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Lin Hawthorne

About Lin Hawthorne

https://linhawthorne.com

An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.

Posts by Lin Hawthorne:

I’ll Let the Chef Know

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Lately, HR has seen an uptick in the number of complaint reports filed by stakeholders. When I brought it to the Veep’s attention, he seemed to think it’s time to hold another gratitude seminar. These seminars are really fun. For us. I pull from my classes in extemporaneous speaking. They can get loud, animated and best of all, the audience is ordered to be on strict radio silence with eyes and ears wide open. There’s usually a test at the end.
 
*JUST THIS MORNING*
 
Josh: “Mom, you made my pancake too thick in the middle. It’s hard to eat.”
 
Me: “I’ll let the chef know. Thanks for your input.”
 
 
*****
 
 
Sam: “Mom, I’m getting ‘bored’ of eating school lunches.”
 
Me: “Is that right?”
 
Sam: “Yeah.”
 
Me: “Sam, can I ask you some questions?”
 
Sam: “Sure.”
 
Me: “Are school lunches generally tasty?”
 
Sam: “Yep, pretty tasty.”
 
Me: “Are school lunches relatively nutritious, with quite a few fruits and vegetables
thrown in?” (School lunches have come a long way from when I was in school)
 
Sam: “Ummmm…. yes.”
 
Me: “And are you satisfied after eating lunch, aka, do you get enough to eat?”
 
Sam: “Yep.”
 
Me: “One last question: Are you paying for school lunches?”
 
Sam: “Nope.”
 
Me: “That’s right, you’re not. And directly, we aren’t either. They’re not ‘free,’ because a) nothing in this world is free and b) we still pay taxes… and our tax dollars are subsidizing school lunches right now, which I think is a pretty good use of the funds considering it saves me time and anguish.”
 
Sam: “……”
 
Me: “Do you have any more questions? No, your honor, the defense rests.”
 
 
*****
 
 
I can’t wait for the next seminar. We’ll be holding breakout sessions on “Making Your Own Lunch” and “Cooking Your Own Breakfast.” You see, this will ultimately benefit the company as a whole as the stakeholders will be infinitely more invested in their ownership of said company. And we’re not just talking equity shares, here. Also, should they get hired away with a salary we can’t compete with (that’s ultimately the goal), they can take these new skills and use them toward their next entrepreneurial venture titled “Life doesn’t owe you a stinking thing.”
 
Buckle up, buttercups. Things are about to get fun here at the Linsanity, LLC.
 

Go Ask Your Dad

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Mealtime always leads to lively discussion in the house. And I say that with a giant grain of salt because none of the boys are huge “chatter-ers.” I know this doesn’t surprise you at all. (At this exact moment all boys are taking turns at fake-puking and running to the bathroom just because it’s funny).
 
But earlier in the meal, as things usually go, all boys were duscussing (amongst themselves) their opinions on whatever meal they’ve just been served.
 
“I like mom’s eggs best,” said Joshua, because he loves onions and cheese and whatever other goodies I throw in. And because he’s the oldest child and he’s clearly the smartest as I was standing within earshot.
 
Sammy and TJ agreed that dad’s eggs are the best because he generally doesn’t put in any “yucky” vegetables or anything else that could potentially ruin a perfectly good dish.
 
But then, TJ took it a step further as TJ usually does.
 
“Mom, I like dad’s rules best.”
 
My head spun around like a gyroscope.
 
Me: “‘SCUSE ME???”
 
TJ: “Yeah, dad’s rules are better.”
 
I heard the record scratch and I could feel my super power of expository speaking welling up from the pit of my stomach.
 
Me: “Lemmetellyousomething young sir. Your dad and I have the SAME rules, mmmmkay?”
 
Dear reader, I hope you understand that I absolutely knew what he was talking about. But you also understand that I CANNOT LET THEM THINK THEY ARE RIGHT. That would be an egregious miscalculation in judgement that would haunt me for years.
 
Quite possibly for the rest of my life.
 
Me: “TJ, who is here 90% of the time and watching over you?”
 
TJ: “Um, you.”
 
Me: “That is correct. So who is here to enforce those rules over and over and over and over MOST of the time?”
 
All the boys chorus: “You.”
 
Me: “Your dad and I talk about and agree upon all the rules (okaaaayyyy… maybe 50% of the time because 90% of this parent gig is complete improvisation).
Me: “AND… he BACKS ME UP 100% when I have to do the hard job of pointing you back to said rules.”
 
That was a lot of statistics to throw at them. Especially for kids who have barely learned addition and subtraction.
 
All the boys blinked.
 
Josh: “Okay, mom. When dad gets home can we watch TV?”
 
Me: “Go ask your dad.”
 
Nice talking to you boys. And yeah. Dad’s rules are probably better.
 
#dadsrules #amwriting #authorsofig #writingcommunity #momswhowrite #breakfastwithboys #breakfasttalk #goaskyourdad

Tastes Like No Kids

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Feelin kinda cute. IDK… maybe I’ll put on some skinny jeans, slap on some make up and see a movie with the cutest guy in the world. 🤷‍♀️
 
BTW, we made out like teenagers right after we took this picture.
 
Just kidding. Maybe.
 
Afterward we went out to dinner. And I got my favorite dish.
 
“How does it taste?,” asked Dave.
 
“It tastes delicious,” I said.
 
“It tastes like no kids.”
 
#datenight #amwriting #momswhowrite #writerstag #writerscircle #childrensbookauthor #

Love Is Always Worth It

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Champion VC Conformation/Obedience CGC Mehagian’s “OK Corral Me”
 
AKA “Stetson Lin,” Beloved Vizsla puppy and guardian of the Lin family
 
Feb 13 2013 – Nov 1, 2021
 
And just like that, he was gone.
 
Dave and I sat at the dinner table, eating our dinner in silence. It was the first real food I had eaten that day. The house was quiet.
 
The double-breathing and rattly-snore we normally heard coming from the laundry room was cut in half.
 
The kids were all asleep after an eventful evening.
 
We chewed our food thoughtfully and every once in awhile, one of us would interject a story here and there.
 
One of us would go over the events of the evening from our own perspective, in an attempt to both process and grieve.
 
What in the world had happened between the X-rays and the kitchen table?
 
I had fully expected to look at the X-rays, laugh with the docs at some weird thing Stetson had snorted up his nose, watch them pull it out with tweezers and we’d all be on our way.
 
But it wasn’t so.
 
I had even given the kids “the talk” in the car.
 
“Now, you guys listen to me. Mommy needs to have a serious talk with the doctors and look at some X-rays of Stetson’s nose. I need all of you guys to get along and be quiet while we talk, ok?”
 
A chorus of “Sure, mom… yep,” and “OK’s” emitted from the backseat.
But it wasn’t so.
 
As I peered at the X-rays, one started irritating the other and one squealed in anguish. I tried to navigate the meltdowns and listen to what the Doctors were saying.
 
I heard “Adeno-sarcoma” and “heavy blood loss” and “hematocrit at 20.” The mere fact that I can recall this info is a testament to how intently I was trying to listen in the midst of the meltdowns.
 
“Listen, Sara,” said Dr. Samuelson, my long-time vet who I’d also consider a friend.
“He’s losing a lot of blood, and fast.” I could hardly comprehend this since I had just brought him to the office this morning for a nosebleed that wouldn’t seem to heal.
 
“You can’t ever fully predict these things, but at the rate he’s losing blood, he’ll bleed out within the week.”
 
I stood there in shock as the kid-tornado swirled around me.
 
My precious puppy. My fur-child who I trained up alongside my first flesh-child.
Who was a steady rock. Who went everywhere with us.
 
I snapped back in to reality. I had to do something about the kids.
 
“Can I leave Stets here a few hours while I take the kids to my parents and figure out the next steps?”
 
“Of course,” my kind vet answered back. “We’re here for you. Take what time you need and let us know how you want to proceed.”
 
Dave called as I had just finished strapping the kids in their seats. I dissolved into tears the second I saw his face on the video.
 
I managed to choke out that he needed to talk to the vet directly to get the most accurate picture of Stetson’s condition from a medical perspective. At that point, I didn’t trust myself to relay the facts in an orderly fashion.
 
I got in the car and called my mom. “Mom, you’re a few miles away from the vet’s office. Can I park with the kids for a little bit while I talk to Dave and process this information.” She was, of course, willing to open her house to the grandkids on short notice (because that’s what moms do).
 
An hour later, we met each other at the vet’s office and laid on the floor in a little room with our precious boy. We stroked his fur and told him what a good boy he was. We wiped his bloody nose. We talked about the facts. We talked about our feelings. We tried to talk about what was best for Stetson… and push away the things we just wanted for us. We cried.
 
We made some decisions. Some permanent decisions that we knew would leave us without our beautiful rusty-furred companion. Decisions that would allow him to stop bleeding while we laid by his side and he left this world for something far more beautiful and less burdensome.
 
It was all so sudden and my eyes were raw from crying.
 
We put on a brave face as we picked up the kids and headed toward home. I had explained to them earlier what was likely going to happen. They’ll process it more in the coming days, but it doesn’t mean a whole lot to them when they’re that young. It’s too abstract of a concept.
 
When we got home, I cupped Timmy’s chin ever so gently in my hands. “Timmy… I have sad news. Stetson, your buddy for life isn’t coming home. I’m so sorry. I know you’ll miss him. But we’re still here for you and when you get sad, I’m here to give you hugs.”
 
Timmy just looked at me with the same quizzical expression he has 24/7. The lights are on but nobody’s home.
 
What I really meant was, “Timmy, I’m going to miss him so much. And when I get sad, I’m glad you’re here to give me hugs.”
 
Even in a house of four kids, there will be a certain quiet that I’m uncomfortable with. A bark here and there. A rustle of the tags. A wagging of the tail.
 
As we sat there and picked at the dinner Dave made us I looked at him with watery eyes.
 
“This is our third go-round at losing a pet. We know it’s coming. We know they’re going to die… we KNOW it will hurt this bad. Why do we keep doing it?”
Dave looked at me thoughtfully.
 
“When I was a boy, my family didn’t have dogs. And I wanted a dog so bad,” said Dave.
 
“I know, me too,” I agreed. “I’m so glad you wanted a dog because they’re so amazing and I’m glad we got to raise them together.”
 
And there was my answer.
 
Because love is always worth it.
 
leadership

The First Step of Leadership Is…

“The First Step of Leadership is ‘Showing up.'”

When I saw this on my friend’s post, I bristled a bit.

It sounded far too simple for my ears, which like to hang on to every vowel and consonant in a cesspool of words.

But when things make me bristle, like our cat growling at the boys, I sit up and take notice. Because the winds of change have blown and it just got cold in the room. Or was that the fever talking?

We have been going through a season of “really tough” here in the Lin household.

Our entire family has been sick with indiscriminate chest colds and whatnot for about six weeks. And we haven’t really gotten over one thing when we’re hit with one more.

Today’s joyous surprise was Hand-Foot-Mouth disease.

I was about to unload TJ out of the car to go to preschool when he said, “Mom, my hands are itchy. The mosquitos got me.”

He mentioned that earlier in the morning, but like most busy parents I just said “Sorry bud!,” and kept making the lunches and doing the things and getting the people out the door to their destinations.

But when I unhooked his car seat at preschool, I took one look at this poor boy with his blistered hands. And then I looked at his face. Blisters now appearing around his little mouth, his chin knotted up in the cutest petulant pout. Even when TJ is sick, he’ll charm the pants right off you.

I shut the car door, informed the preschool of the “situation” and made the trip home. On the way home I thought of the plans Dave and I would have to one again cancel for an event… this time his birthday. A dark cloud paused over my head as I got angry thinking about the fact that we hadn’t been out for a legitimate date by ourselves in over a year.

As a planner I thought about “I wonder what the timeline will be for all the kids to get it and what the implications will be for them missing school, etc.”

There were so many days these past few weeks where both Dave and I legitimately looked at each other and said out loud, “This feels too hard,” and “I *really* don’t want to do this day.”

And we weren’t joking either. We were serious. Our bodies were so tired. And we were taking care of a sick family.

I don’t normally write such bleak subject matter, but hang with me. I promise you there’s hope. There’s always hope and humor because… Jesus. And maybe you’re here at this very place. Maybe you’re where we are. The struggle is not just “real–” it’s so real it’s painful.

When you’re at such a bleak place and each parent is struggling to just remain vertical, how do you keep from crossing over into the “mean,” into the “bitter?”

*****

I lost a friend this week. He was a college friend and I had followed his family through the years. He was an exemplary human being and a dad and husband for the history books. He was the type of person who always made you feel good about… being you. A rare quality by today’s standards.

Was he rich? Maybe. I don’t know his true financial position, but it may not have been with money. He was FILTHY RICH with his family and friends. Five beautiful children and a wife who adored him. One of our friends said “Their love story was one for the ages…” Everyone who knew them knew that was a factual statement, not an opinion. I watched them fall in love in college.

Mark was a leader. In the true sense of the word. He humbly led his church even when things were hard. He led his family in the small things. Caroline said he would head up the morning routine by making the crew breakfast and getting her coffee and just being cheerful and kind. Because that’s who he was.

God bless those morning people.

Very very recently, we lost Mark. He slipped away in an auto accident. We are all mourning but especially his wife and family.

*******

“Thank you for showing up.”

“Thanks for cleaning up the puke. You’re awesome.”

“Thanks for pushing through and reading the bedtime story, I could see the kids were so happy to see you.”

“Thanks for getting me more Nyquil so I can keep on keepin’ on.”

Now the little leadership quote about “showing up” didn’t seem so crazy after all. That was literally all we could do for our family and each other the past few weeks. Just show up.

No extras. Few stories, no real cooking. No “fun” stuff. No outings. Crawling into bed. Minute-by-minute. Exchanging “the look” with your spouse as you realize the only comfort they can provide is having someone else to sit with in misery.

It’s been a season of difficulties, sickness and loss (both in our family and among friends). And when we are close to the end, there is not… nothingness. There is another willing to sit with us in our misery and provide infinitely more comfort than even a spouse is able to give. Our precious Savior is waiting with open arms, ready to comfort us and encourage us in this hard, hard journey called life.

Truth be told, he’s ALWAYS there, but extreme difficulty has a way of putting things in sharp perspective for us, doesn’t it?

The first step of leadership is showing up.

When we are at the end of ourselves and showing up is all we can do, Caroline Simmons (Mark’s wife) summed it up perfectly. Please let her words wrap around you like the healing garment they are:

“This man was the love of my life. I miss him agonizingly. I have not even begun to allow myself to imagine what my family’s future is going to look like without him, because it’s more than I can bear at this time. But I wanted to let you all know that I am not destroyed.

To mourn now as though I have nothing left inside me to carry me on would be to totally deny the incredible value of everything that Mark poured into me and the power of the God that gave him to me. Mark and I shared a lifetime worth of love in only 21 years and anyone who knew him can easily understand how that is possible.

He loved lavishly, without reservation. His love was pure and intense, as if concentrated. It was uncomfortable for many people, because we aren’t accustomed to that kind of uninhibited, imposing love, but in truth, it’s exactly how Christ loved and what we should all strive for.”

If the first step of leadership is “showing up,” then the second MUST be this unbridled love that Caroline speaks of. A lavish, intense love that draws people in.

Not the Valentine’s Day love. Not the effusive compliments. Not the expensive gifts.

The showing-up kind of love.

A history-making, earth-shaking, follow-you-anywhere, make-you-coffee kind of love.

#leadership #servantleader #amwriting #griefandloss #showingup #writingcommunity #momswhowrite #writingforlife

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