This is for you.  
Yes, you.  Has anyone ever given you a flower before?  
You deserve it.  
Even if you don’t think so, I would still like you to have it.
Because you are beautiful.  
You have been created for a specific purpose on this earth, that 
Only you can do.  
You are important.


Recently, someone I know died way too young… and I wonder
If he knew that he was important.

Irreplaceable.

I wonder if someone ever gave him a flower, and told him everything was going to be okay.

It will be okay!

When I look into this flower, just one flower in this big, crazy, painful world,
I see peace.
And beauty.

And I see that God cares.

He loves you.  
Flowers are like his messages of Love, reminding you that you are worth it.  They grow everywhere…  For you.

They grow in places where there are wars and hatred and violence and fear and chaos.

They need nothing from you, just a bit of dirt and a rainstorm or two, and there they are.

Beautiful.

Bringing you a message of Hope.

If they can rise from the dirt, you can too.

Just like God, who is watching you, loving you.

And it’s all going to be okay.

I promise.

Fridays I blog a cartoon at downsideups.com.  See you there! : )_

A Notice from the 5 Year Old:

“Hey, Mom.  See my new last name?  It’s Lutbrgr.  So, if I do work, then everyone will know my name, Lutbrgr.  That’s my work name.” 
“Oh?  Do you prefer Miss, Mrs, or Ms?”
“Ms.  Definitely Ms.” 
“What kind of work do you do, Ms. Lutbrgr?”
“I lift weights.  Also hang on the gymnastics bar and do gymnastics.”  
“Who pays you money to lift weights?” 
“I pay money myself.”


I couldn’t make this kind of stuff up.  Their words are priceless.  

I swear that I’m going to remember them, each little goofy thought and amusing anecdote… but when the house finally quiets down, late at night, and I search for the treasures of the day, sometimes all I am left with, all I can think about, are the dirty pots and pans waiting for me in the sink.  

And I am tired.

What even happened today?  Did I make it worthwhile?  Did I talk with each and every person in a meaningful way?  

I hope.

What did we talk about at supper?

I listen for echoes…voices laughing and yelling and trying to one-up the person sitting next to themselves.  
“Sit by MEEEE.”  
“He sat by you yesterday.”  
“Can I have seconds?” 
“I need money for school tomorrow.”
“Don’t kick me under the table.” 
“Can I have thirds?”
“They’re all yelling!” Doug moans.  “Can’t we just be civil and take turns speaking about something normal?  I wasn’t raised this way!”  (That’s the trump card, right there.)  
Small One launches into another verse of “Frozen” as she passes the spaghetti.  
“Let it GO, LET IT GOOOOO!”  But they don’t let go, and Little Person number 3 knocks over her milk.  It spills down through the crack between table extensions.  Aww.  Am I actually EVER going to get to eat?  Because I’m hypoglycemic and feeling pretty ugly right now.  I mop up the spill, and the spaghetti is finally passed.  

“Spaghetti rhymes with Raghetti, did you know that?  Raghetti is my favorite character in the Pirates of the Caribbean Lego Video Game, Mom.  Did you know he can pop his eye out?”  “Yeah!”  Pipes up Another One.  “And after he pops it out, he has another one!  He has so many Lego eyeballs!”  

Then, The Rivals lock elbows.  They try to compete discreetly, but to no avail.  It’s another battle of wills and wits.  Who is taller?  Who weighs more?  Who gets more pepperoni?  Who can win in arm wrestling today?  Who gets to unload the dishwasher?  Who has to load? 

Those two have been wrestling for authority over each other since age 3.  But it’s all good.  As long as they still have affectionate nicknames for each other… and they do.  They just like to compete.

And the final remembrance of my day:

“Hey, Mom.  If you ever have to go away for a long time, can SHE be my mom?”

Ouch.

Sometimes this is actually a topic of conversation.  Because when you have a lot of sisters, you have a lot of females telling you what to do.  

“Brush your teeth!”  
“Stop chewing with your mouth open!”  
“Look what I have in this box….SNAP!  Gotcha!”  
“MO-OOOOOM!”

One of my babies had two mommies right from the start.  Really.  He called me Mommy, because I am his Mommy.  And he called his older sister Mommy.  The Smaller Mommy, his big sister, always cuddled him, always had time to rock him, always cooed at him and hugged him and babied him and loved him.  She cast off her American Girl Doll like wet socks left in the hallway when he was born.  He was her very own living baby doll, and he loved her right back.  That boy is now programmed to be adored.  
Coming Soon to a Theater Near You:  The Boy That Was Never Put Down!  The Boy that was Cuddled Continuously Until He Could Tie His Own Shoes!  
He was held and smiled at and adored until he was old enough  to walk down the street. 

That’s a lot of love.

Sometimes my adult children have complaints about things in their childhoods.  Usually it is funny stuff like burnt fish stew that they had to eat anyway, or the Oatmeal Punishment, where they had to eat oatmeal until their bedroom was clean.  For as many meals as it took…  For as many days as it took…  (That is a battle of wills no one won.  We only succeeded in assuring Someone’s lifelong and thorough hatred of oatmeal.)  Sometimes they remember the ways we really messed up as parents.  And we sure did.  

We still do.  

I mess up every single day at this parenting thing.  Every kid is unique, every situation is unique.  There is no manual.  Being a family is tough.  And you never quite know at the time whether this is going to be just a moment, a flash in the pan soon forgotten, or A MOMENT, one of the moments they remember for the rest of their lives. 

Which leads me back to Ms. Lutbrgr.  I don’t know who these kids are going to grow up to be.  I didn’t special order them…I made a lot of mistakes while they were (and are) growing up…
I don’t even know what we talk about at the dinner table half the time.  

But you know what?  

I love them.  

And even if they hate oatmeal the rest of their lives, and carry deep regrets about the clothing they had to wear in junior high, they still have to admit that they were loved.  

They were loved.  They are loved.

And that is a good place to come from.

You go, Ms. Lutbrgr.  Go get ‘em.

It's Friday!  That means I'm cartooning at Down Side Ups... click the image to see today's comic.

Did you ever receive an unexpected gift?

This is a story of an amazing stranger, a couple of teenagers, a gift… and a dream.

A few years ago, I took some teenagers to Washington, DC.   In trying to be economical, I searched online for hotels.  The affordable hotels, of course, had terrible online reviews.  Higher crime neighborhoods, paper-thin walls, poor customer service.  The great reviews were for luxury travel, which did not exactly match our teenagers-with-backpacks plan.   What to do?  

After watching me change my mind many times, Doug made the decision for us.  
“Choose the least expensive room in the nicest hotel you can find.”  
Whatta guy.  He wanted to give these kids the best trip of their young lives.  A gift.

We were hoping for a Washington DC experience filled with education, art, government, and history.  A swimming pool and pizza were not so high on the list.  So we chose the 150 year old Willard.   Their advertising stated: 

“…this grand Washington DC historic hotel has hosted almost every U.S. president since Franklin Pierce in 1853. On August 28, 1963, the Reverend Martin Luther King finished his famous “I Have A Dream” speech while a guest at the Willard. Other notable guests have included Charles Dickens, Buffalo Bill, David Lloyd George, P.T. Barnum, Lord and Lady Napier, and countless others. Walt Whitman mentioned the hotel in his works; and Mark Twain penned two books here in the early 1900s.”

 The photos looked beautiful online, and the place was walking distance to every place we would be visiting.   Charles Dickens, Martin Luther King, Abraham Lincoln, and Mark Twain stayed here?  We were sold.

I booked one of their cheapest rooms, which was a real splurge for our budget.  But this was an important life event.  The crown jewel of high school, the beginning of the Rest of Life for these teens.  Trips like this can be inspiring!  We wanted them to think big.  The world is a big place, anything is possible.  

Dream big!

In this fog of dreaming, we drove, flew, and taxied toward our destination, backpacks in tow.  Everything took longer than planned.  We finally arrived, utterly exhausted and very hungry, just as darkness was descending on DC.  Exiting the taxi, we were instantly greeted by valets in gloves.  And opulence.  The golden lights gleamed from crystal lighting overhead, reflected on gorgeous, immaculately perfect furnishings.  

Oh, my goodness.  
We held on to our own backpacks and stepped up to the front desk.  

“Welcome to the Willard.  What brings you here tonight?” the front desk man said with a quizzical smile.  We so obviously didn’t fit in.  Politicians and lobbyists consulted around the famous lobby and Peacock Alley.  Others were dressed to the nines for a glamorous wedding reception taking place down the hall.  I felt like Cinderella, showing up at the ball in rags, toting a mop.  Late.   

“And what is it that you expect from the Willard?” the man asked.  

Without hesitation, the bold teen piped up, shoulders back.  “Nothing less than perfection.”

The man put down his pencil. He folded his hands.  “Well, the reason I ask, is because we have a problem with your room.  I see here that you reserved a double queen room, but I would like to change that.  We have one single King room that you may stay in.  The room is larger than the one you reserved, and you would need a rollaway bed.  Would that be acceptable to you?”

“That’s fine” I breathed a sigh of relief.  We had arrived so late, I was glad to have any room secured.  I was so tired I would have slept in a bunk bed.

“If you are certain that you can accept a rollaway, then here are your card keys.  Upstairs and to the right.  I hope that you will find the accommodations to your liking.  Again, welcome to the Willard.”

We giggled in the elevator, feeling ridiculous in jeans and sweatshirts, surrounded by such richness and propriety.

Our laughter stopped suddenly when we arrived at our destination.  A placard on the door in front of us read “Martin Luther King Suite”.

This was the one.

The King Room.

The room in the advertisement.  

The room where Dr. Martin Luther King wrote his “I Have a Dream” speech.

We opened the door to the most luxurious, 5-room suite that any of us had ever seen.  Marble floors, antique furniture, a magnificent view.  The rooms in which one of the world’s most inspiring speeches was written.  

I cried, of course.  

It was like walking into a piece of history, and getting to live there for a few days.  What a way to inspire some kids!

Later, room service was delivered.  Gourmet food, linens, china, crystal were rolled in on a wheeled table by a man in gloves and tuxedo.  He set it out like the footmen in Downton Abbey might have, removing silver domes from the serving dishes and quietly filling glasses.

We had reserved the humblest room in this hotel, and had instead been given the best.  

I slept in the rollaway in the round parlor.  Staring out into the moonlight, I pondered the world.  How was it that I was inside this magnificent spot of the world, overlooking the power strip of the nation?  I sat, secure in comfort and luxury on a rollaway, in the very room where a dream had taken form and started to change to world.  He was a big, important person with a big, important dream… I am a mom with teenagers.

“Why?”  I asked the front desk man later.  “Why did you give us this amazing gift?”

He smiled sincerely, and replied, “It is wonderful to give to someone who doesn’t expect or demand it.”  

There aren’t even words to describe just how important that trip was.  Think back to your teen years…  Do you remember times when people treated you with generosity?  Can you remember all the times that people were just good and wonderful and kind and respectful?  Even to total strangers?

This trip that we took changed our lives.  We saw people differently…kindly.  We looked with gratitude because we were aware of what a gift we had been given.  

I’d like to keep that perspective.  

Each day we have here is a Gift.  

We did nothing to deserve it.  
We couldn’t afford to pay for it even if we did know what to ask for.   

It is a Gift. 

The man behind the desk at the Willard showed us that humanity is kind.  
People can be kind, and good, and generous. 
People can change lives for the better, in unexpected ways.  

If he can wield that kind of power, then we can, too.

That is a powerful dream. 

I have an amazing Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. story. 
It has been a super busy day, and is getting too late to tell it tonight... But this picture must go up right now, tonight.  For solidarity.
Check back soon for a surprising MLK story of human kindness and generosity.  

Someone wants to give you flowers!  
So this Morning Glory and  Brown Eyed Susan are just for you today.  
Have a wonderful Sunday!

I cartoon blog at downsideups.com on Fridays.  Come visit us!

Do you have Happiness or do you have Joy?

They are two very different things.  
Happiness depends on external circumstances…   Is the sun shining?  
Are you feeling well?  Are you living in peace?  These things seriously affect our ability to be happy.  

Happiness doesn’t happen easily.

Because of this, the Pursuit of Elusive Happiness seems to consume our lives. We buy the right clothes, live in the right neighborhoods, choose the right friends.  We go to the best schools, work at the best careers…eat at the best restaurants.  We just want to be happy, but so often that is not possible.  Happiness is fleeting.  
Illness, tragedy, disaster strike.  
We suffer.
And there is nothing we can do about it.

But I am not a fatalist.  There is more to the story than that!

I had a happy place when I was a kid.  Off the beaten path, on a forgotten section of a neighbor’s unused farm, there was small pond, a stand of maple trees, and a field of wildflowers.  Neglected and abandoned by the whole world, I claimed it as my own.  I hiked its hills and discovered butterflies, made bark boats to sail the pond, and dreamed very big childish dreams.  I wanted to stay there forever, because that place made me happy.  But you know what happened?  

The property was not mine.   
The property was mined.  

Literally.  

One day the bulldozers moved in.  As I watched from a perch in a tree, my happy place of dreams was mowed down, churned over.  Over the next few years, the land was carved up, trucked out, and driven away.  
Perhaps you have some of that earth in your yard, as landscaping?  
Is it making you happy? 

Probably not.  

But happiness is overrated.  There is something more important. 

The thing we really can’t live without is Joy.

Joy is a gift. 
It is yours, right now, despite any crushing problems you are feeling.
Because no matter what your circumstances, no matter how little control you have over your own life, you can still receive Joy. 

You can’t buy it.
You can’t make it.
You can’t take it.
You can’t control it.

But it is given to you, every day.  

Look around you.  

When I began searching for Joy, I began to find it everywhere.  
It is not in any whirlwind of activity that I pursue.  
It’s not in the loud volcanic explosion of daily stress.
It’s not in the thunderstorms of life, which always return, screaming for attention.

I found Joy in the soft, steady breath of a sleeping child.
I find Joy in the iridescent majesty of a dragonfly wing.
I find Joy in the sparkle of morning dew on a leaf in spring. 
Joy lives in the icy crystals of snowflakes, unique and beautiful. 

The small things of this world can fill you with Joy.

The big and troublesome things don’t ever go away, but they can’t suffocate Hope 
if you find Joy in the small things. 

When I think back to the “happy place” of my childhood, I smile.

It wasn’t possessing the property that was important.  It doesn’t really matter that it disappeared.  The important thing is that is where I began to find Joy.

Joy was given to me in the rippling waves of that little pond.  It was there, in the silky milkweed seeds, floating on the breeze just for me.  Joy was in the warmth of the sunlight, dancing on the purple sweet clover along with the bees.  
It was given to me.  
A gift.

And no one can take that away.

Joy.

Want some?  Look around you.  It is here... A gift for you.

The kids are sick again.  Coughing enough to stay home from school, but not sick enough that we can’t have fun.  

What is fun, you ask?  Well, with most of my kids it would be reading and painting, music and theater…fun stuff.

But with Mr. Alex P. Keaton, who is home today, we are playing Monopoly.  I have avoided playing this game, ever, in 48 years. Can’t even stand the concept.  Too orderly, too industrial, too rigid.  

But somebody received the game as a birthday gift, years ago, and young Mr. Keaton has found it.  He is genuinely interested.  He set it up, rounded up his sisters, and he is the banker, coach, and enforcer of his own complete autocracy.  He is enjoying handling money and properties, organizing and allocating.  

Who is this kid, and what planet did he come from?  Both his parents are artists!

I haven’t experienced anything like this kind of play since I was eight years old myself, trying to hide from my older sister’s authoritarian rule. 

But we parents do strange things for our kids.  I would probably do anything to make this guy smile.  I buy his little “math squares” that he sells for a quarter apiece.  He does arithmetic problems, and lines them all up in a geometric shape so that all the columns add up properly, and all the rows add up properly too.  He does this for the sheer joy he finds in math.  If I can buy his math puzzles, I can certainly play Monopoly, right?  

So, we spend the morning buying and selling, and landing on each other’s real estate.  At one point, three of them were Monopoly jail at the same time.  I got to visit.  By then, everyone was ready for a change of pace. 

“Hey, can we do Microsoft Excel now?”  he asks me, packing up his game.  “It’s a spreadsheet.”

“I have a better idea, kiddo. Let’s go organize your sock drawer.”  

“Yeah!”

A beautiful day. 

In the wintry darkness of January, I like to remember that Springtime is real.  Someday we will see lilacs again.  

There's a baptism at downsidesups.com ...

It is a bitterly frigid morning.  That is an understatement.  Hundreds of schools have closed here in Minnesota due to windchills at -30.  

MINUS THIRTY!  

What does one do when it is minus thirty? 

Want a glimpse into my minus thirty world?

I am sitting here at the warm kitchen table, next to two small girls.  The oven is on lockdown, self cleaning.  Seemed like the thing to do to warm up the house.  The Christmas tree is still up, an ancient artifact, begging for janitorial attention.  

But not now.  

Today, we are writing.  

I get hugged every now and then. We are all smiling, contentedly munching chips.  

One child is writing a story about Anne of Green Gables.  In her world, Anne Shirley likes to camp.  She camps along with her computer, so she can work on her blog in the wilderness. 

“Just like us, Mom!  She has a blog!”

Small One also has been working, on a little toy laptop.  We thought the pink laptop would be the best Christmas gift of the year.  As it turns out, the thing was built with technology from the 1980’s.  Our kids’ hand held solar powered calculator from the dollar store is more exciting, and more sophisticated.  That’s what I get for spending $15.00 on a Black Friday Internet Special.  But they still like to play with it. 

“It’s fine Mom, I just leave it OFF.  My imagination works better.”  

The best thing about it is that it is silent.  

But she has had a busy morning already.  She made herself an Elsa costume, folding a crown out of aluminum foil.  Paper snowflakes flutter from her hands and are left behind on the floor, furniture, and everywhere.  “Elsa” also just finished a paper doll surgery…  It seems one of her poor paper dolls fell down today, and needed some surgical repair.  Painter’s tape worked well.  

The boys are completely overcome by Lego madness.  They emerge from their imaginations only when their stomachs hurt for food.  

“Luncheon, Mum?  Second breakfast?  Elevensies?”

And thus, the reverie is broken.  

They’re hungry again.

Time to make lunch.

I hope you enjoyed the peek into my kitchen today. 

Stay warm!

During vacation, some Chain Mail appeared at my house.

When I was little, Chain Mail meant a real letter in the mailbox out at the end of the driveway.  Exciting!  Rip open the envelope, eagerly expecting a birthday party invitation or a Publisher’s Clearinghouse win.  

Chain Mail.  Chain letters.  Send seven of your friends copies of this letter, include two sheets of stickers in each envelope, add your name and address to the bottom of the list, and mail within seven days.  At the end of the seventh week, you should receive seven million sticker sheets in the mail!  Riches beyond compare!  Letters to open from all over the world!  You can even start a used stamp collection!  Everyone will love you!  The neighbors will all wonder who that famous person is on the street that gets all that fan mail…

But if you don’t, you are doomed.  Terrible things will happen.  You will be struck by lightening.  Your hair will fall out.  You will regret it the rest of your days.  No one will ever ask you to your senior prom.  Just remember to photocopy this letter, and send it to seven of your dearest friends.  

Pyramid schemes for kids.  

I loved it and loathed it as a kid.  

But our Chain Mail is different.  

A sweet neighbor saves box tops and pop tops for one of my kids, who dreams of winning an ipad for turning in the most box tops at school.  He has a seven year plan for Box Top Domination in junior high.  Not kidding.  

Well, Genius Child found his pop top hoard. That’s when the Chain Mail started to appear.  Pop top Chain Mail.  Little Guy dreams of adding sleeves, and being impervious in his boyish battles. 

“Can swords really not get through it?  Even Sting from the Hobbit?  Will it have sleeves by today?”

This kind of Chain Mail is a definite win.

I have been very crummy with resolutions this year.  It is January 5th, and my New Year's Resolution to write every day, no matter what, has ended.  I wrote just once this year.  
I FAILED!  
I could be upset, but I'm not.  
I could be angry, but I'm not.  
I could be surprised or dismayed.  I am definitely not.  
I am quite accustomed to my habits and the way I work.  It's always dysfunctional.  
My work suffers because I am busy living life.  
And life is large. 
I can make all the New Year's Resolutions I want, but that won't change a thing.
There are still hungry mouths to feed, homework to help with, and laundry piling up like a Parisian Barricade in the hall.   
Resolutions, Revolutions...
They come and they go, don't they?  
But the sun still rises in the morning, and I'll be at the stove from 6 am to 6 pm.  
I'll probably be burning the chow, because I'll be thinking about writing.
But we're all used to that.
Maybe I should have resolved to be a better cook.
I could write about that.

2015.

A new year.

A clean slate.

An empty canvas.

What will I make of it?

It’s a thrilling feeling, holding a new canvas in my hands.  What will it be?  

I have ideas, of course.  I have plans…  But somehow, the final painting always ends up surprising me.  

Unexpected things happen.  For example, my last painting was nearly ready to go out the door.  Just needed one more coat of sealant, and it was done. 

But a small child couldn’t resist the shiny gold.  When no one was looking, three sweaty fingers reached out to swipe the smooth gilded surface on the lower half of the canvas.  Three stripes of sticky fingerprints remained,  dark streaks on the painting.  It took me another week to re-apply another layer of gold leaf, and finally finish the job.  

Life is like that.  Mistakes, back-steps, mending errors…  Often my days seem to be made up entirely of  “I didn’t plan it that way” events.  Good thing I have erasers and backup plans. 

2015 is a brand new chance to find love, joy and peace.  They are hidden away,  treasures waiting for us to find in the unexpected and quiet places of this world.  

I’m glad to share the discovery with you.

I blog at Downsideups.com on Fridays.   Click the image below to see today's full comic.

I wish you a cozy spot of your own, and may all your dreams come true.