On the Eve of High School Graduation: Some Lessons from Our Son's Encounter with a Bus

At work Thursday the school secretary called my name on the public address system, telling me to come to the main office right away. I was packing up my classroom for the school year and left the door open and walked down the stairs and they were calling my name again. 

Instinctively, I made a sign of the cross when I was on the phone with my husband in the main office and he was telling me how our older son, Gabe, had been hit by an NJ Transit bus while riding his bike and was in the pediatric trauma unit and that he was alive and alert.

The sign of the cross was a sign of thanks for his being alive, and my plea for strength to get through whatever it was we were facing.

Six Mile Run and the Seasons of Marriage

As anyone who has been married for a while knows, marriage has seasons: the early years, the years with babies and toddlers, and so on. Right now, my husband and I have two teenaged boys and no travel soccer on our family calendar any more. This means our weekends are wide open.

Seven Quick Takes For Friday

1.  Please pray for the soul of my sister-in-law Barbara's father, who passed away Wednesday at age 71 of a heart attack. His name is Wilfredo Salvador and he and his wife raised their five children in Dumaguete City in the Philippines. You might remember I wrote about one of his grandchildren, Brennan Kyle Alcantara, who was miraculously rescued from flood waters during Typhoon Sendong.

 May the Angels lead him into Paradise. 
May the Martyrs receive him at his coming 
and take him to Jerusalem, the Holy City. 
May the Choirs of the Angels receive him, 
and may he, with the once poor Lazarus, 
have rest everlasting. Amen.

You May Find Yourself...You May Ask Yourself

"You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack. You may find yourself in another part of the world.
You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile. You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife. You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

This Talking Heads' song, "Once in a lifetime," was running through my head in the early evening as I searched for Locktown Road in Flemington, New Jersey.

This Moment: Not Quite Two and Cheering On Dad's Bike Race with a Cowbell

. . . . . . . .

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' at www.soulemama.com.

This Moment: Tour of Colts Neck

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' at www.soulemama.com for all to find and see.

The Bicycle Our Son Built

Our 15-year-old son found a passion for cycling about a year ago. This is not a cheap hobby. The beauty of his experiences with cycling is that we as his parents have found out how resourceful and motivated our son is.

The Cycling Season Starts: Sandy Hook Time Trials

The New Jersey cycling season started this fog-filled morning at 8 a.m. at the Sandy Hook National Seashore, a six-mile-long barrier spit along the Atlantic Ocean, where hundreds of cyclists gathered for time trials.   Our son is still building his road bike so he didn't participate. But we drove down to Sandy Hook in the rain and wind so he could cheer his teammates. If you have never been to time trials - and neither of us had - there is not a lot to see except the staggered starts and ends of the trials. The rest of the time, the cyclists are peddling away. 

So while my son chatted with teammates, I took a couple of long walks, enjoying the beauty of a cold windy spring day at the beach that felt more like a winter one. Here are some photos. Have a beautiful rest of your weekend.

Savoring A Pause in Our Busy Days

This is a photo I swiped off the web of Main Street Bagel in downtown Flemington, New Jersey, where I spent a couple of hours this morning with L, our 12-year-old son. We sat at the farthest right table in this photo, next to an older couple. We ate homemade bagels,  I sipped coffee, and we both enjoyed some rare down time.

My husband and I have entered that phase of parenthood, or should I say our sons have entered that phase of their own lives, where down time is an anomaly.

Our Cycling Son: On Being Struck Down But Not Destroyed

I'm sitting in the family minivan, sipping coffee and trying to warm up. In my rear view mirror I see our son cycle past with some cyclocross friends. We're waiting for the start of the Men's 14-18 Horseshoe Scramble cyclocross race here at a former horse farm in Warren NJ, a lovely area of rolling hills. And I am contemplating the resilience of children and the Presence that carries us.


Cyclocross, or CX,  is a kind of bike racing, a sport our son first discovered earlier this year and has embraced with great enthusiasm. Over the summer he worked two jobs, earning enough money to buy himself a cyclocross bike, at discount, for $800. He's spent the fall season racing. 


On Friday, he was hit and knocked into the road by a red SUV while cycling home with a buddy from a McDonalds  in a neighboring town. He was in a crosswalk. He felt unnerved and angry the driver sped off. The trip to the emergency room revealed he was badly bruised and nothing more. Thank God he was wearing his helmet. 

Home from the Hospital After a Hit and Run

This is our firstborn son. Today about 3:30 he was hit by a red SUV. He was walking his bike across a crosswalk. A good friend of his had just crossed with his bike. The SUV driver didn't see him. The driver's van rammed into our son. The van's decorative grille hit him in the shoulder and knee. He slammed to the ground over his bike. He stood up almost immediately and walked to a parking lot. 

Seven Quick Takes for Friday: Pink Tutus, Uprooted Trees and a Suggestion of Arson

1. This is how our oldest son celebrated Halloween. The day before he raced cyclocross, wearing a pink tutu he bought on the Upper West Side. He also bought a tiara, but couldn't figure out how to attach it to his helmut.

Cyclocross Weekend: A Field of Parsley and Angels with Cow Bells

"A happy family is but an earlier heaven."

- John Bowring

I stepped out of the minivan this morning into a field of parsley. Sweet fall parsley under my feet. I have often felt how privileged it is to be a parent because our sons take me places I wouldn't normally go. This weekend it was the tiny town of Elmer in rural Salem County, New Jersey. The occasion was an event called the Hillbilly Hustle, a Cyclocross race in which our oldest son, now 15, participated. The parking lot was the parsley field; the course itself was open field and forest.

Nothing is better for talking to a teenager than spending hours in a car together. It took us more than two hours last night to get to our hotel near the race site. Our conversations reminded me of what a fine  man our son is becoming; he has a good heart and a wicked sense of humor. 

This Moment

{this moment} - A Friday ritual.  Photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.  A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

It's Official: I am a Cyclocross Mom!

This morning, our 14-year-old competed in his first cyclocross race: joining about 800 racers in the Nittany Lion Cyclocross in Trexlertown, PA.  (Pictured above, his legs after the race) We'd never heard of this rigorous sport, and neither had he, until last year, when G. met his freshman study hall teacher, an avid bike racer. Cyclocross, or CX, is a form of bike racing.  The season runs from September to January. And so now, in addition to being an orchestra mom, a soccer mom and a baseball mom, I get to be a cyclocross mom.

Christ at the UHaul

Sometimes Christ crops up in unexpected places.

Earlier this month, my family was preparing for a drive to Maine and we wanted to bring our bicycles. A mechanic at the local UHaul attached a hitch to our van. Then, we bought  a five-bicycle rack at the bicycle shop where our son works. We loaded five bicycles onto the rack.  About 6:30 p.m., a few hours before we were to head out of town, we noticed the loaded bike rack was nearly dragging on the road.

The manager at G.’s bike shop told us UHaul needed reattach the hitch and make sure all four bolts were in place.  It was almost 7 p.m.

Why the Disarray in My Kitchen Delights Me

When you walk into our kitchen you see bicycle parts lying everywhere. Two bike wheels lie against the dog's crate, a set of bike pedals sits on top of the cat food container and a bicyle pump sits in the entryway to the dining room. If our oldest son is home, his bicycle leans against the kitchen table.

G., who is one month short of 15, discovered cycling during his first year of high school. His study hall teacher is an avid bike racer, and my son enjoyed their daily chats. Over the winter, G. taught himself all he could about bicycles: their history, their physics, and how to fix them.

His path helps me realize that none of us can predict God's gifts.