A tale of two boys

My feet are staring at me and they are the size of Italian subs. I just got released from my bed and waddled over to the bathroom to have a quick cleanup. I labored for 20 hours or so and had a C-section anyway as my cervix wasn’t quite ready for the early blood pressure compelled induction… but I birthed a son. We have a son. His name is Jameson Conrad and he is magnificent. The scar from my C section hurts, but the joy in my heart trumps all adversity. We never thought this day would come. James always kept the faith, but I had moved on from imagining this was possible after year after year of being childless. God had other plans for us though…a beautiful young man named John Joseph walked into our lives after the death of his mom, his only parent, and we were catapulted in a new direction and thankfully so. I ended up with two soulmates and a perspective forever changed.

We assessed the route of adoption a few years back and filled out a home-study, which is one of the more invasive things you can do, but also a cool exploratory experiment for you and your partner to unlock all the topics you never really talked about. Under scrutiny and for a lot of money you get social workers to assess if you’re capable of being parents. In the midst of getting on the waiting list to adopt a baby, we met JJ. He lived in our town, only growing up about a mile from us. He frequented our church and even our bank and yet our paths never crossed. We had an informal meet and greet and decided very quickly that we would be a family. This 14 year-old child had lost his only parent and deserved a place to safely land.

One of those old adages says make plans and God laughs and it’s true. We ran headfirst into this undertaking, imagining it would be peachy, believing love would be enough, but our special guy needed some support that we weren’t able to provide. We navigated trauma, grief and loss together and travelled to the darkest caverns, but we had each other. We slowly unraveled and got to a desperate point of needing external support to keep ourselves and this beautiful boy safe. I know regardless of the outcome looking different than anticipated, that he was meant to find us, and us him. As a culture, we definitely need to be more honest and open about families, living in crisis and navigating the sector of disability. I have much to say on that and will continue to investigate this critical space. But today is a happy tale because John is doing so well on his healing road. He is the most resilient and transformative figure I’ve ever met and changed our world and worldview. There are no mistakes.

When John left home to get some more support, grief filled my soul…he was not dead, but to me he was not there either. A few months later I went for routine check up as us ladies have to do. A miracle happened; our precious miracle. My doctor said that she saw something on the screen and I giggled because for years there was nothing on the screen. In my stubbornness I never actually tested for fertility, not quite wanting the truth to be revealed. The pregnancy test was positive. We were going to have a baby eight years into our marriage.

We found out the gender because being pregnant was enough of a surprise and settled on the name Jameson, son of James. James never gave up faith that we would have a baby. I myself had surrendered to God that I just wanted our boy John Joseph to be safe. I did not need to give birth. I would be JJ’s soul mom and I would be my beautiful niece’s cool aunt and it would be enough. But by the grace of God we are here. On June 22 a delicate little life joined us with beautiful beaming eyes, a sweet smile, and a full head of hair. I pray he has my grandfather’s heart. We’re over the moon with a chance to love not one but two remarkable boys. We are humbled by the chance to parent the child of our flesh and love the child of our soul who found us. Families don’t always look the same and we didn’t have an easy road. There were no guarantees that life would be fair but here we are, and there is joy.

For everyone still navigating childlessness and trying desperately to find a way to make the dream of motherhood come true, I hold space for you. I have sat in your seat for nearly a decade. My prayer for you is that if a baby is not birthed by you that a life is meant still to be loved by you. Your dream might be disguised in a traumatized teen, or a precious niece who rewrite your story and adjust your sails. Motherhood is not made one size fits all. We mother how we can, we mother where there is a need, we mother the miracles that we find thrust upon us, and we mother the miracles we make.

Love Francesca, James, JJ & Jameson

Lenten reflections

40 days and 40 nights. While I wasn’t in a desert, I tried, really tried, to recalibrate my relationship with technology and devices. The sound of my husband’s “Did you hear what I said,” repeating in my psyche. I moved my body almost every day, thanks to my accountability partner, Rosie. I ate all things still but only had carb loaded faves like pizza on Fridays. A small victory of caloric sorts. As is my gift or potentially my curse, I tried to glean some learning from the practice…

Easter goodies ready for their close-up. All recipes via cookingwithnonna.com

During my personal social media hiatus ( granted I still used the tools for work) I identified a few things. Social media bombards the senses of sight and hearing. (This statement is not meant to exclude individuals with sensory impairments by any means so hear me out…) Social media platforms are highly suggestive in that they completely collapse all time and context and flood your eyes and ears with suggestions. Suggestions about how you should be, what you should wear, who you should strive to emulate, what song you have to listen to, why you should have already had a baby. The list is unending. Collective sourcing of suggestions can be very helpful and rewarding. At the very least it is quick. But in our consumption of these visual and auditory suggestions, we underutilize the senses that allow more personal agency: smell, taste and touch. These sensory experiences are accessible to more people and to me feel more egalitarian in nature. What’s that smell? Decide for yourself. How does it taste? Decide for yourself. How does this feel to you? Decide for yourself. Watch this if you ever forget out how wondrous the wind feels. Just try as best is possible to decide for yourself in a culture that is all too comfortable deciding for you at every juncture.

This is no assault on social media. I love it, and use it, and need it to some extent but I wanted to take a bird’s eye view of something that does occupy a lot of my time. Awareness is important even if we end up in the same place after our Lenten experiment of sorts. But, I’m going to put the phone aside, sit in the yard, smell some morning dew and drink a coffee while the cardinals visit as often as possible.

Quiet is so underrated. So is boredom. I have an urgent need to fill every moment of every day for fear of what my mind may come up with if I am not occupied. What will percolate in my brain when idol? But I learned I should be more fearful of what won’t manifest if I never give myself the space to just be. 

I consumed books and podcast content that the mainstream masses are trying to remove or silence. Now this can be a polarizing take on the matter, but consider it if you will. I am intelligent and self aware enough to read something and discern for myself if it is potentially dangerous to my mind or the world as I know it. I need not be coddled by Amazon or the influencer virtue signaling warriors deciding what I should or should not have access to. The free exchange of ideas and open discourse is a tenet of a liberal society and I fear the day when all discourse will be moderated by forces that don't represent the common person.

I went to confession for the first time in 15 years or so. It’s healing to pour out your fears and innermost plague of worry. Find a safe place to bear your wounds and let them shine in the light of day. Didn’t your parents ever tell you that bandaids aren’t good for your bruised elbow in perpetuity? Air that shit out.

Sometimes when you do get what you ask for it can feel overwhelming. Or you try paint it negatively because you feel as if you don’t deserve what you have. Eckhart Tolle says it’s the ego. I dipped my toes into new waters and am quieting the voice that says “well do you really belong here.” I had some really fun opportunities styling food with two ladies I admire very much: Rossella Rago and Hadley Hauser. I had met both of them earlier in my career if we can call fumbling through life a career, and the cyclical nature of these friendships and how they have evolved is just really swell.

Hadley at work! I got to assist her on two shoots! She is also newly married!

I spent more time fortifying connections IRL and having uncomfortable conversations. First impressions are fine and all, but report back after months of peeling back a new friend’s layers. Highly recommend.

Life goes on even if you don’t document it. But documenting it is fun too. Dare I say moderation in all things.

Lastly, there is never enough time; goodbye is but temporary thankfully. Rest in eternal peace Jack Pricken and Karen Wyant. You will live on in those who love you.

Social Hour

I attempted to unplug for the day and broke that resolution the minute I Instagram storied from my semi-monthly brunch with a dear friend Molly, at our most favorite spot, Raymond’s in Montclair, NJ. Although we don’t work together in that sweet little house on Park Street for years now, we have been diligent in maintaining our sisterhood. Same place, every other month or so, a corner booth, hot cappuccino for her, iced for me, over easy for her, scrambled for me, butter for her, butter and jam for me.  There are animated giggles, angst balanced by joy, and cold home fries because we just have so much to say that we can’t quite finish the food in its “hot” window. I surely can’t unplug now as I feverishly type from another cafe, brimming with thoughts from our two plus hours of being immersed in one another. 

Molly always graciously shares her wisdom and assurance with me, I share with her my latest frenzy or accomplishment. We are quite possibly mirror images of one another born in different times. Catholic-raised, anxiety-ridden, maternal, a little rebellious, introspective, deeply feeling, and bearers of smiles on the outside even when we are hurting on the inside. Per usual we dove to great depths covering topics like social comparison, shame, guilt, and fear. She had recently taken herself off a few social platforms as they were not serving her in a productive and healthy way. And while my job is precisely to reside in this strange digital world, I can’t quite disagree with her choice. I think it was a prudent practice in self care. She asked how I can subject myself to reading and digesting all of this highly polarizing and evocative content on a daily basis. Image after image, narrative after narrative. “Isn’t your brain fatigued from all of these perspectives?” she said. “Whose truth is actual truth because yours is surely different than mine. And why should anyone else's perception be superior?” Preach, Molly. 

I am endlessly seeking information from the outside in. Social cues, suggestions from media, family and peers, and mandates from thought leaders set the pace for my day. Quite frankly, it is tiring to react every moment of every day. To attach uncessecarily to the plot that unravels around me, I become a character in a play I never auditioned for. I compare my uncut footage to someone's highlight reel, or worse I portray a highlight reel for fear of sharing what is imperfect. Sometimes, most times, it is a monologue of my own vicious making. “Words are powerful,” she said, “and we are most harsh when speaking to ourselves.” Right again she was. 

During our social hour, Molly shared with me wonderful, personal news. Yes, you heard right. We exchanged news in person, face to face, not via a screen. We touched hands and celebrated. We chatted about gender bias, podcasts, how to establish routines, how challenging it can be to exercise first thing in the morning, and her position on television. Words are powerful. Best we share ours thoughtfully with people deserving of them, and disengage when it all gets to be too much.

It's been so long since last we met

Struggling into Union Station with heavy bags on each arm, circulation ceasing in my wrists, I tiredly said "dinner for just one." I said it as if I was apologizing, or maybe I was saddened that my company from the weekend prior would not be joining me. But to my great surprise the maitre d' smiled warmly and said , "Not just one. One is as significant as one hundred." That resonated with me. I proudly ate quietly, alone. One is just as significant as one hundred. 

"It's been so long since last we met..." That was the beginning of our Fight Song as students at Georgetown and after attending my five year reunion, I realize now it will be my fight song indefinitely. Once a Hoya, always a Hoya. Groups of older individuals gathered excitedly, impeccably dressed in Lilly Pulitzer or Vineyard Vines (some things never change) , and they chuckled, posed for selfies in front of the John Carroll statue, and explored all the ways in which the Georgetown they had once attended changed, yet remained the same. 

I was anxious to attend the reunion. I hadn't been back for any Homecoming, for whatever reason. Perhaps I feared social comparison. There was an air of competition and social climbing in the business school, I won't deny that, so I wondered how I would measure up to my peers. How would they perceive me? Do I look ok? Gosh, how vain but these were the recurring themes. I felt until recently a level of resentment towards higher learning because the world I had envisioned as a senior in college, a world of promise and opportunity, was not the world I experienced as a young professional. I realize now my blame was poorly conceived but at that point in time I felt quite lost. My professors said the world needed my gifts, they said I could make an impact, they said I could help others... I've come to a place now where I am able to do those things in a very tangible way working in the human services sector. For other young idealists entering the workforce I would say to be patient and gentle with yourself, set realistic expectations, and bring your ministry wherever you are whether it be filing paper, getting coffee, serving in the Peace Corps or presenting in the Board Room.

At the class party some insecurities bubbled to the surface despite convincing myself that I would not be affected by the same pulls of my undergraduate self. But I reconnected with my dear friend Maria who shares may values and moderate neurosis, and we navigated the space together. She helped me to blossom a little more fully that night and to embrace the experience. So did the whiskey sour. From there I saw and embraced one after another of my old acquaintances, some I had stayed in touch with and others sadly I had not. But the fervor was the same and we picked up as if no time had passed. A beautiful tradition at Georgetown is that the 50 year reunion class sponsors the 5 year reunion class party and they attend it alongside the younger people.  With their generosity we were able to attend a glorious affair in the sprawling Andrew Mellon Auditorium, an opportunity not all of us could have afforded at this time in our early careers. It was a testament to the camaraderie that Georgetown has engendered  and the sense of belonging a Hoya feels whether they are 25 or 65 years old. I was grateful to share compelling discussion with others, and some giddy dialogue about food, relationships, and the consistent theme of still trying to figure it all out. A few people shared wonderful words of encouragement about my writing, and commented on my spirit and energy as an undergraduate. They said I had not changed. My hair cut and smile have remained. While self esteem should come from within, these moments did make my heart feel warm. To know you have been able to make an impact, even a small one, is a beautiful gift.

I sat in on a lecture called "The Problem of God Revisited". As freshmen at a Jesuit institution religion classes are a requirement. My first class five years back being none other than "The Problem of God" was a class unlike what you would envision a religion course to be in a Catholic school. It investigated many faiths and invited the discourse of thinkers in other faith and non-faith based traditions. Classes like these have, I believe, helped to inspire tolerance and understanding while still enforcing the importance of understanding thyself and figuring out how and if faith serves personal needs. For me, my reliance on faith was reaffirmed by these words. "Mercy is the willingness to become involved in the chaos of another person." The presentor, Father Steck said this a few times for emphasis. Everyone can show mercy, regardless of your creed. The world needs mercy, desperately.

“Mercy is the willingness to become involved in the chaos of another person.”

What stands out in my mind as a benefit to having received a Jesuit education is the underlying tradition to act for the Greater Glory of God, Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam. The invitation if not mandate to to be merciful. To find the fractured parts of the world and identify the individuals on the periphery so that we can dedicate our passion and our energy to make their burdens less. 

There was a lot of love that weekend. I was pleasantly surprised to feel the same pull and enthusiasm at the Healy Gates as when I first began school. Even though my time as a student has passed, my duty as a Hoya has not. It was also comforting to know I still had a home on the Hilltop. I stayed with dear friends in Virginia and we ate at Filomena's together, the place where I met my husband. It has been years since I ate there and all of my friends greeted me with the same warmth as when I was a hostess in my cummerbund and clunky black clogs. And the food, gosh the food is still magnificent. There is love poured into every gnocco, and that is apparent. Chocolate Caramel Turtle Cheesecake. Yes.

I brunched with pals from the business school and we laughed like we hadn't in years. I wandered and ate with my darling friend who recruited me to join Best Buddies my freshman year. She has since been in my wedding and will undeniably be in my life forever more. I met a remarkable Hoya, Theresa, who was celebrating her 35th reunion. She didn't look a day over thirty but that is neither here nor there. She sat with me at a social as I was all alone and in true Hoya fashion, our worlds aligned. She works in financial planning for families of children with special needs. Her sons happen to have autism and we shared ideas about our roles, she as a mother and financial planner, me as an advocate and non-profit professional. The hilltop brought us together and I know we will share ideas and hopes for a more inclusive world in years to come. 

There was shopping on M Street and Wisconsin Avenue, blistered feet and purchase of new shoes, ice cream from Thomas Sweets,  quiche and chai from Baked and Wired followed by a glorious cupcake from Baked and Wired, obviously. Then I ate all alone in Union Station, but one is as significant as one hundred.

Hoya Saxa, until next time Georgetown. 

What I learned in 2015

With alarming quickness this year has come and gone. In 2015 I entered into the second quarter century of my life, began working in the non-profit sector with remarkable individuals, and became a wife. A few things I learned along the way...

I learned that sisters do not have to share the same parents. You can be fortunate to find  friends so dear that you look to them as family. The label of a friend is not nearly momentous enough. I also learned I'll be gaining a brother this upcoming September, and he has already given our family such love.

I learned that spanx work wonders when you're wearing an ivory gown, navy blue cowboy boots make fine footwear for a wedding, edible favors are the best favors, and whiskey and beer beat an extensive bar list for the right crowd. 

Two words: Vegan Chili. 

I learned that there remains in me, despite my knowing better, a fixation with the illusion of perfection. Maybe because perfection is celebrated and applauded. As a people, we flock to what is beautiful and pristine. And together.  We are drawn to people that present an air of ease, pride, and confidence.  But, we only see a small part of the picture. The Facebook version of our existence is a dreadfully unrealistic one. And we see what we choose to see.  I have learned it is a worthy undertaking to see the wholeness in us through the broken glass. The beauty in our fragile state, and the love that seeps from our words and deeds.  The unkempt homes, unconventional relationships, anxieties, and extra pounds. The poor self esteem, problematic skin, unforeseen challenges, and burdens. When we stop comparing, the only thing left is the right thing. We are already enough.

I learned Basic Sign Language, and how to communicate with individuals who are both deaf and blind, using tactile signing. In my ignorance I had not known someone could be both deaf and blind as I had never experienced it before. I also work with individuals who have intellectual and developmental disabilities, complex medical and behavioral support needs, or a combination of disabilities.  These individuals have interests like you or I, give back to the community, and hold jobs. They wrap presents for inclusion, make decor for holiday parties, pack lunches, attend mass, and sing Christmas carols. They have inspired me in a formative way, and not because I look at them as lesser, but rather because we live in a world that is geared towards those with access to all of their senses and a range of abilities. Regardless of barriers to participation, these individuals are vital members of their communities, they contribute, and they deserve every opportunity any other person is afforded. It is our duty as a civilization to ensure access to these opportunities for everyone, regardless of the differences that divide us. These peers of mine have taught me more than most able bodied and able minded ever will.  Now look me in the eye, and tell me this is not their power. 

If you have any interest in supporting quality programs for these individuals, I welcome you to make a contribution to our Holiday Campaign. 

I learned that when I am critical of myself it overflows into my judgement of others. I judge more harshly and peer with critical eyes when I am feeling inadequate; maybe this is a survival mechanism. If I am in a deep well, I am pulling someone else down with me? But what I have learned is It would be fortuitous for everyone to begin with self love and acceptance.  When we are in touch with our worth, it is easier to accept others.  They deserve our best. And we do too.

I learned what it feels like to be on screen thanks to the timeless craftsmanship of Shane Kress. And what it is to have my written work shared on a larger scale than this digital space of mine

We celebrated our reception in an charming, historic mansion: The Oakeside. 

I learned that a state of mind has very little to do with the state of affairs. Inwardly we can be in shambles, yet to others we seem typical and unfazed. I also know that having everything from a tangible perspective does not correlate to peace of mind.

It is ok to be pleased with an uncomplicated life, to relish in the simple. To look the rat race in the face and say NO, I am not going to participate no matter how alluring the cheese smells. 

All cakes, favors, planning, and venue decor by 2SweetLLC.

I learned that the most vulnerable, the cast out, and the people who are last in line are the keepers of what is important.   

I felt what it was like for time to be suspended for a day. I walked down an aisle in a quaint Franciscan church before my family, friends and the heavenly Father himself, and walked away from the altar a wife. 

I developed a taste for Rum punch, leapt off a cliff in Jamaica, and had my very first massage. I also had my second massage. It was a good year indeed.

I said good bye to two women who were fighters to the very end. They looked pain and uncertainly in the brutal face, undeterred, and lived fully until their last breaths. I learned that when we confront sorrow, a hard shell develops so we can cope with what we experience. This does not cast out our compassion, but rather ensures that after we experience pain we can still wake up and face another day with courage. I learned how truly trivial a majority of our worries can be. I learned to be a little tougher like my sister. 

I learned that if all else fails to take a deep breath, followed immediately by a bubble bath with a bath bomb from Lush.