As we get to the end of the Jacaranda’s blooming season, I realize I will miss the way my garden looks bathed in small purple flowers.  I will miss the cool breezes of spring and the gloom of June.  I will miss what was, but I look forward to all that will be.

“When one is in a hole, the first order of business is to stop digging.”

South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford

Throughout, imbalance seems to be permeating my life. In my relationships, in my work, in my home, health, and in my thoughts. I can handle the work imbalance, for ultimately, I have control over that. I can handle my time and thought imbalances, for I know that those can be corrected. But when it comes to relationships, the issue gets cloudy. Sticky. Personal. Emotional.

First, let me say that I get the issues (for the most part). I am not one of “those” that lives life only aware of my own beliefs and ways, my own problems, or my own rules and regulations. Often times, I am the first to jump in and argue an opposing opinion, side, or way, well, just because someone has to. Or because there should be one. But when it comes to my kids and their emotional world? That’s where the line blurs.

Contrary to popular culture and parenting, my kids have grown up knowing that life is not fair. That there are those that have and those that have not. That there are winners and losers. And without ever defining for them what side they are on, they do know that everything will not go their way and that there will be people who let them down and let them go along the way. We do not live in a Polyanna world. That being said, I am also fiercely protective of my kids, trying my best to guide them through each life lesson, each triumph, each disappointment, so that they come out better and stronger for having experienced it.

But to have an imbalance of expectations in a relationship where one side seems to have an emotional attachment and the other does not, and does not necessarily do anything to foster that, much less support or protect it? Well, that is just recipe for disaster. And while disaster may be something that happens in life, if I can prevent my boys from having to experience it, then I damn well will.

Life is not fair. No one is perfect. No situation, job, school, or neighborhood is perfect. No family is perfect. Some kids have no parents. Some have one. Some have two that are still together. Some have two that are divorced. Regardless of situation – whether biological, step, foster, adoption, or some mix of it all, any child that is in a home with love, support and a positive adult influence is ahead of the game. So focus on that. Rather than the lack. Because if you focus on the lack, on what is not present, then so will your kids. And damn it, there is enough scarcity in our world right now. What we all need is nourishment of ‘enough.’ And there is enough love. Regardless of whether or not you are willing to teach your kids that. Regardless of whether or not you believe that. Regardless. There will always be enough love. And my kids have it in spades.

Fortunately, they are still kids. And unlike adults, their hearts don’t hold onto disappointment for long. They only still want to know love. To be loved. And to give love. With no agenda. Their outlook on life and others is truly something to be emulated. I hope I have the courage that they do – to let go. And to love. Knowing that life is not fair.

Often times there is so much energy going out, taking care of others – making sure others are tended to, cared for, fed, validated, lifted up, cleaned up, and good to go – that all that is left for me is time to quickly swoop in, grab a crumb and fly away before someone else grabs the table. 

During a reaching-out-and-listen-to-me-as-I-have-my-own-pity-party conversation, my dear friend, Kim, nailed it on the head. “You are depleted. Totally empty,” she wisely stated with a kind and tender tone so as to know that she was there to give, not to take anything more away. And as I sat in silence, feeling a tear roll down my cheek, I realized she had heard me, felt where I was. I was so grateful I could not speak. “Find someone or something, anything, that fills you up. That does not take anything from you. Put yourself first today, tomorrow and the next day, and replenish.” And I did.  The first thing I did was cancel commitments, said no to time constraints, and kissed my boys as they left for grandma’s house with Keith. I met and caught up with another dear friend that I had not seen in far too long.  I called another that seemed to have slipped through the cracks of the day to day routine. Kim kept texting me, checking in, “cheering” me on throughout the day.

The next morning, I ran the local hiking trails with my trail running buddy – and felt stronger after! I took a nap. I went to a party and met new people. I slept late the next morning. I watched three movies, weeping and laughing and crying through the tears during each one. I took another nap. I filled the house with fresh food and flowers. I played my music. It was all truly cathartic. By the time the weekend was done and my kids were home from their grandmother’s house, I was full again and ready to give. To them, to friends, to family, to you. Thank you, Kim, for giving back to me.

A favorite gathering spot for young and old alike, the clear rushing water into a beautiful pond, playful fountains and well placed resting rocks are where humans and turtles converge. Hundreds and hundreds of turtles vie for attention, a warm rock, a bit of food, and your attention, swimming in a veritable Turtle Soup.

As the Lakers move into game four of the NBA finals, one embarrassing moment from five years ago is being retold and relived by my kids over and over. My only choice is to sit back and blush…

My kids and I pulled into a local gas station to fill up the car and get snacks. They stayed buckled in the car (doors open and windows down) while I ran inside to find something healthy for them to eat. Once inside, I quickly made my selections, got in line and waited. And waited. And waited. The cashier was too busy engaging the customer in front of me to do his job. Looking outside dramatically at my kids in the car, I tried to appear pressed for time, but not rude. I was not succeeding. I was also too frustrated and rushed to listen in on their conversation. The cashier finally whipped out a paper and pen and asked the man in front of me for his autograph. I could no longer keep quiet and jumped into their conversation…if for no other reason than to let the cashier know I was there, waiting.

To this very tall, athletically handsome African American man, I blurted out, “What, are you a famous basketball player or something?” He smiled, I think. Probably at the gall of this exchange (again, it was meant as an innocent question, just so I could find a way to pay for my kids’ snacks). “Actually, yes,” he replied. “Oh!” Not the answer I was expecting, then “Would you please come and say hi to my two boys? They are in the car – and they love to play basketball.” He agreed and we left the cashier inside with my unpaid pile of snacks on the counter.

The minivan doors were completely open so it was easy for the boys to have a conversation from their buckled seats with this “famous basketball player or something.”

“Boys, this man is a famous basketball player, um,” I hesitated, as I did not know his name. I looked at him and he could see what I was searching for. “Lamar Odom,” he said. “Omar Lodom,” I repeated quickly to make sure the boys heard him.

“Kendall plays basketball, Omar,” I said and watched as he bent his tall frame down to their height and engaged them in conversation. Which ended with, “It’s Lamar.”

“May we have your autograph?” I was so excited to add it to my collection – which consisted solely of a Shaq signed basketball. He agreed and more than graciously occupied my kids in basketball conversation while I hunted for something to write on. I eventually found a blank card and a pen and handed it to him, thanking him.

“Now you can tell your coach you have met Omar Lodom!” I excitedly said to my two boys who were deeply enthralled with this man. “It’s Lamar, ma’am,” he corrected me again, nicely. It must have been the “ma’am” thing that threw me (I’m much to young to be a ma’am!) as I did it again, soooo not on purpose. “Thank you Omar, for talking with my kids.” Then to the boys, “Won’t it be exciting to tell your coach you met Omar Lodom?” My boys shook their heads yes, shook Omar’s hand, and thanked him profusely.

And as though he wanted my boys to get the significance of this moment in their brief basketball careers, he put is hand on the mini van roof, leaned in a bit closer to my kids and said slowly, “Boys, tell your coach you met, Lamar Odom. Lamar. Odom.” Kendall and Kamden smiled, realizing I had been mispronouncing his name over and over. Lamar smiled back at them as though part of a conspiracy. I blushed. Apologized. And thanked him for the autograph and for his time. And apologized and blushed, again.

Driving away and chattering about who we just met, we realized that Kendall’s favorite two hats were a Clippers hat with ODOM written on the front and back and a Miami Heat cap with Odom on the back. The latter of which had been worn out and retired. It was not until that moment that we all made the connection. And the boys were mortified. As was I. But in that moment I was so appreciative of how graciously the “famous basketball player or something” handled himself and this housewife driving a minivan with two young kids buckled in their booster seats.

The next day there was an article in the paper. Lamar Odom had just signed with the Los Angeles Lakers. “No way!” My boys exclaimed. As I read the details of his deal, I realized this might have been one reason he was in such a generous mood with the cashier, with me, and with the boys. The other being that he is indeed kind and giving.

This story lives on in my household even though my kids have stopped playing basketball and turned to soccer, baseball and fencing. Basketball may roll around for them again, but until then, we are adamant Lakers fans and in particular we root for our friend, Omar Lodom, err, Lamar Odom. Go Lamar! Go Lakers!