All about Kari

I could talk forever on my eldest daughter, Kari Ruth, but I won't. She finished her college career summa cum laud, departmental honors, and completing the honors program. She will spend 2 months in Cyprus this summer before resuming her education at Luther Seminary, with a full scholarship. I would be totally lying if I didn't tell you how proud of her I am.

Who is Kari? She was born after 20 hours of back labor, and was in distress, with the cord wrapped around her neck. She was blue, and unresponsive, but when she came to, she squinted her eyes, hard, and just looked around. She was stunningly beautiful, and I'm not just saying that. She was. I wouldn't let anyone near her for several days, content just to sit with her up in my dark bedroom and stare at her. Today they'd probably call that post-partum depression, but to me it was just unbelievably precious. I dressed her in a watermelon romper with a watermelon hat. At 11 months she loved to wear (only) a shirt, her diapers, and some beads. When I pulled her shirt over her head, I'd sing, "Duh duh duh duh..." like when the snake comes out of the basket. She'd giggle. She hardly ever cried, hardly ever fussed, and I see that in her to this day - she's the one that tries to make the peace, coming out of a horrible early home life with her dad and I, trying to calm him down, trying to comfort me. That was crappy, it was, but I left when she was only 4 1/2, so at least that's something. Look at her smiling - isn't she beautiful? She has more moxie in her little finger, at age 22, than I did at age 40. What do I want to say? I want to tell you that I was depressed for two years after she left for college. She is my sun, and that sounds silly as I type it, but it's the truth. She balances me, complements the energies in this house, creates gentleness and caring for Bill. She balances her younger brother Erik, who adores her.

I remember when she taught herself how to make oatmeal cookies. She locked us out of the kitchen, and I could hear banging as she looked for the pans, but she never asked for help. 1/2 hour later she came out, tears on her face. The "cookies" were a flat mass on the sheet. "I don't know what I did wrong," she said. "Well," I asked, "did you put in all the ingredients?" We went through the list one by one until we got to the oatmeal. "Did you put in the oatmeal?" I asked. "Oatmeal?" she said, "What oatmeal?" So without a word we scraped the cookies into the garbage and started again. Today she has to post a sign on her cookies, warning us that our limit is "ONE COOKIE EACH" - they are so good. She never gives up. When she wants something, she does it.

But that same passion concerns me, as she works herself to the point of exhaustion. To be fair, I think she's better about it (I keep warning her not to do what I used to do, but that's hard to MAKE somebody change), but that drive - she's already changing the world. She went to a psychic at their senior party, and she said it was just like talking to me. I love that she said that. The psychic told her that she was clairvoyant, and had a direct connection to God. She urged her to "preach, sister," and we both smiled, knowing she was going to seminary to become just that - a preacher. I love my daughter, even though we disagree on some things, mainly politics, but I could really care less about that - we still talk and care about what the other thinks. As long as there's respect. I'm glad she's staying in Minneapolis - I'd miss her too much if she went too far, and I don't want to be that kind of mother, but maybe I am - I love my children, but Kari? If you don't know her, well, you just should - that's all.