start of a new school year will be easier than doing it mid-flight.

There isn’t a single good answer. Taking masks off will be a welcome change for many – like the Kindergarten teacher I talked with. For others it brings more anxiety in an already anxiety ridden year (or two). I just hope we can approach this upcoming change with empathy and kindness. Empathy for those who are concerned, kindness towards everyone trying to adapt.

Disappointment – Sometimes You Just Have To Sit With It

In her book, Atlas of the Heart, Brene Brown defines disappointment as unmet expectations. Last weekend my husband, Chad, and I visited our oldest son, Payton, at the University of Portland for Family Weekend. Despite our efforts to be explicit about what we hoped for the weekend, we both came home feeling down.

We received the first email announcing Family Weekend a couple of months ago. I’d been smart – I clicked on the “register here” link and submitted our registration right then. Two months later, I couldn’t remember what I’d signed up for. I reviewed the agenda. Two events were ‘Sold Out” – the Comedy Show and the play. Had I signed up for one of them? I couldn’t remember. I guess we’d find out when we arrived and checked-in.

We’d taken Friday off from work so we could drive to Portland and be there about 3pm. We wanted to arrive in time to check-in then take the school tour from 4-5pm. We’d been to the school, but rarely. With Covid, drop off and pick up were rushed events. 15-minute increments and then quick “goodbyes”. We were looking forward to spending some time on campus.

The trip didn’t start well. We’d made it halfway through our three hour drive, and we stopped in Centralia for some coffee and gas. As he was getting out of the car, Chad realized he’d forgotten his wallet. And his vaccination card. We got our coffee (I paid) and stood by the car, contemplating our options. The girls could take a picture of his vaccination card. But what if the University asked for his ID? We could keep driving and chance it. What if they said “No”? The weekend would be a bust. We decided it would be best to drive back home, get his wallet and vaccination card, and arrive late so we could be sure Saturday would go smoothly. Maybe Payton would give us a tour. We texted Payton with our new arrival time: between 7:30 and 8pm.

The drive back to Seattle then down to Portland was slow. Traffic was terrible. Three accidents. We arrived at the University at 8pm. Payton came right out and said, “I’m hungry, let’s get dinner.” Please don’t think Payton was being rude – he’d declined a kind offer from his roommate to join him and his parents for dinner two hours earlier. Payton had waited to have dinner with us. We were all hungry. We drove to a burger place Payton liked – Killer Burger in NW Portland. I had the Peanut Butter Bacon burger. Sounds weird – it was delicious. We chatted while we filled our stomachs. We all felt better.

We arrived back at the dorm a bit after 9pm. Payton was hoping to introduce us to some of his friends and their families. The dorm was hosting an open house from 6:30-9pm. Maybe people were lingering? Nope. The dorm was empty except for a small group of kids standing at the front desk. “Hey Payton,” a girl called out. Payton waved and said hello. We walked to his room and delivered the box of goodies he’d asked for. I turn into a pumpkin at about 9:30, so we said our goodbyes.

Saturday’s Family Weekend agenda started at 9am with the President’s address. We’d agreed that Chad and I would attend the morning sessions on our own. Payton wasn’t too interested and he admitted, he doesn’t tend to stir before 9:30. We were okay with that. What 20-year old wants to hear the University President’s address? We’d see him at lunch.

The next morning, Chad and I arrived at the school and checked-in. I was excited to learn that we’d gotten tickets to the sold out Comedy Show. I was kinda proud of myself – usually I’m late to the game and miss out on anything that has limited tickets. A Comedy Show was also something different, and the thought of laughing sounded really good (context – Covid 19, working from home for two years, news that Russia might invade Ukraine…everything was simmering).

We enjoyed the morning sessions. It was nice to be inside the school, hear from students and faculty, and just be around other people. It was especially nice to sit in an auditorium and hear a live clapping. For the past two years our celebrations were limited to video calls, where a small group of people clapped through the microphone. Not the same.

It was especially nice to sit in an auditorium and hear a live clapping. For the past two years our celebrations were limited to video calls, where a small group of people clapped through the microphone. Not the same.

Payton was promptly ready for lunch at 12:30. We found a Mediterranean restaurant that served great sandwiches and bowls. After lunch, Payton asked, “So, what’s planned for the afternoon?” “Nothing,” I replied. “Well, you missed the tour, want one now?” Payton offered. “Yes!”

Payton walked us around the campus, taking us through his average day. I think we walked through his Monday and Thursday schedules – from building to building. We were surprised (and a little disappointed) the buildings were locked. The morning sessions turned out to be the only times we would see the insides of buildings, aside from the dining halls. That cut the tours pretty short. We walked through both days in about 20 minutes.

After the tour we stood around, not sure what to do next. We didn’t have any plans until the basketball game. There was a choir concert at 3pm. Payton wasn’t interested.

The basketball game started at 5pm and would likely end at 7pm. The Comedy Show started at 8pm. Chad and I wanted to do both. Payton wasn’t too enthusiastic. He made it very clear – basketball and dinner were the priority. If we could get those two and make it to the Comedy Show, great. If not, the Comedy Show would be the one to fall off the agenda. At least he was being clear about his expectations. And, I rationalized, could I really complain if I got a basketball game and dinner with my son?

It was 2:30. Hopeful we would be able to convince Payton to go to the Comedy Show, we agreed to part ways until the basketball game. Payton walked off to his dorm. Chad and I went for a walk around the town, then got coffee in one of the dining halls.

“Do you have a ticket for me?” Payton asked when we met up again. We were standing in front of the Chiles Center, home of Pilot’s basketball (and volleyball).

“No, they only gave us two. We assume you can get in free as a student.”

“Yeah, but I should probably go through the student entrance.”

“How will we find you?”

“I don’t know. This entrance will take me to the student section.”

“Wait,” I stopped. “We don’t get to sit together?”

That was the moment. My disappointment hit a low point. I’d given him the morning. And the afternoon. I’d given up the Comedy Show (we might still make it but based on Payton’s reaction, I was pretty confident we wouldn’t). Now I was going to a basketball game I didn’t care about, sitting in upper bleachers socially distanced from everyone but my husband. I love you, Chad, but this was NOT how I expected the weekend would go.

That was the moment. My disappointment hit a low point. I’d given him the morning. And the afternoon. I’d given up the Comedy Show (we might still make it but based on Payton’s reaction, I was pretty confident we wouldn’t). Now I was going to a basketball game I didn’t care about, sitting in upper bleachers socially distanced from everyone but my husband. I love you, Chad, but this was NOT how I expected the weekend would go.

My disappointment simmered as we watched the game. I wanted to be mad at someone, something. But who? What? Payton was sitting in the student section. With all of the other kids. None of the students were sitting with their parents. I forced myself to focus on the game. It ended up being a good one – down to the last minute. And U of P won, so it was a lively atmosphere.

We met up with Payton pretty quickly. Finding a dinner spot was harder than we’d hoped. The first place we picked didn’t have seating – it was all to-go. The second place had a 90-minute wait. We finally settled on a Noodle place that had a young kid serving who didn’t seem too thrilled to see more customers come through the door. As we were eating, he turned the “OPEN” light off. It was an hour before they closed (we validated by checking the hours online).. Dinner was….fine.

As expected, we didn’t make it to the Comedy Show. We dropped Payton off and headed to my sister’s house. We were staying with her. And thank goodness we were. Ending the night chatting with my sister, brother-in-law and nephew was a lot nicer than sitting in a quiet hotel room.

On Friday night, as we were driving to dinner, Payton had told us he had an Ultimate Frisbee scrimmage on Sunday. He’d told the team he wouldn’t make it, since his Mom and Dad were in town. He mentioned it to us because he wanted to make sure we had plans on Sunday. If we did, he was committed to spending the day with us. If not, he wanted to go to the scrimmage. The agenda for Family Weekend Sunday morning was mass. We don’t go to church, and we didn’t have any other plans, so we said he should go to the scrimmage. We might even watch the game. “It’s only a scrimmage,” Payton quickly pointed out. We promised him we wouldn’t cheer. “Okay good, because if you do, I’m kicking you out.”

On Sunday morning we drove to the game. It was cold, but sunny. The game had already started, so we found a spot on the sideline, away from both teams. We wanted to get closer to Payton’s team, but that would have required us to walk on the field past all of the players. And there wasn’t much space. So we stayed put, with a small handful of other onlookers.

After the game, we wanted to say “goodbye.” There was a second game in about an hour, but we’d decided not to stay for it. Friday’s drive was so long, we wanted to be sure we’d get home at a reasonable hour so we could get ready for the upcoming week.

We walked towards the team and paused when we realized the team was headed our way (which was also towards the exit). As they walked by we waited for Payton to come over. He’d looked our way earlier, so I was pretty sure he knew we were there. Payton didn’t come over. He didn’t even make eye contact. As he walked by, he kept his eyes straight ahead. I could feel him telling us “not now.”

Ouch.

Chad started following the team. I stopped him. “Payton knew we were here. He chose not to say anything, so let’s not push it.” That was my practical side. My emotional side (which I kept to myself) said, “Fine. You don’t want to talk to us, we don’t want to talk to you either. We’re leaving!”

My emotional side (which I kept to myself) said, “Fine. You don’t want to talk to us, we don’t want to talk to you either. We’re leaving!”

And we left.

Grateful I’d just read Brene Brown’s chapter on disappointment, I was able to clearly articulate how I felt. “That weekend didn’t meet my expectations,” I declared. Chad said he felt the same way.

Why not?

We’d hung out with our son (three meals together and a tour of the school), we heard from students and faculty, sat in classrooms and seen some interesting presentations. We’d watched an exciting basketball game, and we’d spent some quality time with my sister and her family. Payton had been available whenever we’d asked him to be (aside from the final goodbye). He’d even offered to skip his scrimmage to be with us. So, what fell short?

Maybe it was the fact that we hadn’t met any of Payton’s friends or other families (aside from Jonah, whom we met quickly as we passed in the hallway). We probably would have if we’d made the dorm’s Open House Friday night. We also realized we’d both really wanted to go to the Comedy Show. Maybe we should have dropped Payton off and gone ourselves. Hindsight is 20-20.

Our disappointment was no one’s fault, despite our desire to place blame somewhere. As we drove away I texted Payton, “Glad we got to watch a game. Seems like you guys just started finding your rhythm. Hope the second game goes well. Love you and thanks for a good weekend.”

Payton replied, “Oh yeah we also have a game at 12:20 but if you don’t stay hope you have a safe drive back.”

Since we couldn’t point it at anyone or anything, we let our disappointment sit with us on our three-hour drive home. It stayed through the night and into the next week. By the following weekend, it dissipated, and we were onto the next thing.

Mental Health Days Are Worth Their Weight in Gold

On Wednesday, Chad came into the kitchen and quietly warned me, “Ellie’s really tired and is saying she might not go to school tomorrow.” He’d just brought Ellie and her twin sister Emily home from Ultimate Frisbee practice. Telling me she’s tired is his way of warning me – she’s feeling sensitive. Careful what you say and how you say it.

Ellie, like any teenager, has her sensitive moments. Hers tend to be a bit more….intense. She can have strong reactions to things that seem fairly mundane. Every week I go to Bakery Nouveau and buy pastries. One week I brought Ellie a cheese danish. When she saw it she went silent. She closed the box and walked away. She wasn’t rude. It was like she knew she couldn’t say anything nice, so she didn’t say anything at all. Two days passed. She’d been really quiet around me. We were in the car together, and I asked her, “are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was just really looking forward to the loaf cake. And I don’t like cheese danish. I was just really disappointed. I’m over it now.” And that was it. Episode over.

Sometimes Ellie feels down. That’s the easiest way to explain it. You can see it. She’s quiet. Her energy is low. She doesn’t engage with the family (not even to roll her eyes at Chad’s silly Dad jokes). She goes off to quiet parts of the house, away from the rest of us. We’ll ask if she’s okay, and she’ll shrug. As if she’s not sure. She’s not trying to be difficult. I don’t think she knows how to describe how she’s feeling, let alone why.

Today was one of those days. After taking a shower, she came downstairs, cut up some radishes and went back up to her room (she rejects cheese danish but snacks on radishes. Whose daughter is she? We’ll unpack that another time). The rest of us sat down to eat dinner. We weren’t sure if she’d join us. We let her be.

Chad tentatively asked Emily, “Do you know what’s made her sad?”

“No, but I think she’s tired.”

“Maybe a day off would be good for her,” Chad considered out loud.

Emily agreed, “I think she needs it.”

We’ve never let our kids stay home from school for feeling sad before, but none of us hesitated. We could all see that Ellie wasn’t herself. She wasn’t acting sad to seek attention. That would have required energy she didn’t have (and would have required a completely different response).

In his book Permission to Feel, Marc Brackett taught me there are degrees of emotions that we rarely reveal because we use so few words to describe how we’re feeling. I pulled out his book, knowing there must be better words than “sad” to describe what I saw in Ellie. I looked at his Mood Meter. It’s a grid with four quadrants and emotion words within each quadrant. I focused on the lower left – the low energy, low pleasantness.

Apathetic, sullen, disheartened, tired, bored, lonely, morose, glum, alienated, depressed, desolate, spent……

Combine sullen (Miriam-Webster’s definition: “dull or somber in sound or color; dismal, gloomy) with “spent.” From the outside looking in, that summed it up.

Ellie eventually came downstairs. She ate a little dinner and curled up in one of the chairs in front of the TV. Per our usual, we were watching a British mystery. In between episodes I looked over at her.

“Ellie?”

She looked up.

“If you want to stay home and take a mental health day tomorrow, you have our support.”

“Okay” was all she said. But I think I saw a tiny hint of relief.

We didn’t say anything more after that. Everyone went to bed. The next morning, Emily was up and ready as usual. Ellie was still in bed. Chad emailed the school, “Ellie isn’t feeling well today, so we’re keeping her home.”

When I was growing up, not feeling well required a cough or fever or some physical symptom. I think my Dad would have laughed at me if I’d said “I’m feeling spent and down, can I take a day?” He would have responded with something along the lines of, “We all have tough days. Get up and get yourself through it. You think I want to go to work everyday?” To be fair to my Mom, I think she would have been more open to it. She had a knack for sensing what people needed and was open to the idea of taking a break as a form of recovery. But I never asked her.

I work from home, so I was able to see how Ellie spent her day and watch how she was feeling. She woke late, then made herself a small breakfast and curled up in the same chair she’d sat in the night before, wrapped in her blanket.

“What are you going to watch? You can choose anything you want!” I said it intentionally. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to act sad all day to justify staying home. I wanted her to spend the day however she needed to. She gave me a small smile.

Just before lunchtime Ellie came upstairs and closed my bedroom door. My desk is in my bedroom, and I was on a call. I thought I was being too loud. My kids have told me I sometimes yell into the computer. I assumed that was it. When I came downstairs later, I apologized. “Oh, you were fine. I wanted to vacuum and I was afraid it would be too loud for you.”

The family room floor was freshly vacuumed.

In the early afternoon, I was on another call. Ellie came in and handed me a freshly baked muffin.

‘Ooooh”, I exclaimed. I looked at Ellie. She smiled before quietly retreating. Her light was coming back.

Ellie joined us for dinner that night. I asked her, “did you get what you needed today?”

“Yep,” she replied. And she smiled.

Mental health days are worth their weight in gold. And we have the opportunity to make them acceptable, normal. If we’re going to keep demanding so much from ourselves and the people around us, we also need to give ourselves and each other space to rest and recover when we need it.

A Tough Decision Made

On Sunday, Mary declared, “I need another college conversation.” “Okay” we replied and, at about 5pm Mary came marching downstairs with the dry erase board.

These ‘college conversations’ are Mary’s chance to tell us her thoughts about her college choices. Mary had applied to nine schools. She’d been accepted to several. She was having trouble deciding…which one should she accept?

During the first ‘college conversation’ Mary and Chad sat at our kitchen table while I made dinner. We told Mary to tell us everything she was thinking about her college options. Chad wrote down key points and themes, organizing them on the board (Chad and I have project management backgrounds…this came very naturally to him).

Mary went through every school, with diligent detail. We asked clarifying questions to make sure we understood. We shared observations.

After her and my trip out East, it seemed like University of Rochester and University of Vermont were at the top. Both schools are situated in beautiful surroundings and the architecture is classic – brick and/or stone buildings surrounding grassy courtyards. But over the past several weeks she talked more about soccer. And as she went through her pros and cons of each school, she said clearly, “I want to keep playing.”

“Soccer sounds really important to you. What if you accepted IIT’s offer today?”

This was the question Chad and I had been asking ourselves. Mary had been recruited by the coach at IIT, and Chicago was one of the cities she wanted to be in. She’d had other college coaches reach out, but they were in geographies she wasn’t interested in – like the entire West Coast. The IIT coach had been talking to Mary since the summer. Mary and I made a trip to Chicago, and he’d given Mary a tour of the school and told her about the team.

She shared two concerns – the cost. IIT was more expensive than the other schools. She’d have to take out more in student loans. It was an amount we knew she could handle, but is astronomically more money than she’s ever thought about.

The majors. IIT, as expected, has more tech focused majors and she didn’t have quite as many options as the other schools in her area of interest, environmental science.. “What majors does IIT have?” She listed them. There were several. Enough to keep it on the list.

The environment. It wasn’t a concern, but it was a variable. IIT architecture was designed by Mies van der Rohe between 1938 and 1960. It was designed with a modern influence which, during that time, meant a lot of concrete. Compare that to Loyola, which is right on Lake Michigan, has white stone buildings and a student center with a wall of glass overlooking the water. Easy to imagine studying there. And to the University of Rochester where the library felt like Hogwarts. Mary has been taught to consider every college as if she wasn’t playing soccer. Even if she went to IIT and played, what if she got injured? Would she still be happy there?

Loyola would be cheaper. But she didn’t have an offer to play soccer. Rochester would be beautiful but it would be the most expensive. Even more than IIT. She could walk on the soccer team. But it wasn’t a given.

At the end of our first ‘college conversation’ we had no closure. The only thing that was clear was that Mary didn’t know. She’d need more time. The hardest part was that we couldn’t do anything. There wasn’t any information we could dig up. No more spreadsheets we could build (Chad had created a spreadsheet outlining the cost of each school). All we could do was be available to talk and……wait.

Mary was tense. We all felt it. She’d wonder aloud what else she could/should do. What if I could play soccer at Loyola? Should I email the coach? What if I go to IIT and find I don’t like the major options? What if I choose my school because I can play soccer…is that bad? What if…….?

When she announced she was ready for another conversation, it was a small relief. We were eager to hear her most recent thoughts. She spent several minutes updating the board.. Then she said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Mary proceeded to tell us all of the reasons she believes IIT is the right school for her. I won’t go into them here. It doesn’t matter. What mattered was seeing her confidence. She had made some decisions about her priorities and IIT hit the mark. She seemed satisfied. Content. Happy. I felt intense relief. And joy. All we wanted was for Mary to be happy, and we could see she was. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think it’s great.”

Chad agreed.

I clapped and cheered.

Mary smiled. Then she emailed the coach. The next day he responded, “welcome to the team.”

And that was it.