Saying Goodbye to Children's House

(This is going to be a long, reflective, meandering post.  I'm starting it mid-morning at Honest Coffee Roasters.  I finished up in court this morning and landed here for a latte.  And, well, some reflection.)

Change is in the air, as Joe's last full week at Children's House draws to a close today.  He'll have school Monday - Wednesday, next week, then Water Day on Thursday and just like that, our family's seven years there will be over.

It seems so sudden and so final.  The end of a definitive era in our lives, for sure.  In many ways, it will be the end of the innocence for Joe.  He'll for from the nurturing, loving cocoon of Classroom B at Children's house - where he's been with Ms. Michelle and Ms. Tess for the past three years - to kindergarten at University School.  A bigger school with hundreds of students in the lower school, not to mention the middle and upper schools.

So, this post is really about two things.  Joe, of course, as he moves on to University School.  And the end of our run at Children's House.  I guess they're linked, but subject matter and time.

When Jude got the call from Children's House eight years ago advising that they had a spot open for J.P. but that it would be a five day a week program, we were paralyzed by indecision.  We didn't know if we should keep J.P. at West End United Methodist Church or start him at Children's House, a Montessori school.

J.P started there, as a 3 year old, in the fall of 2011.  I remember the day Jude and dropped him off there for the first time.  As she brought her 2005 Honda Pilot to a stop in the pickup line and a "returning friend" helped J.P. step down onto the ground, his Children's House bag on his shoulder, I cried.  Jude smiled and I cried.  We sighed and drove home.

Jude and learned on the fly about playdates, positive discipline and "the Montessori way."  J.P. made friends, of course, but tended to focus on one or two kids as his constant playmates, different ones each year.  Brady and Jack (McDaniel) his first year, Victoria (White) his second year Aidan (Ozgener) his third year.  Brady moved away after his first year, a brief friendship lost forever.

Jude and I made friends with a few of the parents at Children's House but I'm not sure we really connected with anyone in particular, not the way other parents seemed to connect with each other.  We were busy - I guess everyone was - and a lot of the moms didn't work outside the home.  Jude, of course, did so that make meeting up for coffee after drop-off a difficult proposition.

I don't recall how it happened, but I joined the Board of Directors, I think during J.P.'s second year.  Almost immediately, I began to get to know several other parents.  The next year I was elected board president and in an ironic twist, the year I served as board president was the one year in the last seven that we haven't had a child at Children's House.  Looking back, it was a very impressive board of directors in terms of professional accomplishments and community involvement.  Many became my good friends and remain so to this day.

One of the best parts, for me, of my involvement with the Board of Directors is that I got to know Anne Colley, the director of the school who retired at the end of the 2016-17 academic year after an amazing 26 year run at Children's House.  She was the heart and soul of the school for almost three decades and knew everybody who was anybody in the early education/preschool/Montessori galaxy.  Anne was equal parts administrator, educator, leader, role model and keeper of the "Montessori Way."  Without questions, she is one of the most accomplished, impressive people I have ever known in a professional capacity.

We struggled mightily with whether to start J.P. at kindergarten at University School of Nashville in the fall of 2013 or to enroll him in "K Club" at Children's House.  After much deliberation, we decided to postpone school for a year and give her a third year at Children's House.  It was a great decision for him, in retrospect.  He grew, became more independent and is a leader in his classes at University School to this day in large part because of the third year he spent there.

(Switching days and locations, it's Sunday morning and I'm having a latte at Portland Brew in 12South before I head to NHC Place to visit my mom.)

When we started Joe at Children's House as a three year old, there was much less trepidation.  Intuitively, we knew Joe would be fine because, well, J.P. had been fine when he enrolled as a "new friend."  We knew Joe would enjoy being in Classroom B with Ms. Michele because J.P. had done so well with her.  Like J.P., in his first year at Children's House, Joe went from 8:20 a.m. - noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he could still have a couple of half days each week with Uncle Carley, our longtime friend and nanny.  That was important to us.

Joe grew and flourished at Children's House, just as J.P. had done.  At the end of his second year, as a "returning friend," we again had a hard time deciding whether to start him in kindergarten at USN on time or enroll him in "K Club" at Children's House.  Joe had, and has, some fine motor difficulties and we had been taking him to occupational therapy once a week, so we decided to continue that and give him another year at Children's House.  Of course, after we had made the decision, I was talking to Anne Colley one day and she expressed a measure of surprise we were waiting to start him in kindergarten at USN because in her mind, she was ready.  More confused than ever, we stuck with the plan and hopefully it will be the right one.  Time will tell, I guess.

And, here we are, with three and a half more days at Children's House.  The memories are many and varied, nearly all filled with love and learning.

First day drop-offs for J.P. and Joe.

Many, many mornings for me with J.P. and especially, Joe, as I normally took him to Children's House in the morning because the dropoff was later and Jude needed to get in to work earlier.  Lots of mornings of "Joe Time," something I invented a couple of years ago to mark our morning time as special.

Fundraising, especially in the early years and when I was involved on the Board.

Six of seven "Grandparents' Days" and Monte Soire's.  My mom, of course, has missed the last two or three "Grandparents' Days," and that makes me unspeakably sad.

Lots of great art courtesy of Ms. Antoinette, a special lady and art instructor who has been a mainstay at Children's House forever.  I'm so glad she didn't retire when Anne Colley did.

A whole bunch of Board meetings.  It was tough for me to get used to not having any board meetings to go to last year and this year.

The Positive Discipline class that Jude and I attended the first fall J.P. was at Children's House.  Ms. Juanita (another longtime teacher) and Ms. Michele taught the class, which seems a lifetime ago.

Water Days.  The last one is this Thursday, and I'll have to miss it.

Watching the children in Classroom B gravitate to Joe on Wednesday mornings when I brought him to school late, after we had been to see Ms. Lisa for occupational therapy.  That's when I knew he was a little bit different from J.P.  He liked being the center of attention and was a leader, which is exactly what Anne Colley told me she had observed on the playground.

Playing basketball with Joe on the small basketball court at the back entrance to the school, where I almost always entered to drop off J.P., then later, Joe.  Both boys spent their third year almost entirely on that basketball court, playing basketball, or so it seems.

Three "Special Days" for J.P. and three for Joe.  And they were special.

Many late night runs, after the boys were in bed, where I as part of my route, I ran up the driveway and said a silent prayer thanking God that our boys had a safe, nurturing place to begin their education.

Pausing, so many times, and occasionally snapping a photograph with my iPhone, of the playground as I walked to my truck after dropping J.P. or Joe off at school.  A quiet minute of reflection before I began what often was a stressful work day.

The "Children's House song," sung by Ms. Kelly (long since gone from Children's House) on a compact disc that J.P. insisted we play over and over and over in Jude's car his first year there.  I can still here it now, in my head.

"Sheldon's House," which was what Jonny Meade called Children's House, confused, when J.P. first started attending school there.  It became a running joke.

Nap helpers, lunch time friends, the boys' "work" each day and Jude asking whose "Special Day" it was, then guessing at dinner.

So many friends for the boys and so many stories about what happened on the playground each day.

Good team, bad team.  A game passed down from class to class over the years, like tag, that died a quick death when Ms. Michele forbade the kids from playing it anymore earlier this year.

Love, lots of love.

Children's House, in the end, represented a more innocent time for me, for our boys and for our family.  When J.P. started there, my mom wasn't ravaged by Alzheimer's disease.  There were no all-star teams in baseball and travel teams in soccer.  We lived in our small house on Elliott Avenue.  Things were simpler, not necessarily better but probably easier.

And, now, here we are, staring Joe's last week at Children's House.  The words of my friend and fellow lawyer, Greg Smith (two of his boys when there many year ago), echo in my mind.  Words I've repeated to others in many settings over the years, informal and formal.

"The only bad thing about Children's House is that your child has to leave."

Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day, 2018, and I'm finishing up my coffee at the Frothy Monkey in my neighborhood and about to head down to see my mom.  I've got a cinnamon roll, chocolate dipped strawberries and Mother's Day cards in hand to give to her upon my arrival.

I debated about taking the boys with me this morning but, at this point, I'm not sure it's good for them to see her - and some of the other residents - struggling to . . . well, just struggling.  They were quickly up this morning and contentedly watching Dude Perfect videos on J.P.'s iPad, in bed with Jude, so I decided to leave them at home.

I'm really torn because part of me wants the boys to remember my mom - their Meemaw - the way she was and not the way she is now.  I'm not sure that's possible with J.P. because he has accompanied me on visits to see her on weekends many times, though not as much lately.  With Joe, I just don't know if even has any memories of my mom before she began her decline.  And that makes me sad.

The other part of me feels like this is simply part of life and my mom is who she is now.  They should see her and allow her love them in whatever way she is able to do so.  I think it makes her happy to see them even I'm not completely sure she realizes they are her grandchildren.  I just worry about how hard it is for them - especially J.P. - to see her like she is now.  J.P. tends to feels things pretty deeply and I don't want him to be emotionally scarred or to lose anymore innocence than he already has in contemplating and trying to understand, in his 10-year old mind, what she is going through.

Like so much of what we're going through with my mom, there is very little black and white, just lots and lots of grey.

I met a couple of guys I coach baseball with at Edley's last night - Chad and Tony - and after a couple of margaritas, I mentioned to them how much my mom would have loved watching J.P. and Joe play baseball earlier that day.  Chad has boys on the Dodgers (9-10 year olds) and the Junior Dodgers (4-6 year olds) that I coach.  Tony's son plays for the Dodgers.

Chad reminded me that before he began helping us on the field, coaching, that my mom used to be at many of J.P.'s games and that he often sat next to her and talked sports with her.  It's funny, maybe because I'm so wrapped up in how my mom is doing now and worried about how she will be doing in the immediate future, that it's hard for me to remember a time when she came to J.P.'s baseball games.

I remember toward the end, when she was still living at home and drive herself to the boys' baseball games, but it was becoming a struggle for her to walk to the fields from the parking lot.  One occasion that stands out in my mind is when she was coming to see Joe play at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ, probably in his first season of baseball, and one of the teenagers who was working for the WNSL (West Nashville Sports League) drove her to the field in one of the all terrain, John Deere vehicles they use to quickly get from field to field.

Yesterday, J.P. played baseball games at 9 and 11 a.m., followed by a soccer game at 2 p.m.  Joe had a soccer game at 8:30 a.m., then baseball games at 2 and 3 p.m.  It was full day for sure.  My mom would have been right in the middle of it, as she was with Tracy's kids, Kaitlyn and Matthew, when they were growing up playing soccer (in the early years), then later basketball at Oak View Elementary School and baseball.  I'm a little - well, a lot - jealous of the times she was shared with Kaitlyn and Matthew watching them play sports.

J.P. struck out 8 batters in 3 innings yesterday, although he walked 2 batters and hit 1 (J.P. adamant that the ball hit the batter's bat and should have been a foul ball).  J.P. has developed into quite a pitcher this season.  My mom would have taken great pride in his pitching, although she would have nervous and lived and died with every batter.

So, it's a bit of a melancholy Mother's Day for me.  Will there be a Mother's Day to celebrate with my mom next year?  I don't know.  If there is, it will probably be different than this one, which is different form the last one.

That's just the way it goes.

Games People Play

Lately I've been thinking that it might do my mom some good for us to try to play a game of some sort when I visit her, as opposed to just sitting an talking.  On the way to see her yesterday, I stopped and bought a pack of playing cards and a mini-Jenga game.  When I got to he place, she had just finished lunch and was sitting at a table in the common area with a couple of other residents.  We talked for a minute, then I wheeled her back to her room.

I placed a small, rolling table between us, adjusted the footrests on her wheelchair so I could get her close to the table and began shuffling the cards.  I smiled because, as a kids, I was always amazed at how well my mom could shuffle a deck of cards.  Life a Vegas blackjack dealer.  She has long fingers and it always seemed like the cards were flying in her hands.

I suggested to her that we'd play "war," hoping that the rules would come back to her after I gave her a short refresher.  They didn't.  She had a hard time understanding which card was higher than the other.  She didn't understand where to put her cards if she won a hand.  She wanted to keep turning over one card after the other.  It hurts to say this, but it was like playing "war" with Joe when he was two or three years old.  This from a woman who has a bachelors and a masters degree.

About halfway through the deck, my mom began to breath more rapidly, like she was getting out of breath.  This is what she does when she's becoming agitated or uncomfortable.  I stopped the game and put the cards away and she settled down.

I pulled out my the latest edition of The Sewanee Review and read poetry to her as she dozed on and off in her wheelchair.  And I wondered to myself, how did we get here?

The Closer

Last night I saw something I'll remember for a long, long time.  I want to write about it tonight, while it's still fresh in my mind, and before the memory blends into all the other memories that, in the end, make a lifetime.

J.P.'s baseball team - the Dodgers - had a 7 p.m. game against the Knights, a team that beat us 13-7 a couple of weeks ago.  The boys got out to an early lead in the first inning after Cooper walked, stole second and scored on a base hit.  They stretched the lead to 2-0 with another run in the second inning.  Benton started and pitched great for two innings.  I brought in Cyrus to pitch next and he was really dealing.  Two more innings pitched and no runs.  In the meantime, the boys kept hitting and heading into what looked to be the last inning because time was running out, they had a 7-0 lead.

I brought in Wes to pitch after telling him all he had to do was throw strikes and we could go home.  Normally one of our most reliable pitchers, Wes just didn't have it last night and immediately go into trouble.  He walked a couple of batter, hit one batter, then gave up a hit.  Suddenly, it was 7-3, the based were loaded and there still were no outs.  I knew I had to have a short hook, so when Wes walked a run in to make it 7-4, I pulled him.  As I walked out of the dugout, I looked at J.P. standing at shortstop, pointed at him then pointed at the pitcher's mound. 

J.P. began warming up, throwing to Benton, who was catching.  I looked around, shook my head, and grimaced a bit as I thought about what a tough spot J.P. was in.  Bases loaded, no outs, our boys up 7-4.  He's done it before this season, I thought.  Let's see if he can do it again tonight.

On the second pitch, the first batter J.P. faced grounded into a fielder's choice at third base.  Wes stepped on the bag, a run scored and it was 7-5 with runners on first and second bases.  J.P. struck out the next batter for the second out.  A ball got away from him and the passed ball allowed the runners to advance to second and third bases.  Still 7-5, two outs, with the tying run at second base.

J.P. threw a couple of ball, then a strike.  2-1 count.  Just don't walk him and load the bases, I thought.  It was stressful and I was nervous.  Really nervous.  J.P. threw another ball.  Oh, shit, I thought.  Here comes the walk.  J.P. took a deep breath, leaned forward and dangled his right arm in front of him, like Kenley Jansen for the Dodgers.  He lifted his left leg high, stepped toward home plate and let the ball fly.  Strike two.  Full count.  

Another deep breath (by J.P. and me), the same motion, the pitch . . . strike three swinging.  Ball game!  J.P. smiled, his teammates cheered and came running in toward him.  The cool thing was that J.P. didn't celebrate too much.  He was happy, of course, but he acted like he expected to put out the fire and preserve the win.

What I was the most proud of - and I told him this - is that I knew I could put him in at pitcher in that type of a situation and the moment wouldn't be bigger than him.  He might succeed and he might fail.  If he failed, though, it wouldn't crush him.  He's confident, resilient and he would be disappointed but not devastated.  I knew he could bounce back.  

It took courage and heart to come in and pitch in such a tight spot.  And he succeeded.  It was a good night.  A damn good night.

Keeping On Keeping On

It seems I've taken an unintended hiatus from posting to the blog.  The weekend the blood clot in my mom's left leg was discovered, and the aftermath, were exhausting.  I've been down, as well, because my low back problems have flared up again, as a result of which I've been unable to run.  That's always tough for me to handle because running is such an outlet for me, particularly in times of stress.


I started physical therapy last week and I've been doing my assigned exercised in earnest every morning.  It's apparent to me that I'm going to have to become more disciplined and regularly do low back and core strengthening exercises for the rest of my life.  Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll be dealing with significant low back pain forever and my quality of life will take a serious hit as a result. 


The good news is that physical therapy has helped.  Yesterday afternoon, I ran 3 miles on the treadmill at Go Performance, the gym I've belonged to for several years.  8:34, 8:20 and 8 minute miles without any difficulty.  Breathing was good, I still felt relatively fit and most importantly, there was no back pain.  I'll continue with physical therapy for a couple more weeks and, hopefully (fingers crossed) put the worst of the low back pain behind me (no pun intended). 


As is always this case this time of year, we're covered up with baseball practices and games and soccer practices and games.  I'm coaching three baseball teams - two Junior Dodgers' teams (4, 5 and 6 year olds) and one Dodgers' team (9-10).  Our friend and the boys' former nanny, Carley Meade, remarked last weekend after watching me coach Joe's Junior Dodgers in a game that she could see how much I enjoyed it.  And, I do.  The highlight of my week is coaching my boys and their teammates, at practices or games.  I love every bit of it. 


There's been quite a bit of rain in Nashville this spring, especially on weekends.  As a result, the game schedule is crazy.  JP plays tonight, Friday night and Saturday night.  Joe plays on Saturday and Sunday.  And they both play soccer on Saturday, too.  See?  It's crazy.  It's also a good diversion for me form every day life, I think.


Speaking of which, I've finished my morning coffee at Honest Coffee Roasters in the Factory in Franklin.  Time to get in to the office and get some work done. 

The Deciders

There is nothing uplifting or cathartic about this post.  Nothing.

Friday evening, Carolina, an LPN at the Courtyard called me because to report my mom had some swelling in her left leg.  I called my sister, Tracy, and she drove over to NHC Place.  I drove down a little while later, in part because I was concerned when I learned an ultrasound had been ordered but it was uncertain when it would actually be performed, since it was a weekend.

Mom was comfortable and in bed when I arrived.  She smiled as she talked quietly to us.  Tracy and I stepped outside to talk amongst ourselves, then I asked to speak to Carolina, because I had obvious concerns about not knowing when an ultrasound would be performed and who, at NHC Place, was making the call to treat her there rather than have her transported to a hospital.

In situations like these, with my mom, Tracy is usually the State Department and I am the War Department.  That's just the way it works.  As we talked to Carolina in the hallway outside my mom's room, I became more and more uncomfortable that anyone there understood the potential gravity of the situation, given that my mom could have a blood clot in her left leg.

After I asked some pointed questions to determine who had made the call on medication and the short-term treatment plan, I got some assurances that Carolina and her successor later that night would check on her more regularly than normal.  Tracy decided to sleep there overnight, my mom's room.  As always, Tracy is doing the heavy lifting with my mom.  I worry about the burden she's shouldering.

I drove back down yesterday morning and stayed with my mom for a bit.  Tracy went home to shower, then I left a few minutes before the ultrasound was to be performed.  I had to get back to our house and get the boys ready, with Jude, to go to the Predators' NHL playoff game vs. the Colorado Avalanche at 2 p.m.

During the first period of the game, Tracy texted me and confirmed what we feared.  My mom had a blood clot in her left leg.  I left our seats at the the game and found a quiet place in Bridgestone Arena (not an easy task during an NHL playoff game).

I spent the next hour or so on the telephone with various people at NHC Place demanding to talk to the on-call nurse practitioner who was in charge.  For some reason, she initially refused to speak directly to Tracy and instead relayed information to the nursing coordinator.  I wasn't going to rest until I spoke to her directly, which eventually happened.

Thankfully, one of our closest friends - who happens to be the OB GYN/surgeon who delivered both of our boys - was at the Predators' game.  She graciously walked down between the second and third period of the game, right as I finally received a telephone call from nurse practitioner.  I handed my cellular telephone to Roseann and she quietly, but firmly, insisted on getting a full update on my mom, the protocol at NHC Place for situations like this and the standard of care.

Roseann's most pertinent and pointed question summarized what I had wanted to know.  "How would a blood clot like this be treated if it was discovered on a Tuesday?"  In other words, she wanted assurances the standard of care was the same on a Saturday as on a weekday, when a nurse practitioner would be on site.  I was so grateful to have Roseann there.  She's simply one of the best people I know.

In the end, Tracy and I were the deciders.  We had to decide whether to leave my mom where she was - resting comfortably in the Courtyard at NHC Place - or to have her transported to the hospital in an ambulance.  We tried to balance the difficulties and trauma associated with moving her and how tough it would be for her to possible get stuck on a stretcher in the emergency room against the fact that she won't see a doctor until Monday morning.  Not an easy decision.

In the end, we decided to ride it out at NHC Place.  Tracy stayed with her again last night and I'm headed down to see her now.

The hits just keep on coming.

God Bless the Humboldt Broncos

This morning as on all Sunday mornings, Jude and I awoke at 6:30 a.m. to the sounds of Joe restlessly and noisily going through his wakeup routine.  He wakes up like an old man - stretching, grunting and groaning - as he prepares to begin another day in the life of a 6 year old.

Within minutes, he walks into J.P.'s room to see if he is up.  Then, we hear them talking quietly.  Last but not least, he calls to Jude through the baby monitor we've kept in his room so we know what's going on upstairs with the boys, "Mom?  Can I get up?"  Of course, he's already up.  She replies, "sure, come on down."

We hear the pitter patter of feet upstairs - Joe's - J.P.'s morning routine is much quieter - and the boys suddenly appear in the doorway of our bedroom, as if by magic.

When I think about, it is like magic, in a way, that in the midst of our busy lives and of all that I have going on with my mom, God has blessed me at 51 years old with two healthy, happy and active boys. Magic, for sure.

What I'm thinking about this morning, as I finish my latte at the Frothy Monkey before the Sunday morning rush, is that there are 15 sets of parents in Humboldt, Saskatchewan, who will never get to hear their boys wake up again in the morning.  This, after a tragic bus crash killed 15 boys on the Humboldt Broncos, a junior hockey team with a long and storied tradition in the small town of Humboldt.

I can't begin to fathom how those parents feel this morning.  It's simply beyond my comprehension and, hopefully, it always will be.  To say my thoughts and prayers are with those families and that community is very obviously an understatement.  I think every parent has those families in their thoughts and prayers this morning.

It's so easy to forget how lucky I am to have my boys.  This is especially true on a weekend like this one, when we have three baseball games, two soccer games and a Davis Cup tennis match to attend.  And that's only Saturday.  Then, one baseball practice and two soccer practices to get to after church on Sunday.

In between the occasional bickering between them and the trips all over town for practices, games and sleepovers, there is love.  Just simple, pure and unadulterated love.  And Jude and I are so lucky and thankful and blessed to have that love in or lives.

God, be with those families in Humboldt who lost their boys.