You know what they say about baby books and third kids… The first kid has absolutely every detail of their first year documented. The second kid has about half that detail, and by the third kid, well you’re lucky to have the date of birth recorded. It’s not that Number 3 is any less loved, it’s just her parents are basically running on empty. Needless to say, Anna’s baby book is pretty empty too. But I don’t think there is anyone who would say that she hasn’t created some pretty amazing memories.

Anna was born on Memorial Day weekend. I used her impending birth to get out of a camping trip that my best friend (and Anna’s future Godmother) and I wanted to avoid. Let’s be honest, camping is amazing WITHOUT a two year old and a four year old. With them it’s simply transferring all the work from a nice clean house to a tent. So Cheryl and I kept ourselves busy watching kids run through the sprinkler instead of eating handfuls of dirt.

Good thing I didn’t go camping or Anna would have been born in Grand Bend, Ontario, Canada (although dual citizenship doesn’t sound all that bad at the moment). Instead she was born at dinner time in Grosse Pointe. Everyone who came into the birthing center assured me that based on the heartbeat, Anna was a boy (the odds were definitely in their favor). Of course they were all wrong, so when she was born we hadn’t decided on a girl’s name. It took a day or two to finally land on Anna and it was the aforementioned best friend who cast the deciding vote. It turned out to be the perfect name with so much potential for nick names -Anna Banana being the first and later Unstie (don’t know where that came from).

Anna spent the first year of her life observing her two older siblings – gathering information to be used once she got on her feet. She spent a lot of time in the bouncy chair taking mental notes for her future work of genius, Random Thoughts, among other things. Once she was mobile the fun began. She has been a constant source of hilarity. Here are a few examples:

April Fools day 1998ish – I stumbled down to make coffee early one morning. I grabbed the coffee pot and turned on the water to fill it up only to be squirted by the the sprayer she had rigged so that it would hit me directly in the face. I almost killed her except I was laughing too hard.

We took the girls to Washington and did the tour of the Capital. We got to the Vietnam War Memorial. Being raised in the 60s Russ and I were very moved by the flowers and boots and dog tags at the foot of the Memorial. Anna looked up at me and in all seriousness asked me which war happened first: Vietnam or the Civil War.

When we took the family to England we visited the Tower of London. There was a sign saying that it had been build in 1100. With a totally straight face Anna asked her sisters: If Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492, how could this be here? To which they reminded her that we were not in the US anymore. On that same trip all three girls managed to crack up the guards in front of Buckingham Palace by yelling ridiculous stuff at them until they couldn’t keep a straight face anymore.

Anna was a really good swimmer and spent some time in the USA swim program. I thought she really liked it because she never complained about early morning practices or weekend meets (well not that much). Her specialty was breaststroke. One day she came home from practice and announced that she was quitting. I asked her why. Mom, I can’t talk with my face in the water. Turns out she wasn’t getting enough social time. As was our deal, I made her finish the season. At one point she managed to “leap” into a wall in dance class which I believe was her way of trying to get out of swim practice early. Too bad our orthopedic doc (a family friend) thought she’d be devastated if she couldn’t swim so he made sure that she could take off her cast for practice. Anna was not happy.

Anna was a multitasker in high school. After she quit swimming, she took her dance expertise and combined it with cheerleading. I spent a few weekends at cheerleading competitions and watching her at football games. I also watched her on stage in community theatre and St. Ignatius theatre productions. Her dance recitals were always entertaining. In fact, one of our friends nicknamed her M.C. Anna.

Anna will be the first one to tell you that she charmed her way through high school. She also was in charge of getting herself to school on time which apparently she didn’t do very well. One day I got a call from the Vice Principal at the High School informing me that Anna was going to have to spend a Saturday detention because she had been late too many times. She was almost apologetic. All I could imagine was Anna ala Breakfast Club. I suggested that instead of making her sit with a bunch of other kids (read audience) that maybe she give her a toothbrush and have her clean the toilets. I’m pretty sure that the VP considered calling child protective services.

Russ started a new job in Cincinnati when Anna was going into her junior year.. We didn’t want her to have to change schools so I stayed back in Cleveland. It was really fun to have her all to myself for two years. We had a date night at Applebees every week. When the time came to drop her off at college, she couldn’t wait to get us out of her room. Anna is terrible at goodbyes. Needless to say, I was a little hurt. When I got home and climbed into bed I found her “mimi” aka her “blankie” under my pillow. Those are the kinds of things Anna does – how can you stay mad at her when she does that kind of stuff.

Time flies and it did with Anna too. She ended up in Chicago working. Her supervisor turned out to be her future husband, Mark. She did a stint at Second City where she honed her comedy while selling sponsorships for them. She moved to Denver, back to Chicago, and back to Denver. She got married and her rehearsal dinner featured 1970s costumes.

She has two kids now and it’s her turn to enjoy them everyday. I’m lucky to live 2.5 hours away from her and I love visits. She has an adorable dog, Ted (pictured above). She is an amazing friend, sister, daughter, mother, wife. She has found art and a nonprofit that allows her to use those talents in a compassionate way. She has a million friends. I am so proud of the woman she has become.

So Anna, Happy 40th birthday. I may not have a baby book to share with you, but I have a treasure trove of memories.

I woke up this morning thinking about my former students. They live all over the place: NYC, DC, Seattle, LA, Columbus, Cincinnati, Kentucky, Detroit, Dallas, St Louis, Paris, Aspen… well you get the picture.

Many of them work for nonprofit arts organizations which means, because that industry is shut down, they are at home wondering if their jobs are safe and whether they and their families will stay healthy.

It’s a weird relationship a professor has with her students, especially when they are thrown together daily for almost two years. During that time each “class” becomes a family of sorts. They eat together, study together, party together, piss each other off, and basically create relationships that resemble siblings. I was the house mother, career counselor, task master, financial advisor, and probably also called some other things I don’t want to know about. But the bottom line is that I came to love those quirky, brilliant humans.

Now here I sit wondering how they are all doing. I hope they are ok. I pray that their families are okay. I see some of them on Instagram – one has a new puppy, one a new baby, one a new job, one is getting married. I wish I had them all back in the classroom so I could tell them how proud I am of what they have accomplished and let them know that our time together meant the world to me. I’d also tell them I wish we could go back to a simpler time when the biggest worry was writing that stupid fake grant proposal or getting the development/marketing plan finished so they could graduate.

Time slips by, lives move on, and pandemics force us to stop and think about the students who helped us grow as humans. If you are out there CCM Arts Admin, check in and let me know you’re ok. I’m worried about you.

After more than a generation of a culture that idealized individualism and said selfish greed was good, the coronavirus is forcing us to evaluate whether that is what we want to be as a government, and as a nation.

Heather Cox Richardson, March 18, 2020

I read this blog yesterday morning from Jack’s Place, the residence built by the Shaw Regional Cancer Center for cancer patients and their caregivers. This center was constructed because many of the patients who received care there could not afford hotel rooms in Vail on top of the other expenses associated with a cancer diagnosis. The tipping point was when the founding director stumbled on one of them sleeping in his car.

What happened next is beautiful. A group of caring people made Jack’s Place happen. They didn’t do it because there was anything in it for them, they did it because it was the right thing to do.

How many times in the last few years have we seen the exact opposite? Partisanship and greed have chipped away at the morals of this nation (and world) and created a very ugly place. It needs to change and if nothing else good comes out of this pandemic, perhaps it will make each of us look closely at our priorities and decide what is right – regardless of whether there is anything in it for ourselves.

We have time now to slow down and reflect on what is important. Is it the big house, the big salary, the next cool gadget? Or is it reaching out to the “guy sleeping in the car” and giving him a place to stay while he undergoes cancer treatment. Are we teaching our children to respect others, the environment, themselves? Or are we encouraging them “to be # 1” regardless of the consequences.

For too long we have lived in an ultra competitive, every man for himself world. This culture is reinforced by our politics, our sports, our media, our entertainment, and even by our friendships. Keeping up in the workplace and in the neighborhood is a way of life. Now would be a good time to stop.

I realize that we have a whole host of issues to confront. For now, since we are all homebound, let’s start with our neighborhoods. How can we reach out to the folks who have lost their jobs, have no childcare, don’t have enough to eat, are sick without healthcare, are alone? Is there someone like that in your neighborhood? Can you find a way to help?

And how about all that “stuff”? Do we really need it? Is there someone else who needs it more? And that job promotion – is it really more important than being with our families and watching our kids and grandkids grow up healthy and happy? Why not plant a garden and share some of the food instead of spend all our weekends making sure our lawns are perfect. Let’s take a walk and breathe in the air and remind ourselves that we have to take care of our planet if we want our grandkids to be able to do the same.

I fully admit that I am guilty of all of the striving, getting, and needing of which I write. But this quiet time is forcing me, and I hope you, to think about what it will be like “after.” As one of the comments on the blog I referenced above said: how we deal with this pandemic will define us forever.

Seth Avett posted this in Instagram today. He read my mind. https://www.instagram.com/p/B99Wv9Gn1jl/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

Don’t ask me how I got myself into this, but I’m taking a drawing class with “real” artists. One of them, my new friend, Conrad, convinced me that I could do it.  She should go into sales.

So, there I was standing in a “real artist’s” studio with people who actually know what they are doing introducing myself and telling them that I had absolutely no talent.

It’s not about talent they kept telling me.  So then what is it about?

Our teacher, Jude, pulled out the definition of “draw.”  What the heck, it doesn’t say anything about putting a pencil to paper until about the fourth definition.  Here’s the first one:

Draw: to bring, take, or pull out, as from a receptacle or source.

Okay, I thought, maybe there’s something to this no talent thing.

As we set up our paper and chalk I could feel my heart beating.  Then we started.  As soon as my chalk hit the paper a huge lump began to form in my throat.  Where did that come from, I thought.  Then my friend Maartje came to mind… and her twin sister. I remembered the text she sent me as she sat beside her dying sister. “Saskia just passed away peacefully.  I held her hand.  It was just her and me, just like we came into this world.  She looks beautiful.”

I started to draw.  I drew a circle with a line through it.  I drew the dark and the light – the here and the not here – and all the time, I wept.  I wept for Maartje and Saskia.  I wept for my friends who have lost children, grandchildren, beloveds. I wept for myself and the loss of my parents.  I wept for the time lost that cannot be recovered. Mostly I wept because I know that I have moved into a time in life when these kinds of loses will become more frequent.

And then I smiled – because as I drew I saw the oneness of all of it. I thought about a verse from the Bhagavad Gita: ‘Never was there a time when I did not exist, or you, or these kings; nor will there come a time when we cease to be.’

Maartje has lost her sister, but they are still together because they share the same deep history.  The same will be true as I face the inevitable loss of more friends and family.

 This art stuff isn’t at all what I thought it was. I think I’ll take some tissues with me next time.  Who knows what will come up… we’re painting this week.

April 1, 1978, 6:30AM 

Me:  I think I’m in labor.

Russ:  (Accompanied by uproarious laughter) Sure you are.  Good one.

Me:  I’m not kidding

Russ:  Not falling for it.  I’m no April fool.

April 1, 1978, 11:52PM

Me:  I told you I was in labor.

Although I have had many April Fool’s day jokes played on me since then (including one by Anna involving a rubber band and a kitchen sink sprayer that will go down in history), my favorite joke that turned out not to be a joke was your birth.  This is your birthday – your 40^thbirthday. And that’s no joke.

You arrived on an unusually sunny, warm day.  Your baby personality was the same.  Easy going, happy, and except for a bazillion earaches, healthy.  You were just the kind of kid to break in a 24-year-old mom who had no idea what she was doing.

Here are a few of the things that I remember about being your mom:

You were the first baby on both sides and much adored by your grandparents and (lucky you) your great-grandparents.  You also had the great good fortune of looking just like your dad – which added to your mystique on his side of the family.  Why is it that moms go through pregnancy, delivery, nursing etc… and the kid ends up looking like the dad?

Your first road trip at about 3 months old was a tour of Michigan with your future in-laws, husband, and us.  No we didn’t plan it quite that far in advance, but more about that later.  We toured Mackinaw Island on bikes, and despite all my best efforts, you got your first sunburn.  I felt like the worst mom in the world and I learned that sunscreen must be reapplied hourly.

You survived the next several years, in spite of me and with the addition of two sisters, who added to the general chaos.  Through all of it, you were still a happy little kid.

Your first sentence was “helping Daddy.”  Again, why not “helping mommy?”

When we asked you at age 5 what you wanted to be when you grew up you told us that you wanted to be the first female major league baseball player.  It’s good to have goals.

Now things were not always perfect.  I specifically remember that after about a week of asking you what you had done in school and getting your favorite answer, “nothing,” I walked in on you telling Dad that he had to do something about me because I was “driving you nuts with all the questions.”

Life in Cleveland was a blur of activities, bomber runs, Girl Scout meetings (including the famous “overnight” at the Holiday Inn) and sailing. You were also getting ready for Jr. High… Ugh – I hated those years.  They were the “grunge” years – flannels, crap jeans, mean girls, 14-year-old angst – and I still hadn’t gotten the hang of asking the right questions.

Something happened around that time – You found theatre and a world where you flourished.  I remember seeing your first play in Jr. High.  Dad leaned over at one point and whispered, “Who’s that kid, she’s good?”  It was you. You had transformed into your character so well that he didn’t recognize you.  You were good.

The theatre and the friends you made there carried you through your high school years.  You shone while you were on stage.  You found people who thought like you – who got it. When it came time for college, you headed off to CCM to pursue “the dream.”  We were so proud of you and so terrified that you would join the legions of talented actors who never got a job.

Four years, a ton of work and graduation found you in NYC living “the dream.”  Dropping you off at your apartment in New York for the first time was the hardest thing I ever did.  As I got into the taxi to head to the airport I cried harder than when I dropped you off at college.  The guy sitting next to me in the plane must have thought someone died.

Not long after you got to New York, I got “the call.”  You just didn’t have the passion to make it in the business.   Okay – so now what?  Well, you had been working at a boutique hotel, so you thought you might try that. You took the “back office job” doing something called dynamic pricing and it turned out to be a perfect place for your talents. Who woulda’ thought that an actor and an excel spread sheet could make such beautiful music together?

Fast-forward a few of years, some very fun family Christmases in the City, a really bad boyfriend, and a move to Chicago.  Now all three sisters were in the same city.  This was a golden era for “the Rents.”  We could drive 5 hours and spend time with all three of our girls, new grandbabies and enjoy the fun Chicago scene.  It was like New York, but with wider, cleaner streets.  You were so happy to be with your sisters again – and to be Auntie Em. I think spending time with the nieces prepared your for what was in your future.

Now flash back to the trip you took when you were 3 months old with your future in-laws.  Here’s the rest of the story:  30 years later, the Yingers (future-in-laws), were ready to retire and chose Buena Vista, Colorado as their retirement destination.  Our families stayed in touch for all those years after college and we decided it would be fun to have a two-family reunion, dubbed Schningerfest.  Everyone showed up. Long story short, a couple of years later, you and Ben got married in a joyous wedding attended by friends from all over the country and Canada too.  Now there are 5 more young Schningers attending Schningerfest.  Chaos has moved out of our house and into yours.  So much for the peaceful single life.

Over time you found an outlet for your creativity in crafting.  You can make anything – and often you are working on a project while you are on a conference call for work (how do you do that?).  You are still in the hotel business – now consulting from home (with five kids, how do you do that too?).  You direct plays at your church and you are an amazingly patient mom. I’m pretty sure you ask all the right questions too.

It is so lovely to watch the trajectory of your child’s life.  You have made your dreams come true.  The only thing that would make it better for me would be having you closer. But overall, seeing you with your babies, beloved by your husband and living a life full of friends and meaningful work makes me very happy.

So Em, on your 40^thbirthday, one last thing:  Remember when you told me you hadn’t taken a bite out of the cake even though you had chocolate icing all over your face?  This time, use a fork.

April 1, 2018

Me:  Happy birthday my lovely child.  Thank you for making me a mom.  I love you.