“This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
― Walt Whitman
Showing posts with label Zen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zen. Show all posts
Monday, April 16, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
I'm Falling Behind.
On running. (Eek! Pat's Run soooo clooooose)
On housework (Hello, giant mountain of laundry to hang and put away!)
On the meditation challenge.
On grocery shopping.
On blogging.
On writing that book I want to write.
On plucking my eyebrows.
On work.
On fun.
I spent 4 days in Washington, D.C. this past week, and I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted. But, oddly, more sure of the things that matter to me in life and more able to define my work than ever before.
I visited the Hill. I bit my tongue when an old man on the plane warned my friend and me not to 'turn into Democrats' during out visit, chalking it up to old people cluelessness. Plus, he had adorably oversized ears and a huge belt buckle. And anyone who knows me well knows I have a soft spot for sweet, clueless old men.
I visited the Holocaust museum for the first time. It has been on my list since my first visit in 2006, and this week I checked off that box. I even got hit on while touring the 4th floor, which was mildly flattering but more so disconcerting and sort of creepy.
I saw people I've come to consider good friends thanks to a common profession and regular conference run-ins. I drank too much rum and danced with other people, whom I consider good friends because they are. Because we've shared offices and desserts and jokes and life stories. Because we've cried in front of each other and held space to witness each others' successes and challenges and heartbreaks and joys. I got a shout-out from a professional woman I admire greatly. I was invited to a very small and, in my mind, prestigious meeting with a federal agency. I ran after a woman in the hotel lobby who had come to the conference to share her personal story, just so I could thank her for the bravery and power of her words. I listened to a keynote speech that made me tear up with the power of humanity.
And then I came home. I walked onto the curb outside of the terminal and from the backseat of my mom's truck I saw two bright eyed kids practically pouncing out of their seats at the sight of me. We held hands the whole way home and when I put them down to nap I eagerly waited for them to wake. When Rohan crawled in beside me at night, stealing my covers and my physical space, I huddled into his warmth and felt his hair brush my face and I begged my body to stay awake a little longer so I could breathe in his sweetness.
I woke up surrounded by blonde hair and peach-soft cheeks and wanted to freeze that moment.
I am behind on cuddles and kisses and story time. I am behind on glitter and markers and bottles of Elmer's glue. I am behind on soccer practice and couch cuddle puddles and popcorn and hot chocolate.
But I am full up on contentment and love.
On housework (Hello, giant mountain of laundry to hang and put away!)
On the meditation challenge.
On grocery shopping.
On blogging.
On writing that book I want to write.
On plucking my eyebrows.
On work.
On fun.
I spent 4 days in Washington, D.C. this past week, and I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted. But, oddly, more sure of the things that matter to me in life and more able to define my work than ever before.
I visited the Hill. I bit my tongue when an old man on the plane warned my friend and me not to 'turn into Democrats' during out visit, chalking it up to old people cluelessness. Plus, he had adorably oversized ears and a huge belt buckle. And anyone who knows me well knows I have a soft spot for sweet, clueless old men.
I visited the Holocaust museum for the first time. It has been on my list since my first visit in 2006, and this week I checked off that box. I even got hit on while touring the 4th floor, which was mildly flattering but more so disconcerting and sort of creepy.
I saw people I've come to consider good friends thanks to a common profession and regular conference run-ins. I drank too much rum and danced with other people, whom I consider good friends because they are. Because we've shared offices and desserts and jokes and life stories. Because we've cried in front of each other and held space to witness each others' successes and challenges and heartbreaks and joys. I got a shout-out from a professional woman I admire greatly. I was invited to a very small and, in my mind, prestigious meeting with a federal agency. I ran after a woman in the hotel lobby who had come to the conference to share her personal story, just so I could thank her for the bravery and power of her words. I listened to a keynote speech that made me tear up with the power of humanity.
And then I came home. I walked onto the curb outside of the terminal and from the backseat of my mom's truck I saw two bright eyed kids practically pouncing out of their seats at the sight of me. We held hands the whole way home and when I put them down to nap I eagerly waited for them to wake. When Rohan crawled in beside me at night, stealing my covers and my physical space, I huddled into his warmth and felt his hair brush my face and I begged my body to stay awake a little longer so I could breathe in his sweetness.
I woke up surrounded by blonde hair and peach-soft cheeks and wanted to freeze that moment.
I am behind on cuddles and kisses and story time. I am behind on glitter and markers and bottles of Elmer's glue. I am behind on soccer practice and couch cuddle puddles and popcorn and hot chocolate.
But I am full up on contentment and love.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Because I'm Nothing If Not Determined to Grow
I'm still training for Pat's Run in April. My training has slowed a bit as I've accepted that I don't have to keep track of minutes or miles unless I want to do so. Sometimes, I do. Other times, I don't.
But in addition to that, I'm taking part in a meditation challenge put on by the Chopra Center. It's free podcasts for 21 days, and it's amazing and difficult all at once.
The meditations are guided, meaning a guru of sorts spends a few minutes setting the scene for you, mentally, and then they guide you to meditate on a certain topic while music plays. After a time, they then guide you out of the state of meditation.
Meditation is challening. Quieting my mind can be hard, and once it's cleared staying awake can be even harder.
Tonight, though, it all hit home with this meditation intention:
Go forward with a vibrant, healthy body; a quiet, peaceful mind; and a joyful spirit.
But in addition to that, I'm taking part in a meditation challenge put on by the Chopra Center. It's free podcasts for 21 days, and it's amazing and difficult all at once.
The meditations are guided, meaning a guru of sorts spends a few minutes setting the scene for you, mentally, and then they guide you to meditate on a certain topic while music plays. After a time, they then guide you out of the state of meditation.
Meditation is challening. Quieting my mind can be hard, and once it's cleared staying awake can be even harder.
Tonight, though, it all hit home with this meditation intention:
Go forward with a vibrant, healthy body; a quiet, peaceful mind; and a joyful spirit.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
And Then, This.
There's an old saying that goes, "There are few problems so great they cannot be resolved with cuddle puddles, hot chocolate, and stove-popped popcorn."
Ok, fine...I just made that up. So it may not be an 'old' saying, but it's my saying, dammit. And I'm standing behind it 100%. Last week, I needed this kind of healing. It had been a rough day that ended in my crying at the kitchen table while my kids looked on, confused. So when Darrick had to leave to go recruit middle schoolers to his high school's wrestling club, I did the only thing I could think of to help me get through to bedtime while feeling really, uncontrolably emotional.
I found a new kids' movie on the DVR, propped the kids up with pillows, stuffed animals, and a soft blankie, and went into the kitchen to make hot chocolate and popcorn. The hot chocolate was extra chocolately, and the popcorn was a stove-top recipe I've perfected in the past 2 months, lightly salted and delicious. And then I settled into the corner of our big sectional couch with the kids curled beside me, pulled their little table over close so they had somewhere to put their mugs and bowls, and lost myself in the smell of Rohan's scalp and the feel of Luca absent mindedly rubbing her toes against mine under the blanket.
This doesn't mean I was suddenly in a fantastic mood and the world was sunshiney. I wish it was that easy. Instead, last week was spent contemplative, pissed off, sad, confused, and resolute. And I wish I had some amazing explanation for all those feelings that would make sense, but the truth is I don't. I think sometimes we walk dark paths not because there is a lesson to be learned or a metaphor to be gleaned, but because it's part of life to struggle now and then. We don't always understand why we're feeling down or confused or stressed, do we? But at some point, we're coming out the other end of it. And if cuddle puddles and pop corn make it more bearable in the interim, then I'd be a fool to deny myself.
Something happened this week, and I don't know exactly what it was. The anniversary of my dad's illness + my own aging + worries about health + sleeplessness + stress + more and more and more = a shit week with lots of tears and long venting sessions and quiet moments of introspection. And then, suddenly, I was on the other side of it. There was no epiphany. No moment of clarity where I saw the way out of the things I'm feeling stifled by and into a future of bliss and perfection. Not even, sadly, any clear and rational understanding of what the hell was wrong with me and why I was feeling so out of myself. What there was, though, was a feeling of peace at the close of the week. I'm not sure what it all means. I'm not sure what all has changed and what will continue changing. I just know that this week challenged me emotionally in a lot of ways and made me think a lot about myself and the things in my life and how they make me feel. It also gave me pause to remember that how I react - to people, to feelings, to situations, out loud, in my head - matters.
I'm walking into a new week a bit more introspective than I've allowed of myself recently. I'm trying to let myself just be and think and feel and process whatever comes into my mind. I am trying to open myself up to the possibility that there is a lot of possibility.
And if I get there through cuddle puddles and hot chocolate? All the better.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Where I Am.
This week has been shit.
My spirits are down, I've had more than my share of emotional breakdowns, and I am stuck between allowing myself to wallow in ridiculous time-sucks like self pity and trying to snap out of it already.
I'm ready for the weekend. Ready to throw myself into some of the work we've started that's been on hiatus. Darrick has state wrestling championships this weekend, so in his absence I have some big plans. Taking the kids to the park. Grocery shopping and meal planning. Brainstorming a possible kitchen remodel that would involve moving some counters and creating an island. Finally finishing flooring transitions and caulking the foundation downstairs. Building up the bathroom cabinets to the proper height. Buying paint, choosing tile, and putting greenboard in the shower surround so we can tile the wall.
Look, I know how that sounds. My life is lame, right? My weekend plans include building things and planning meals and paint...and I'm looking forward to these things? What have I become?!?
The truth is, there are some times in my life when I need to bury myself elbow-deep in work. Not the sitting-in-the-office-with-a-to-do-list kind of work, but the there's-paint-in-my-hair-and-stain-on-my-elbows-and-hand-me-the-drill-please work. My husband likes to tease that if he wants a clean kitchen, he just needs to irritate me a bit. And it's true. The monotony of cleaning and cooking and sunshine and hard work soothes my soul. There's something about honest work that gives my brain the freedom to sort through the issues I normally try to stuff behind the couch and ignore. And there's something even better about stepping away from a Saturday of hard work and knowing that my mind is clear and my house looks better.
I've been buried under stress lately, firing off responses to flagged emails 20 minutes after I was supposed to leave the office and crying to Luca's preschool teacher (true - and humiliating - story) and holding back tears over things that would normally not even phase me. My life is at a weird point right now where I don't feel like I know where I'm headed next. There are big decisions on the horizon for me and for us as a family, and all of them have the potential to be amazing and make our lives even better. Not one of them is bad, but the anxiety of making scary new decisions and the uncertainty over what the right choice is cause me to panic. I want to take a week to lay under a blanket on the couch and watch every sappy romantic comedy and crappy show on my DVR possible. I want to tear out kitchen cabinets and appliances and spend hours sanding and cutting and staining and painting. I don't know what I want.
What I am trying to do is this: channel that mindless distraction that leads to mental clarity and which I now get from things like washing and hanging all the laundry and putting it away in perfect ROYGBIV order into running. Write a to-do list to rival all to-do lists and check off every last item, one by one. Purge and clean and organize, in hopes that organizing my home will lend order to my mind and my life. Save money. Enjoy long mornings at the park, watching my kids hold hands in a sea of other kids. Eat slices of fresh, sweet oranges picked from my mom's orange trees.
My brain is all over the place. This weekend, my goal is direction and clarity. I am going to check off items on my to-do list and find time to make popcorn and hot chocolate and watch movies cuddled under a blanket with my family.
My spirits are down, I've had more than my share of emotional breakdowns, and I am stuck between allowing myself to wallow in ridiculous time-sucks like self pity and trying to snap out of it already.
I'm ready for the weekend. Ready to throw myself into some of the work we've started that's been on hiatus. Darrick has state wrestling championships this weekend, so in his absence I have some big plans. Taking the kids to the park. Grocery shopping and meal planning. Brainstorming a possible kitchen remodel that would involve moving some counters and creating an island. Finally finishing flooring transitions and caulking the foundation downstairs. Building up the bathroom cabinets to the proper height. Buying paint, choosing tile, and putting greenboard in the shower surround so we can tile the wall.
Look, I know how that sounds. My life is lame, right? My weekend plans include building things and planning meals and paint...and I'm looking forward to these things? What have I become?!?
The truth is, there are some times in my life when I need to bury myself elbow-deep in work. Not the sitting-in-the-office-with-a-to-do-list kind of work, but the there's-paint-in-my-hair-and-stain-on-my-elbows-and-hand-me-the-drill-please work. My husband likes to tease that if he wants a clean kitchen, he just needs to irritate me a bit. And it's true. The monotony of cleaning and cooking and sunshine and hard work soothes my soul. There's something about honest work that gives my brain the freedom to sort through the issues I normally try to stuff behind the couch and ignore. And there's something even better about stepping away from a Saturday of hard work and knowing that my mind is clear and my house looks better.
I've been buried under stress lately, firing off responses to flagged emails 20 minutes after I was supposed to leave the office and crying to Luca's preschool teacher (true - and humiliating - story) and holding back tears over things that would normally not even phase me. My life is at a weird point right now where I don't feel like I know where I'm headed next. There are big decisions on the horizon for me and for us as a family, and all of them have the potential to be amazing and make our lives even better. Not one of them is bad, but the anxiety of making scary new decisions and the uncertainty over what the right choice is cause me to panic. I want to take a week to lay under a blanket on the couch and watch every sappy romantic comedy and crappy show on my DVR possible. I want to tear out kitchen cabinets and appliances and spend hours sanding and cutting and staining and painting. I don't know what I want.
What I am trying to do is this: channel that mindless distraction that leads to mental clarity and which I now get from things like washing and hanging all the laundry and putting it away in perfect ROYGBIV order into running. Write a to-do list to rival all to-do lists and check off every last item, one by one. Purge and clean and organize, in hopes that organizing my home will lend order to my mind and my life. Save money. Enjoy long mornings at the park, watching my kids hold hands in a sea of other kids. Eat slices of fresh, sweet oranges picked from my mom's orange trees.
My brain is all over the place. This weekend, my goal is direction and clarity. I am going to check off items on my to-do list and find time to make popcorn and hot chocolate and watch movies cuddled under a blanket with my family.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Christmas Eve 2011.
The stockings are stuffed. The presents have been delivered by Santa. Cookies were nibbled by the big guy himself, and the reindeer appreciated the apple slices as much as Santa appreciated the note dictated to mommy to leave with the treats.
We even managed two family pictures before tucking some very excited kids into bed tonight.
Before bed, I bathed the kids, put them in their special Christmas jammies (bonus to them being almost the same size is I buy one pack of 2 jammies and they both fit in a pair!), and read them The Night Before Christmas. We've been reading it for a few weeks now, a couple nights a week, and Luca has almost the whole thing memorized. Her favorite is yelling the reindeers' names out*. Mo's favorite part is the last page, which to him seems to say, "Good night good night good night to Merry Christmas all night!".
We tucked them into bed and they quickly fell to sleep, not doubt fatigued from a full day of crafts, junk food, home baked treats, movies, and Christmas excitement. I wrapped the presents and drank a warm drink with a splash or three of Kahlua. I hung the coffee filter snowflakes Luca and I made today all over the tree. Santa made sure to drink some milk and nibble the cookies left on a table by the recliner, and his reindeer no doubt loved the apple slices.
The world is quiet and peaceful right now. I should be in bed, but I'm soaking up the last little bit of pre-Christmas cheer to be had this year. This past week we've all been home together, and while we made an effort to get out of the house to visit family and shop and go out to eat, more often than not we bunkered down with blankets on the floor and Christmas music and movies playing on the TV. We baked cookies. We decorated them, then ate them by the fistful. We made so many crafty ornaments that the only ones hanging on our tree that were not made by the kids are a wedding ornament we received made of blown glass, a Santa ornament Darrick and I bought on our trip to Europe pre-babies, and one I bought at Michael's with 4 snowmen and a handpainted glitter glue script with our names and the year. We glued and glittered and cut and pasted. We made gifts for family. I read 3 books. We made a mess of the house each day and went on a cleaning binge, throwing out 3 bags of trash and donating 4 bags of old toys. We stayed up late and slept in past 6 a.m. This year may have sucked in so many ways, but this week alone more than made amends for all of 2011.
I'll head to bed soon, and before I know it two excited kids will run down the stairs and squeal with excitement to see Santa was here. They will giggle and run in circles, tearing wrapping paper with abandon and playing with new toys. We will eat. We will love on their cousins and spend time with family. It will feel like magic, and because of them, it will BE magic.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
______________________________________
On the topic of reindeer names, a conversation recently in the car:
Luca: "Mommy, which of the reindeer do you want to be?"
Me: "Hmm...maybe Prancer? Prancer sounds happy. What about you?"
Luca: "Vixen!"
Husband: "Not a chance."
Me: "Hmm...maybe Prancer? Prancer sounds happy. What about you?"
Luca: "Vixen!"
Husband: "Not a chance."
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Say Nice Things.
How many times have you thought it, but not said it?
"That girl over there has a nice smile."
"That little kid is being so nice to the other kids on the playground."
"What a breautiful pregnant belly."
"That man wrote something that really changed my perspective."
I do it all the time. Think nice thoughts, but never have the guts to say them aloud. Sometimes it's because I don't want to embarass the other person, but usually it's because I don't want to embarass myself. I mean, what if I compliment her smile and it's dentures? Tell his parents he's behaving so sweetly just as he throws sand in my daughter's eyes? Compliment the pregnant belly and get a litany of complaints from her about carrying it around all day? Tell him he changed my life and get a cold shoulder?
So I bite my tongue, more often than not. And I suspect we all do. We think nice, lovely, kind, heart-bursting thoughts about others and we never share them with the person who inspired us.
One time, probably 10 years ago, my husband and I (then boyfriend, but who's counting?) had just parked our car off Mill Ave. in Tempe and were walking to a restaurant. I had my hair down, which wasn't typical for me. I've always favored long hair but hate it in my face so 98% of the time it's pulled back. We turned a corner, and a beautiful girl with a hippie vibe slowed, then reached her hand out to me. "You have beautiful hair!" she said, smiling warmly. And I swear to you, I not only smiled the rest of that day and through the weekend, I also wore my hair down almost all the remainder of the week.
And now, 10 or so years later, I vividly remember her unprovoked and spontaneous moment of kindness.
It matters. Kindness matters. A wise man I know very well once gave my husband and I (then fiance, but agains who's counting?) an incredibly important piece of marital advice: "Always try to be kind to each other." I took it to heart, but wasn't sure my husband would remember it 7+ years later. But then, the other day, I overheard him talking about my dad to someone, and repeating the advice my dad had given us that day.
And we're not perfect, you know. We go many days sometimes so wrapped in kids and work and bills and house and and and and that sometimes he goes up to the bathroom and never returns, having decided to crash out for the night and forgetting to come down to kiss me goodnight. Sometimes I mutter bad names to him under my breath when the kids aren't listening and there have been times we've gone to bed angry. Kindness doesn't always prevail in every little thing we do in life. We don't always win that battle. Sometimes, we forget. And everyone knows we often save our most harsh words for those we love the most fiercly. It's true, too, that sometimes I say the words, "Please stop crying and use your words to tell me what you need." to my kids, and in my head it sounds more like, "For fuck's sake, quit being a jerk and just spit it out!". But at the end of the day, we try to remember that kindness should prevail and we hope to raise our kids so they remember to, "Always try to be kind to each other."
The other day, we were out somewhere in public and the kids were playing pretty peacefully together. Suddenly, we were joined by another mom and her two boys. The younger was probably Luca's age and the older was probably 5 or 6. I confess I cringed a little, too, because mom was on her cell phone and released her two wild young boys to play without really watching them. History tells me that's the perfect storm for one of my kids coming to me crying, sand in hair and eyes or a slide being blocked by 2 bigger boys who won't let them come down.
Instead, I was pleasantly surprised. The boys were rowdy and wild. They ran by Rohan at full speed, and he was clipped on the shoulder and fell hard on his bum. I waited for a beat, not sure if Mo would get up and keep playing or start to cry, and felt such happiness in my heart when both boys stopped running and came over by him. The older boy helped him stand, and both leaned over him and spoke in quiet voices. Luca ran over to check on the situation, and though I couldn't hear the conversation, I saw Mo nod and the smaller boy pat his back before both boys were off and running again. Luca came over to me, and when I asked what had happened she assured me the boys apologized and made sure Rohan was ok before moving on. The rest of the time there was pretty tame, but I did notice the boys letting Rohan and Luca by them on the playground equipment with no drama and even once helping Rohan when he couldn't figure out how to turn to climb down the stairs. When we got up to leave, I turned back and said to my family, "Just a second." I walked over by the mom (now off the phone but talking to a friend next to her) and told her, "I just wanted to let you know that your boys were very kind to my kids today, and I really appreciated it." She looked a little puzzled, so I explained, "Sometimes when kids who are a little bigger than them come play we have to referee because the bigger kids don't always notice the littler ones. But your boys were very nice to my kids and I think you should be really proud."
I'm not sure what I said made much of a difference to her (she still looked a bit puzzled by me when I turned to leave) but I felt good about it. And a little part of me hoped she told those boys what I'd said so they would know their kindness was seen and appreciated.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
My point comes down to this: it's been a rough few months around here. I remember looking forward to 2011 but feeling some anxiety about it, and now I know my instinct was correct. 2011 has been a challenging year, and sometimes those challenges take me away from the mental space I try to maintain. They shift my focus to bad things rather than positivity.
So I'm dedicating October to Saying Nice Things. This month, I am going to make a real effort to say that nice thing that just popped into my head without worrying that it sounds stupid, might embarass me, might embarass the person it's directed to, etc. And just deciding to do this has already had one positive effect on my life: it's made me keenly aware of the fabulous things I notice about others already. Because kindness matters.
"That girl over there has a nice smile."
"That little kid is being so nice to the other kids on the playground."
"What a breautiful pregnant belly."
"That man wrote something that really changed my perspective."
I do it all the time. Think nice thoughts, but never have the guts to say them aloud. Sometimes it's because I don't want to embarass the other person, but usually it's because I don't want to embarass myself. I mean, what if I compliment her smile and it's dentures? Tell his parents he's behaving so sweetly just as he throws sand in my daughter's eyes? Compliment the pregnant belly and get a litany of complaints from her about carrying it around all day? Tell him he changed my life and get a cold shoulder?
So I bite my tongue, more often than not. And I suspect we all do. We think nice, lovely, kind, heart-bursting thoughts about others and we never share them with the person who inspired us.
One time, probably 10 years ago, my husband and I (then boyfriend, but who's counting?) had just parked our car off Mill Ave. in Tempe and were walking to a restaurant. I had my hair down, which wasn't typical for me. I've always favored long hair but hate it in my face so 98% of the time it's pulled back. We turned a corner, and a beautiful girl with a hippie vibe slowed, then reached her hand out to me. "You have beautiful hair!" she said, smiling warmly. And I swear to you, I not only smiled the rest of that day and through the weekend, I also wore my hair down almost all the remainder of the week.
And now, 10 or so years later, I vividly remember her unprovoked and spontaneous moment of kindness.
It matters. Kindness matters. A wise man I know very well once gave my husband and I (then fiance, but agains who's counting?) an incredibly important piece of marital advice: "Always try to be kind to each other." I took it to heart, but wasn't sure my husband would remember it 7+ years later. But then, the other day, I overheard him talking about my dad to someone, and repeating the advice my dad had given us that day.
And we're not perfect, you know. We go many days sometimes so wrapped in kids and work and bills and house and and and and that sometimes he goes up to the bathroom and never returns, having decided to crash out for the night and forgetting to come down to kiss me goodnight. Sometimes I mutter bad names to him under my breath when the kids aren't listening and there have been times we've gone to bed angry. Kindness doesn't always prevail in every little thing we do in life. We don't always win that battle. Sometimes, we forget. And everyone knows we often save our most harsh words for those we love the most fiercly. It's true, too, that sometimes I say the words, "Please stop crying and use your words to tell me what you need." to my kids, and in my head it sounds more like, "For fuck's sake, quit being a jerk and just spit it out!". But at the end of the day, we try to remember that kindness should prevail and we hope to raise our kids so they remember to, "Always try to be kind to each other."
The other day, we were out somewhere in public and the kids were playing pretty peacefully together. Suddenly, we were joined by another mom and her two boys. The younger was probably Luca's age and the older was probably 5 or 6. I confess I cringed a little, too, because mom was on her cell phone and released her two wild young boys to play without really watching them. History tells me that's the perfect storm for one of my kids coming to me crying, sand in hair and eyes or a slide being blocked by 2 bigger boys who won't let them come down.
Instead, I was pleasantly surprised. The boys were rowdy and wild. They ran by Rohan at full speed, and he was clipped on the shoulder and fell hard on his bum. I waited for a beat, not sure if Mo would get up and keep playing or start to cry, and felt such happiness in my heart when both boys stopped running and came over by him. The older boy helped him stand, and both leaned over him and spoke in quiet voices. Luca ran over to check on the situation, and though I couldn't hear the conversation, I saw Mo nod and the smaller boy pat his back before both boys were off and running again. Luca came over to me, and when I asked what had happened she assured me the boys apologized and made sure Rohan was ok before moving on. The rest of the time there was pretty tame, but I did notice the boys letting Rohan and Luca by them on the playground equipment with no drama and even once helping Rohan when he couldn't figure out how to turn to climb down the stairs. When we got up to leave, I turned back and said to my family, "Just a second." I walked over by the mom (now off the phone but talking to a friend next to her) and told her, "I just wanted to let you know that your boys were very kind to my kids today, and I really appreciated it." She looked a little puzzled, so I explained, "Sometimes when kids who are a little bigger than them come play we have to referee because the bigger kids don't always notice the littler ones. But your boys were very nice to my kids and I think you should be really proud."
I'm not sure what I said made much of a difference to her (she still looked a bit puzzled by me when I turned to leave) but I felt good about it. And a little part of me hoped she told those boys what I'd said so they would know their kindness was seen and appreciated.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
My point comes down to this: it's been a rough few months around here. I remember looking forward to 2011 but feeling some anxiety about it, and now I know my instinct was correct. 2011 has been a challenging year, and sometimes those challenges take me away from the mental space I try to maintain. They shift my focus to bad things rather than positivity.
So I'm dedicating October to Saying Nice Things. This month, I am going to make a real effort to say that nice thing that just popped into my head without worrying that it sounds stupid, might embarass me, might embarass the person it's directed to, etc. And just deciding to do this has already had one positive effect on my life: it's made me keenly aware of the fabulous things I notice about others already. Because kindness matters.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
2 and 4.
The sun was behind the mountains to the west when we showed up to the football game. My husband's team plays on a field that's backed by a horizon of mountains, and at that time of night their silhouettes stand crisp in front of a backdrop of cherry red sky.
Following the lead of my kids (is there any other way?), we climbed the bleachers and settled in a seat behind a man and his wife. Turning to smile at us, the man commented, "What beautiful children you have!" and I smiled and thanked him.
"He's so blonde, isn't he?" he continued.
"Yeah, he gets it from his Daddy. They both do." I answered. Experience tells me he's probably silently questioning whether I, with the dark brown hair, am the nanny.
The man lifted his hat to show a bald head that gleamed under the stadium lights. Rubbing his hand over it, he smiled at my son and said, "I used to have blonde hair JUST like yours, son."
Grinning and seeing his moment, Rohan pointed to the man with one hand and grabbed some strands of his own hair with the other. "Oh, I have more than YOUUuuuu DOooooo!" he answered, laughing.
And his audience cracked up at the joke.
----------------------------------
They fight like crazy people, her bossing him and deciding that the exact toy she needs is the one he just reached for/mentioned and him shrieking at the top of his lungs and curling into a ball on the floor while saying, "Leave me alone!"
The "Leave me alone!" kills it, either making us crack up at the melodramatics of it all or hurting someone's feelings. And, ok, I can admit that when it's aimed in my direction it stings a bit. I know Luca will probably hate me by the time she is 11, being that she's a girl and all, but I expect Rohan not to hate me until he dates the first girl who tries to convince him I am the devil. (For the record, I already hate that imaginary-possible-in-the-future little trollop.) So hearing that he wants me to leave him alone hurts sometimes.
But, as soon as it's out of his mouth he runs over to me, almost without exception, saying, "I want you!" and begging to be held and cuddled.
Meanwhile, she sometimes tests the patience of everyone in our house. Luca and her daddy can be like oil and water sometimes, though they adore each other to no end. I think they have more in common than either recognizes, which leads to them butting heads like crazy. I'm not a complete believer in things like horoscopes, but I think it's no surprise that you'll often find Rohan (Pisces) and me (Aquarius) sitting on the couch cuddling and giggling while Luca (Taurus) and Darrick (Leo) battle out the wills over some inane point of contention.
She is tender and sensitive and fiercely protective and intelligent. He is tender and wild, a typhoon of hilarity and touch. I adore them when they are nothing but soft skin and heads bowed together, her honey hair and his wheat strands blending into one flare of sunshine. I love evening bathtime, with two naked bodies sharing a tub of bubbles, warm water, and soap as they create their own narratives of play. I cave willingly when they beg me to let them sleep in the same room or even the same bed, their sleeping faces all cheeks and curled lashes and puffy lips.
I hope they stay best friends. I hope his raucous sense of humor always cracks her more serious shell, and I hope she continues to protect him like a lioness would her cub.
Following the lead of my kids (is there any other way?), we climbed the bleachers and settled in a seat behind a man and his wife. Turning to smile at us, the man commented, "What beautiful children you have!" and I smiled and thanked him.
"He's so blonde, isn't he?" he continued.
"Yeah, he gets it from his Daddy. They both do." I answered. Experience tells me he's probably silently questioning whether I, with the dark brown hair, am the nanny.
The man lifted his hat to show a bald head that gleamed under the stadium lights. Rubbing his hand over it, he smiled at my son and said, "I used to have blonde hair JUST like yours, son."
Grinning and seeing his moment, Rohan pointed to the man with one hand and grabbed some strands of his own hair with the other. "Oh, I have more than YOUUuuuu DOooooo!" he answered, laughing.
And his audience cracked up at the joke.
I am officially in love with the sweet spot found at the intersection of 2 and 4.
(I feel as though the black plastic on the floor and the absence of baseboards are deserving of an explanation, so here it is. We are broke as hell, so though the new floors are all in, we haven't yet purchased the new baseboards to be installed, and thus we have not trimmed the plastic to sealed the cracks between flooring and wall/foundation. I'm hopeful that it'll happen over Christmas break.)
They fight like crazy people, her bossing him and deciding that the exact toy she needs is the one he just reached for/mentioned and him shrieking at the top of his lungs and curling into a ball on the floor while saying, "Leave me alone!"
The "Leave me alone!" kills it, either making us crack up at the melodramatics of it all or hurting someone's feelings. And, ok, I can admit that when it's aimed in my direction it stings a bit. I know Luca will probably hate me by the time she is 11, being that she's a girl and all, but I expect Rohan not to hate me until he dates the first girl who tries to convince him I am the devil. (For the record, I already hate that imaginary-possible-in-the-future little trollop.) So hearing that he wants me to leave him alone hurts sometimes.
But, as soon as it's out of his mouth he runs over to me, almost without exception, saying, "I want you!" and begging to be held and cuddled.
Meanwhile, she sometimes tests the patience of everyone in our house. Luca and her daddy can be like oil and water sometimes, though they adore each other to no end. I think they have more in common than either recognizes, which leads to them butting heads like crazy. I'm not a complete believer in things like horoscopes, but I think it's no surprise that you'll often find Rohan (Pisces) and me (Aquarius) sitting on the couch cuddling and giggling while Luca (Taurus) and Darrick (Leo) battle out the wills over some inane point of contention.
She is tender and sensitive and fiercely protective and intelligent. He is tender and wild, a typhoon of hilarity and touch. I adore them when they are nothing but soft skin and heads bowed together, her honey hair and his wheat strands blending into one flare of sunshine. I love evening bathtime, with two naked bodies sharing a tub of bubbles, warm water, and soap as they create their own narratives of play. I cave willingly when they beg me to let them sleep in the same room or even the same bed, their sleeping faces all cheeks and curled lashes and puffy lips.
I hope they stay best friends. I hope his raucous sense of humor always cracks her more serious shell, and I hope she continues to protect him like a lioness would her cub.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Back Burner.
My husband was roped into coaching football this year. It's the Freshman "B" team...a group of guys who couldn't quite make the cut for the Freshman "A" team. And now they are relying on him to coach them into better skills and hopefully a slot on the JV Team next year. You know...the REAL JV team, not the "B" team where they only get the games the "A" team can't/doesn't take.
If you don't really know my husband, you think he knows a lot about football. You probably even wonder how many years he played in high school. You assume he's got Sunday Ticket and is a rabid fan. Being 6'5" and broad shouldered, it comes with the territory.
His knowledge of football is really sort of paltry. He knows enough to yell at the ref while he drinks a beer and watches a game. And then we beg him to turn off the TV so we can go/see/do and next thing you know it's spring training for baseball and we've only watched pieces of a few games.
So coaching is a challenge for him. He feels bad that he doesn't know drills and plays. Crap, he feels bad that he doesn't know what a Cornerback does. But he'll learn, and I know he will. My husband is amazing in many ways, but his dedication to his students is one of his most amazing qualities. For those nervous and falsely pompous freshmen all fighting to be a hero, he'll do anything. Including dragging his family to the Wednesday night game of the Freshman "A" squad on a day that hit 116.
So there we were, watching him stand on the field and try to soak up football through osmosis, when we ran into the wife of the "A" squad's head coach. Her eldest daughter is in Luca's preschool class this year. Her other daughter is a year younger than Rohan. And she's pregnant with Baby #3.
We made small talk which quickly turned to kid talk which then switched to baby talk. First, about the son she is expecting and how excited they are. Next, to how nervous they are to have 3 under 4. That's 3 kids in daycare/preschool at the same time on 2 teachers' salaries in case you were counting. Which she was.
And then she asked me that fateful question, "Just 2 for you guys?" and I stumbled over my response.
If you'd asked me in those hormone-laden days and weeks after Rohan's birth, when I was flying high on my amazing little family and feeling like SuperWoman, I'd have insisted there was another baby in our future. Truth be told, I still feel pretty strongly that we're not done. It's almost like there's another little baby waiting in the wings, and on those days when Darrick and I both talk wistfully about sweet newborn peach cheeks and baby fuzz I can see it like it's a foregone conclusion. We joke about how maybe this next one will look like me rather than being another little Daddy Clone. We talk about how much easier it will be to afford the baby when Luca's in kindergarten, or even better when she's in 1st grade and Rohan is 1 year away from Kinder (i.e. one year away from us not having to PAY for his schooling). We let Luca muse over possible baby names (She wants a girl, who will be named Flower, of course.).
But on other days? Our life as a family of 4 is pretty sweet. We have a rhythm. We have balance. We have dreams of a future that involves long road trips and a 10 year anniversary trip somewhere exotic. We don't miss diapers, especially now that we're down to only using a few Pull Ups a week since most mornings at least 1 kid wakes dry. We have faith that just about the time we're done paying for daycare/preschool we'll also have paid off our car and all our credit cards and we'll be able to live without worrying about money for 4 days before every payday. We have a small car that we hope will last for many years and doesn't really have room for a 3rd carseat.
But then: pretty soon Luca will be in a booster seat, which takes less space than a carseat. And soon enough our daycare/preschool costs will go down dramatically. And....and....and....and.....
It's a stalemate. And I don't know what should be our next move. I don't think Darrick does either, so most days we don't talk about the subject at all. On a date night recently, when conversation was flowing and I looked at my best friend across the table from me, I had the courage to lay it all out. I asked him if he thought he'd ever want to have another baby, even though I was sure I knew his answer. I guess I was feeling brave enough to hear him say no; he was done.
He didn't say that at all. He also didn't say he wants another baby someday for sure. In fact, it turns out that if we're perfectly attuned in any way at all, it's in uncertainty. Neither of us knows what the future will hold, and we're not ready to permanently close the door on babies in the future. So for now, we're moving it to the back burner. We're committed to reaching some other goals together first, from paying off the car and other debts to some home improvements. And we're talking careers long-term and a possible career shift for one of us. I guess time will tell whether or not another baby will fit into our life, and I'm finally ok with the decision not to make any decision at all.
If you don't really know my husband, you think he knows a lot about football. You probably even wonder how many years he played in high school. You assume he's got Sunday Ticket and is a rabid fan. Being 6'5" and broad shouldered, it comes with the territory.
His knowledge of football is really sort of paltry. He knows enough to yell at the ref while he drinks a beer and watches a game. And then we beg him to turn off the TV so we can go/see/do and next thing you know it's spring training for baseball and we've only watched pieces of a few games.
So coaching is a challenge for him. He feels bad that he doesn't know drills and plays. Crap, he feels bad that he doesn't know what a Cornerback does. But he'll learn, and I know he will. My husband is amazing in many ways, but his dedication to his students is one of his most amazing qualities. For those nervous and falsely pompous freshmen all fighting to be a hero, he'll do anything. Including dragging his family to the Wednesday night game of the Freshman "A" squad on a day that hit 116.
So there we were, watching him stand on the field and try to soak up football through osmosis, when we ran into the wife of the "A" squad's head coach. Her eldest daughter is in Luca's preschool class this year. Her other daughter is a year younger than Rohan. And she's pregnant with Baby #3.
We made small talk which quickly turned to kid talk which then switched to baby talk. First, about the son she is expecting and how excited they are. Next, to how nervous they are to have 3 under 4. That's 3 kids in daycare/preschool at the same time on 2 teachers' salaries in case you were counting. Which she was.
And then she asked me that fateful question, "Just 2 for you guys?" and I stumbled over my response.
If you'd asked me in those hormone-laden days and weeks after Rohan's birth, when I was flying high on my amazing little family and feeling like SuperWoman, I'd have insisted there was another baby in our future. Truth be told, I still feel pretty strongly that we're not done. It's almost like there's another little baby waiting in the wings, and on those days when Darrick and I both talk wistfully about sweet newborn peach cheeks and baby fuzz I can see it like it's a foregone conclusion. We joke about how maybe this next one will look like me rather than being another little Daddy Clone. We talk about how much easier it will be to afford the baby when Luca's in kindergarten, or even better when she's in 1st grade and Rohan is 1 year away from Kinder (i.e. one year away from us not having to PAY for his schooling). We let Luca muse over possible baby names (She wants a girl, who will be named Flower, of course.).
But on other days? Our life as a family of 4 is pretty sweet. We have a rhythm. We have balance. We have dreams of a future that involves long road trips and a 10 year anniversary trip somewhere exotic. We don't miss diapers, especially now that we're down to only using a few Pull Ups a week since most mornings at least 1 kid wakes dry. We have faith that just about the time we're done paying for daycare/preschool we'll also have paid off our car and all our credit cards and we'll be able to live without worrying about money for 4 days before every payday. We have a small car that we hope will last for many years and doesn't really have room for a 3rd carseat.
But then: pretty soon Luca will be in a booster seat, which takes less space than a carseat. And soon enough our daycare/preschool costs will go down dramatically. And....and....and....and.....
It's a stalemate. And I don't know what should be our next move. I don't think Darrick does either, so most days we don't talk about the subject at all. On a date night recently, when conversation was flowing and I looked at my best friend across the table from me, I had the courage to lay it all out. I asked him if he thought he'd ever want to have another baby, even though I was sure I knew his answer. I guess I was feeling brave enough to hear him say no; he was done.
He didn't say that at all. He also didn't say he wants another baby someday for sure. In fact, it turns out that if we're perfectly attuned in any way at all, it's in uncertainty. Neither of us knows what the future will hold, and we're not ready to permanently close the door on babies in the future. So for now, we're moving it to the back burner. We're committed to reaching some other goals together first, from paying off the car and other debts to some home improvements. And we're talking careers long-term and a possible career shift for one of us. I guess time will tell whether or not another baby will fit into our life, and I'm finally ok with the decision not to make any decision at all.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Like A Rainbow.
Sometimes, I only want to write when I have something happy to write about. When I can wax poetic about sweet chubby baby cheeks or spring days where the world is blooming and full. But when life is challenging and stress consumes me and my patience with my kids is next to nothing? When I find myself muttering under my breath in the kitchen at 7:45 p.m. 'Isn't it about bed time for ALL of you?' and mentally including my husband in the 'all'? When I find myself channeling my dad in the car, waving the slower cars in front of me on with my hand below the dash (don't want to get shot, after all!) and cursing people who drive slow during rush hour for no reason? When I'm feeling overworked and underappreciated and broke and fat and desperately in need of some time with my brow waxer? Why is it that during those times I don't feel as compelled to write?
I'm reading 'The Secret' because one of the most positive and lovely friends I have loaned it to me. She swears by its messages and if you saw how content she is in her life, you'd want to read it too. And while I haven't read and acted on the entire book, I know the messages it contains and I believe them. I try not to write about the hard times and the petty complaints in life because you get exactly what you ask for sometimes. And if negativity and complaining and venting are all you put out in the universe, the universe will give only those things back.
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This past Sunday morning, we were sitting on the big area rug in our great room together, playing with the kids. This is what we do on weekend mornings: converge onto that rug and play and wrestle and read books and watch early morning cartoons and sometimes put out a breakfast spread on plates on the floor. But, you know, we bought that rug about 3 years ago when Luca was starting to crawl and it was cheap, so it's not very soft or cushy. For years we've put up with it, and we keep 'meaning to' get a pad to go under it, but then we forget or we have something else to spend the money on so we don't.
So anyhow, we're there on the floor and I'm drinking my coffee and Darrick's reading the paper and the kids are running around like wild animals, and Darrick says to me, "We really need some padding under that thing." I concur, and then we decide to make a list of home 'things' we need to get. On the list: a new bathtub for the master bathroom, french doors for the back of the house, wood flooring, window screens, and a padded backing for the area rug.
Flash forward to later that night. We're at my brother's for dinner and my sister-in-law is cutting Darrick's hair for him. Out of nowhere, my brother says, "Hey, do you guys have any rugs you need padding under? We have some extra from when our carpet was installed, and we don't need it."
Seriously. The very same day.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Yesterday, I was driving to work feeling grouchy about gas prices and long commutes and the fact that Rohan was super clingy when I dropped him off at daycare. I was in need of something to brighten my mood. And then I looked down, and saw this:
That's a rainbow, on my (dirty and in need of vacuuming) floormat in my car. I'm not sure what caused it, but it was incredible and so pretty. And it changed my mood immediately.
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Marveling over the irony of getting the rug padding the same day we wrote it down, my husband and I joked that we should write down, "10% raises for us both" on the list. Then, deciding that was too ambitious, we joked about simplifying it and just saying aloud: "more money sure would be nice."
Yesterday afternoon, the endodontist I saw back in November had their billing office call me. Apparently, part of my charges were denied by insurance and I owed just over $200 to them. I was frustrated that insurance hadn't paid out, and worried about paying $200 to them a week before the start of the month when most of our bills are due. And then she told me that I had a credit on my account at the general dentistry office and she could just use that to pay it if I said it was ok. I did, then asked her if that credit would cover the balance owed.
"Oh, sweetie, you have a $564 credit. It'll cover this with plenty of room to spare," she replied.
Now, listen. Here's where I'd like to pretend I was stoked at this news and at my good fortune. Instead, I was (and still am) pretty pissed to have been charged too much and to have this credit just sitting there without anyone from the general office having notified me. I called the general dentistry office, and the person there promised to let billing know I wanted the money credited to me. And so it will be. And it might take 6 - 8 weeks, which kills me because you KNOW if I owed them that much they would have wanted it right away. Not in 6 - 8 weeks.
But tonight, sitting here feeling stressed about work and money and various other things on my mind, I realized something. I asked the universe to show us a little financial love to make all the hard work we've been doing lately seem worthwhile, and the universe complied. I asked for money, and money is on its way.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Bad things happen in my life. I sometimes lose my patience and my sense of humor. From time to time, I raise my voice or feel sorry for myself or wallow in self-pity and negativity instead of focusing on the good. But the universe, lately, seems to be telling me this: you get what you really want. If I spend my time focusing on the have-nots and the frustrations and the stress and the hard times, more of those will come. But by focusing on the positive good things are bound to come. The universe listens, and it can only hear what you are saying.
I'm reading 'The Secret' because one of the most positive and lovely friends I have loaned it to me. She swears by its messages and if you saw how content she is in her life, you'd want to read it too. And while I haven't read and acted on the entire book, I know the messages it contains and I believe them. I try not to write about the hard times and the petty complaints in life because you get exactly what you ask for sometimes. And if negativity and complaining and venting are all you put out in the universe, the universe will give only those things back.
----------------------------------------------------------------
This past Sunday morning, we were sitting on the big area rug in our great room together, playing with the kids. This is what we do on weekend mornings: converge onto that rug and play and wrestle and read books and watch early morning cartoons and sometimes put out a breakfast spread on plates on the floor. But, you know, we bought that rug about 3 years ago when Luca was starting to crawl and it was cheap, so it's not very soft or cushy. For years we've put up with it, and we keep 'meaning to' get a pad to go under it, but then we forget or we have something else to spend the money on so we don't.
So anyhow, we're there on the floor and I'm drinking my coffee and Darrick's reading the paper and the kids are running around like wild animals, and Darrick says to me, "We really need some padding under that thing." I concur, and then we decide to make a list of home 'things' we need to get. On the list: a new bathtub for the master bathroom, french doors for the back of the house, wood flooring, window screens, and a padded backing for the area rug.
Flash forward to later that night. We're at my brother's for dinner and my sister-in-law is cutting Darrick's hair for him. Out of nowhere, my brother says, "Hey, do you guys have any rugs you need padding under? We have some extra from when our carpet was installed, and we don't need it."
Seriously. The very same day.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Yesterday, I was driving to work feeling grouchy about gas prices and long commutes and the fact that Rohan was super clingy when I dropped him off at daycare. I was in need of something to brighten my mood. And then I looked down, and saw this:
---------------------------------------------------------------
Marveling over the irony of getting the rug padding the same day we wrote it down, my husband and I joked that we should write down, "10% raises for us both" on the list. Then, deciding that was too ambitious, we joked about simplifying it and just saying aloud: "more money sure would be nice."
Yesterday afternoon, the endodontist I saw back in November had their billing office call me. Apparently, part of my charges were denied by insurance and I owed just over $200 to them. I was frustrated that insurance hadn't paid out, and worried about paying $200 to them a week before the start of the month when most of our bills are due. And then she told me that I had a credit on my account at the general dentistry office and she could just use that to pay it if I said it was ok. I did, then asked her if that credit would cover the balance owed.
"Oh, sweetie, you have a $564 credit. It'll cover this with plenty of room to spare," she replied.
Now, listen. Here's where I'd like to pretend I was stoked at this news and at my good fortune. Instead, I was (and still am) pretty pissed to have been charged too much and to have this credit just sitting there without anyone from the general office having notified me. I called the general dentistry office, and the person there promised to let billing know I wanted the money credited to me. And so it will be. And it might take 6 - 8 weeks, which kills me because you KNOW if I owed them that much they would have wanted it right away. Not in 6 - 8 weeks.
But tonight, sitting here feeling stressed about work and money and various other things on my mind, I realized something. I asked the universe to show us a little financial love to make all the hard work we've been doing lately seem worthwhile, and the universe complied. I asked for money, and money is on its way.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Bad things happen in my life. I sometimes lose my patience and my sense of humor. From time to time, I raise my voice or feel sorry for myself or wallow in self-pity and negativity instead of focusing on the good. But the universe, lately, seems to be telling me this: you get what you really want. If I spend my time focusing on the have-nots and the frustrations and the stress and the hard times, more of those will come. But by focusing on the positive good things are bound to come. The universe listens, and it can only hear what you are saying.
Friday, March 25, 2011
New Growth.
We planted this ash tree when it was not much more than a stick with a few tiny green leaves. Within the year, it was reaching up above the top of my head, and by the next summer it had outgrown Darrick.
She continued to flourish, growing longer branches to reach toward the morning sun, and hiding in the late afternoon shade of the nearby mesquite.
And then a storm came in the fall of 2010, with winds so strong that one of the two large limbs of another tree in our yard splintered and fell, crashing into our baby ash. One of her main branches was torn at the trunk. It hung limp, attached by green tendons of branch, eventually drying and falling to the ground.
Winter in Arizona browned the leaves, crisping them with a combination of cold nights and hot daytime sun that dried the tree's open wounds. We circled her in the yard, mourning the loss of one of her fuller branches. Wondering if winter would be her final demise or if she would push forward and thrive again.
Luca and Rohan helped us to water her, holding a hose pulsing with cool water over her trunk and filling the well we'd created with a swell of water to nourish her. They played in the puddle of brown water, watching the soil drink it eagerly and scraping face paint and pretend baby food from the muddy soil.
She continued to flourish, growing longer branches to reach toward the morning sun, and hiding in the late afternoon shade of the nearby mesquite.
And then a storm came in the fall of 2010, with winds so strong that one of the two large limbs of another tree in our yard splintered and fell, crashing into our baby ash. One of her main branches was torn at the trunk. It hung limp, attached by green tendons of branch, eventually drying and falling to the ground.
Winter in Arizona browned the leaves, crisping them with a combination of cold nights and hot daytime sun that dried the tree's open wounds. We circled her in the yard, mourning the loss of one of her fuller branches. Wondering if winter would be her final demise or if she would push forward and thrive again.
Luca and Rohan helped us to water her, holding a hose pulsing with cool water over her trunk and filling the well we'd created with a swell of water to nourish her. They played in the puddle of brown water, watching the soil drink it eagerly and scraping face paint and pretend baby food from the muddy soil.
My house is usually a mess, but my family is happy.
As March began, there was hope on those branches. The first brave leaves unfurled, lime bursts deepening to kelly and emerald. And a winter storm last week dumped a day's worth of cold rain on her leaves and her soil.
And today, standing on a chair so I could get high enough to photograph this tree who used to be shorter than I, this came into view:
I took more photos than is sane, considering I was standing on a chair in my backyard and to the neighbors who could see me I must have looked deranged. But I couldn't help myself; I had to capture the raw and pure beauty of new growth. I took a moment, too, to let my bare feet settled against the soil, feeling how cool the grass that hasn't been cut since sometime in the fall felt against my bare skin.
I am excited for spring and even for summer. I can't wait to unroll the big playpool on the grass and fill it with the hose, watching the kids splash and play. I want to sit for hours in the shade, my feet soaking in the cool water while Luca and Rohan transfer water from plastic cup to dog bowl and back, dipping their faces into the water to eagerly blow bubbles. I want to watch the grass return to green and lie on a freshly mowed lawn letting the scent of grass clippings and new blooms soak into my skin. Luca has requested that we plant purple flowers this year, and I secretly long for a raised garden and sprinklers and long, hot afternoons where we allow ourselves to be pulled off the couch in the cool house and out into a blazing sun. I want to count the freckles as they bloom on the shoulders and arms of my babies, and let them run naked through the backyard, mud webbed between their toes and their laughter like the song of summer's birds.
I know this is going to be a year of much growth and excitement for our family, and I can't think of a single better way to welcome these metamorphases than with the new growth of spring.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Next Time...
...I get pregnant, I want it to be a surprise.
...I am craving chocolate I will eat a banana instead.
........I have a weekday off with my husband and kids, I will pack a picnic and spend hours watching my kids chase ducks and discover dandelions.
....I feel inspired by something, I will take a picture.
...I go shopping for clothes I'll be one size smaller.
.......I talk to my husband about money, I'll do it without being defensive.
...I have a warm spring day stretching out in front of me, I'll spend it with my the palms of my hands in the earth outside.
......I wish we had a garden, I'll plant one.
...I do laundry, I'll use obscene amounts of fabric softener and then let them dry on the line, soaking in the sun's warmth.
...I take a vacation it'll be a road trip with snacks and songs and windows down.
.....I have the urge to cut my hair all off and get bangs, I'll follow that urge.
...A friend compliments me I will thank them sincerely and not try to explain or apologize my way out of it.
.....I make my husband laugh, I will bask in the glow of hearing him say, to no one or whomever is near, "Isn't she funny?". Because I am.
...I am debating between lying on the couch on a pile of pillows cocooned in a blanket reading a book and cleaning my kitchen, I'll try my hardest to choose the book.
.....I want a donut, I'll get one from my favorite local shop and enjoy every last bite of it, calories be damned.
...I have a fleeting thought about how much I love someone/how nice they look/how amazing their laugh sounds I will say it right out loud.
......I catch a glimpse of myself with my kids in the mirror, I will watch a little longer like a voyeur taking in every detail of that amazing and beautiful love.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Forgiveness.
Have you ever felt like there are just these issues out there, hangning over your head and making your heart feel a little sad? Things you need to air and then forgive, in order to move on with a happy heart?
And what if those things you needed to forgive...were things for which you needed to forgive YOURSELF?
I've made mistakes in my life. I have made decisions that have complicated things for me, and decisions that have been downright idiotic or ill-concieved. And I have also made an honest effort sometimes to be the best, 'best' being defined as the person I dream myself to be when I am feeling very self-righteous and fabulous in my own mind (I forgive myself, by the way, for self-righteous, but fabulous is something for which I will never ask forgiveness).
And so, in the spirit of Christmas coming soon and worries that have been plaguing me and things I just haven't managed to let go, I want to forgive myself so that I can move forward with a free heart.
For spending the first few months of Luca's life worrying about her small size and not trusting my Mama Gut, which told me it was all ok and it's just who she was. For not being able to enjoy that time like I wanted to, and for crying more tears than necessary.
For doubting myself when my parenting decisions came under fire.
For not using cloth diapers exclusively for Luca, and for not really using them at all with Rohan. OH, how I wanted to be a cloth diaper Mama (even back before it was the hipster thing to do), but with a husband who was resistant and a full time job it never worked out the way I hoped.
For not being financially able to be a stay at home mom, even when my heart broke every time I had to leave my babies for work, travel out of town, miss a bed time, supplement becuase I couldn't pump enough milk, miss a milestone, or miss kissing a skinned knee or a sleepy, honey sweet cheek.
For losing my temper with my husband and my kids, which doesn't happen too often, but still feels ugly every time it does.
For gaining too much weight while pregnant and not losing it.
For not producing enough milk with Luca despite every effort under the sun and for not making every effort under the sun with Rohan because I knew the heartbreak and stress it had caused the first time and didn't want to repeat it. For not being able to be the breastfeeding goddess I assumed I would naturally be.
For feeding my kids and myself McDonald's breakfast now and then.
For giving in on circumcision.
For despairing instead of hoping when Rohan was diagnosed with Masto, and for letting that cloud my days and overshadow my joy. For worrying about him being 'normal' or 'accepted' or 'having a disease' and feeling powerless.
For forgetting that the journey with Rohan's diagnosis made us all stronger.
For not saving more money before having kids.
For not saving any money after having kids.
For buying a house when we should have just rented for a year and waited out the falling market to get more house for less money.
For not being good with budgets.
For not listening to my husband with a more open mind.
For jealousy when it inspires ugliness (though not for the jealousy that makes you strive to be a better person).
For never sending out those thank you cards.
For always rushing and doing things last minute.
For credit card debt it feels like we will forever be 'working on paying off'.
For not being able to afford to really go after my calling at this point in my life.
For not shutting my mouth when I really should have.
For not being the super crunchy earth mama I so WANT to be sometimes, because life takes over and convenience wins over conviction.
For not forgiving myself sooner.
----------------------------------------------
Forgiveness is choosing to love. It is the first skill of self-giving love. --Mahatma Gandhi
And what if those things you needed to forgive...were things for which you needed to forgive YOURSELF?
I've made mistakes in my life. I have made decisions that have complicated things for me, and decisions that have been downright idiotic or ill-concieved. And I have also made an honest effort sometimes to be the best, 'best' being defined as the person I dream myself to be when I am feeling very self-righteous and fabulous in my own mind (I forgive myself, by the way, for self-righteous, but fabulous is something for which I will never ask forgiveness).
And so, in the spirit of Christmas coming soon and worries that have been plaguing me and things I just haven't managed to let go, I want to forgive myself so that I can move forward with a free heart.
For spending the first few months of Luca's life worrying about her small size and not trusting my Mama Gut, which told me it was all ok and it's just who she was. For not being able to enjoy that time like I wanted to, and for crying more tears than necessary.
For doubting myself when my parenting decisions came under fire.
For not using cloth diapers exclusively for Luca, and for not really using them at all with Rohan. OH, how I wanted to be a cloth diaper Mama (even back before it was the hipster thing to do), but with a husband who was resistant and a full time job it never worked out the way I hoped.
For not being financially able to be a stay at home mom, even when my heart broke every time I had to leave my babies for work, travel out of town, miss a bed time, supplement becuase I couldn't pump enough milk, miss a milestone, or miss kissing a skinned knee or a sleepy, honey sweet cheek.
For losing my temper with my husband and my kids, which doesn't happen too often, but still feels ugly every time it does.
For gaining too much weight while pregnant and not losing it.
For not producing enough milk with Luca despite every effort under the sun and for not making every effort under the sun with Rohan because I knew the heartbreak and stress it had caused the first time and didn't want to repeat it. For not being able to be the breastfeeding goddess I assumed I would naturally be.
For feeding my kids and myself McDonald's breakfast now and then.
For giving in on circumcision.
For despairing instead of hoping when Rohan was diagnosed with Masto, and for letting that cloud my days and overshadow my joy. For worrying about him being 'normal' or 'accepted' or 'having a disease' and feeling powerless.
For forgetting that the journey with Rohan's diagnosis made us all stronger.
For not saving more money before having kids.
For not saving any money after having kids.
For buying a house when we should have just rented for a year and waited out the falling market to get more house for less money.
For not being good with budgets.
For not listening to my husband with a more open mind.
For jealousy when it inspires ugliness (though not for the jealousy that makes you strive to be a better person).
For never sending out those thank you cards.
For always rushing and doing things last minute.
For credit card debt it feels like we will forever be 'working on paying off'.
For not being able to afford to really go after my calling at this point in my life.
For not shutting my mouth when I really should have.
For not being the super crunchy earth mama I so WANT to be sometimes, because life takes over and convenience wins over conviction.
For not forgiving myself sooner.
----------------------------------------------
Forgiveness is choosing to love. It is the first skill of self-giving love. --Mahatma Gandhi
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Where I Collide.
"She said in the 3 years since having her son, they'd only been out on maybe 5 dates. I mean...can you even imagine that?"
"Um...have we been out on 5 dates in the past 3 years?"
"...Well....Hm. Maybe you need to take me out more."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The windows are down on one of those perfect Arizona fall evenings when the sun is huge and golden and it almost feels like you're in the middle of some great harvest, and if you close your eyes those weeds in that vacant lot just might be corn. Rows and rows of corn, ready to be harvested for the last time this summer before bedding down for winter.
Not that we bed down for winter. Winter is when we open the windows later in the day and revel in feeling like we need a blanket at night. But first is fall, and with fall comes a sun that blazes golden, making the sky into a copper and cerulean sundae, just before dipping behind purple mountains. Fall is when the car windows are rolled down and our hair blows in the wind and I look in my rearview mirror and see my son with his wheat-colored mop of hair and his peachy cheeks closing his eyes and turning his face to the outside world. Sucking in the wind through his nose and laughing in pure exhaltation. Even Luca, who can't stand the annoyance of wind in her hair most days, asks to have her window down on evenings like this. The feel-good vibe has taken over the car, and I turn up the radio just as The Clash is playing Should I Stay Or Should I Go and it's like this perfect moment of zen and bliss and life all in one. I turn the radio up and see Rohan in my reariew mirror, bobbing his head like he's on the fringe of a mosh pit and I'm excited he likes the music so I turn it up.
And then from the other 5-point harnessed passenger, I hear a few words I can't quite pick up, so I turn down the radio and ask Luca to repeat what she just said. She babbles for a minute about something unrelated and then I turn the music back up because I am fairly certain Rohan was really into this song, what with the apparent fist-pumping he's doing in the backseat.When Luca calls to me again a minute later, again I turn it down to ask what's up. She wants to make sure I know where I am going (when did she become the mom, anyhow?) and I do, and then I see Rohan shaking his arms to the beat and looking out the window, so I say to him, "You like this, buddy?" because I am just sure he's loving the music.
"Ayuh-pwaaaaane!" he answers back, hands extended and pointing out the window (not moving to the beat of the music) and face turned to the sky to see the plane (not to feel the pure joy of a good song + a fall evening's fresh air).
It's not necessarily that we moms want to lose that piece of ourselves, you know. It's more that between fielding a 3 year old's interrogation and realizing your 19 month old is more into 'ayuh-pwaaaanes!' than The Clash you kind of lose the ability to find the you that used to be. Fortunately, most parents would tell you the change is worthwhile and they don't miss rides alone in the car with their music blaring and the windows down that much. And most of the time, we even mean it. But once in a while....
I try to match his enthusiasm about the plane floating high above us in a twilight sky, and then I turn the music right back up and for a moment I ignore all chatter from the back row as I soak in the wind and the music and the feeling just for a second that the old me still lingers there, under a layer of mom.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This morning's mission was three-fold: laundry, time with the kids, and a clean kitchen. Unfortunately, Rohan's been having A Day all day, so mid-cleaning we took a break to entertain the possibility of a morning nap. It was only 9 a.m. but the beast had woken us at 5 a.m., so it wasn't unreasonable especially given his attitude to think he might want a nap. I took him upstairs and he curled into me and wouldn't let me put him in the crib, so I stood there rocking him. He wanted me to sing, so I sang the first song that came to mind (don't tell me Piano Man isn't the first song that comes to your mind when rocking a baby?), and when the song was over I stood silently rocking him, my right arm supporting his body and my left arm around his back, holding the weight of his heavy head. And from downstairs, where I'd tuned the TV's music stations to 'Reality Bites' I heard this song playing:
And suddenly, I was 31 and 17 at the same time again. I was me, and I was Mama, and I couldn't be happier to house both those people in my skin.
"Um...have we been out on 5 dates in the past 3 years?"
"...Well....Hm. Maybe you need to take me out more."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The windows are down on one of those perfect Arizona fall evenings when the sun is huge and golden and it almost feels like you're in the middle of some great harvest, and if you close your eyes those weeds in that vacant lot just might be corn. Rows and rows of corn, ready to be harvested for the last time this summer before bedding down for winter.
Not that we bed down for winter. Winter is when we open the windows later in the day and revel in feeling like we need a blanket at night. But first is fall, and with fall comes a sun that blazes golden, making the sky into a copper and cerulean sundae, just before dipping behind purple mountains. Fall is when the car windows are rolled down and our hair blows in the wind and I look in my rearview mirror and see my son with his wheat-colored mop of hair and his peachy cheeks closing his eyes and turning his face to the outside world. Sucking in the wind through his nose and laughing in pure exhaltation. Even Luca, who can't stand the annoyance of wind in her hair most days, asks to have her window down on evenings like this. The feel-good vibe has taken over the car, and I turn up the radio just as The Clash is playing Should I Stay Or Should I Go and it's like this perfect moment of zen and bliss and life all in one. I turn the radio up and see Rohan in my reariew mirror, bobbing his head like he's on the fringe of a mosh pit and I'm excited he likes the music so I turn it up.
And then from the other 5-point harnessed passenger, I hear a few words I can't quite pick up, so I turn down the radio and ask Luca to repeat what she just said. She babbles for a minute about something unrelated and then I turn the music back up because I am fairly certain Rohan was really into this song, what with the apparent fist-pumping he's doing in the backseat.When Luca calls to me again a minute later, again I turn it down to ask what's up. She wants to make sure I know where I am going (when did she become the mom, anyhow?) and I do, and then I see Rohan shaking his arms to the beat and looking out the window, so I say to him, "You like this, buddy?" because I am just sure he's loving the music.
"Ayuh-pwaaaaane!" he answers back, hands extended and pointing out the window (not moving to the beat of the music) and face turned to the sky to see the plane (not to feel the pure joy of a good song + a fall evening's fresh air).
It's not necessarily that we moms want to lose that piece of ourselves, you know. It's more that between fielding a 3 year old's interrogation and realizing your 19 month old is more into 'ayuh-pwaaaanes!' than The Clash you kind of lose the ability to find the you that used to be. Fortunately, most parents would tell you the change is worthwhile and they don't miss rides alone in the car with their music blaring and the windows down that much. And most of the time, we even mean it. But once in a while....
I try to match his enthusiasm about the plane floating high above us in a twilight sky, and then I turn the music right back up and for a moment I ignore all chatter from the back row as I soak in the wind and the music and the feeling just for a second that the old me still lingers there, under a layer of mom.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This morning's mission was three-fold: laundry, time with the kids, and a clean kitchen. Unfortunately, Rohan's been having A Day all day, so mid-cleaning we took a break to entertain the possibility of a morning nap. It was only 9 a.m. but the beast had woken us at 5 a.m., so it wasn't unreasonable especially given his attitude to think he might want a nap. I took him upstairs and he curled into me and wouldn't let me put him in the crib, so I stood there rocking him. He wanted me to sing, so I sang the first song that came to mind (don't tell me Piano Man isn't the first song that comes to your mind when rocking a baby?), and when the song was over I stood silently rocking him, my right arm supporting his body and my left arm around his back, holding the weight of his heavy head. And from downstairs, where I'd tuned the TV's music stations to 'Reality Bites' I heard this song playing:
And suddenly, I was 31 and 17 at the same time again. I was me, and I was Mama, and I couldn't be happier to house both those people in my skin.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Pressure Cooker.
When I am stressed, I bake.
When I am pissed off, I clean the house. Luckily for my husband, and unfortunately for my home, I am not pissed often. You've really got to concentrate on it to get me fired up enough to storm into the kitchen to slam cabinets and scour the sink.
But baking? Baking is my soul food. I love taking tried and true recipes and injecting them with my own touch. Softened butter creamed with brown and white sugars. Sable brown vanilla splashed into a metal mixing bowl. The crack and thump of an egg against milk glass, the yolk solid and bright. Wooden spoons and secret ingredients and the way flour smells, sweet and doughy and fresh.
The silence of mixing and measuring and pouring, or whisking and creaming and folding. Watching textures blend and smooth, adding a pinch of this or a rounded scoop of that. It gives me time to think of everything or nothing, whichever I choose.
I breathe in the sweet smells of treats baking in the oven, open the door to peek in and see if they are done. I slide cookies onto cooling racks, then load them onto a paper plate and fill a big glass with whole milk. I hand them to my husband, feeding him the edge of a cookie that broke off in transition. I know that what I baked will be good. I know that people will eat it, and it will make them smile and all this, somehow, soothes me and takes the hard edges off my stress until all I can think of is whether I might want to add more rolled oats next time and how many cookies is too many on a Tuesday night.
I smile to myself when my husband puts his hand on my shoulder, kisses my cheek, and says, "Thanks for the cookies." It may sound trite, or old fashioned, but knowing I am making something that will fill the tummies of the people I love fills me with happiness.
When I am pissed off, I clean the house. Luckily for my husband, and unfortunately for my home, I am not pissed often. You've really got to concentrate on it to get me fired up enough to storm into the kitchen to slam cabinets and scour the sink.
But baking? Baking is my soul food. I love taking tried and true recipes and injecting them with my own touch. Softened butter creamed with brown and white sugars. Sable brown vanilla splashed into a metal mixing bowl. The crack and thump of an egg against milk glass, the yolk solid and bright. Wooden spoons and secret ingredients and the way flour smells, sweet and doughy and fresh.
The silence of mixing and measuring and pouring, or whisking and creaming and folding. Watching textures blend and smooth, adding a pinch of this or a rounded scoop of that. It gives me time to think of everything or nothing, whichever I choose.
I breathe in the sweet smells of treats baking in the oven, open the door to peek in and see if they are done. I slide cookies onto cooling racks, then load them onto a paper plate and fill a big glass with whole milk. I hand them to my husband, feeding him the edge of a cookie that broke off in transition. I know that what I baked will be good. I know that people will eat it, and it will make them smile and all this, somehow, soothes me and takes the hard edges off my stress until all I can think of is whether I might want to add more rolled oats next time and how many cookies is too many on a Tuesday night.
I smile to myself when my husband puts his hand on my shoulder, kisses my cheek, and says, "Thanks for the cookies." It may sound trite, or old fashioned, but knowing I am making something that will fill the tummies of the people I love fills me with happiness.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Summer Simmer
This summer is in simmer mode, with mornings and evenings that tease and taunt and lull us into believing fall is just around the bend. It may be true, but the flip side of that coin is that the bend is really, really long and the summer is really, really hot and I am really, really over it.
I long for cool mornings, coffee in a big mug, windows wide open, fall candles burning. I am nostalgic about Luca's first and second autumns, when I worked at home two days every week and soaked up the sweet early mornings with a slow-rising sun and a giggling baby in jammied feet. I dream of mornings at home, sitting on the just-vacuumed floor, with a load of laundry in the washer and fresh sheets hanging on the line outside, shading the back patio. I wish for kids napping in a cool afternoon, while I sit outside with a laptop and a freshened cup of coffee, working and writing and reading and soaking in the warmth of the sun as the lazy afternoon peaks. I have a hollow spot in my chest, a dull lump in my throat when I think about all the mornings I've missed with my babies, with blueberry pancakes and bananas and little creamy-white puddles of milk pooling from a sippy cup onto the tile. I want to sneak away at 9 am when we all need sweaters, pulling two blonde imps in a red wagon and watching them run and spin and dance with barefeet in the grass. I want to have all the house chores finished by lunchtime so the afternoon stretches out lazy in front of me.
I am trying to find the power of center. The joy in just being, and in just belonging. Here. Now. But it's getting lost in the noise, the hum of bees stealing the nectar of all my flowers and I want to silence the bees. I know they are making sweet honey, raw and wild, but I want them to stop for a moment so I can hear the sound of stillness. Of air. Of weightlessness and the breath of the trees as they reach for the golden afternoon sun.
I jump from stone to stone, worry to worry, and I almost miss my own reflection in the stream. But I have those two little cherubs with their golden hair and their smiling eyes, skipping smooth stones across the surface or sinking a big round rock into the water with a "Plip". I promise myself I will watch as a crest of water rises to swallow the rock, that I will take note of the way neither hard earth nor nebulous water fights the breeching. At the way water rises to envelope stone and surrounds it in an embrace. At the way the rock breaks the surface, then settles without argument exactly where it's placed.
I want to be the flower and the nectar, the honey and the bee. I want my children to have it all. I want to have it all, and then I realize I already do. Somedays, I am the stream. Somedays, the stone. Some mornings I pack a lunch and sling a big blonde baby boy on my left hip, picking my way carefully up a cobblestone walk to leave him in the waiting arms of a woman who loves him like he was her own flesh and not just another paycheck. I commute and commiserate and invent and create and bang my head against proverbial walls and feel powerful or powerless and hate clothes with zippers and buttons and love myself in heels and lipgloss. Other mornings, I languish in laziness, thanking seamstresses of generations past for stretchy pants and shelf-bra tanks and picking untouched blueberry pancakes from a sticky syruped plate for a mid-morning snack, enjoying breezes, yearning for naptimes, wasting a morning on reruns and Big Big World and HGTV, crafting with my girl and cuddling with my boy. It's perfect and it's not. I want what I can't have and I wish and dream about the things I will change and the new adventures I will undertake, someday. When I have more: time, money, motivation, coffee, sleep.
I find a new approach. I remind myself that dreaming big is good, that imagination is critical and aspirations keep the world spinning when energy and motivation are on sabbatical. I remind myself that I can't relive what's been lived, and so I choose just to keep on. To live the happiness and the frustrations. To dream big but keep my feet on the ground and always moving forward.
Right now, though, I am forgiving myself this one wishing-away: the wishing-away of summer. Because after summer comes long cold mornings and earthy candles and footy jammies and holidays and coffee steam and bliss.
I long for cool mornings, coffee in a big mug, windows wide open, fall candles burning. I am nostalgic about Luca's first and second autumns, when I worked at home two days every week and soaked up the sweet early mornings with a slow-rising sun and a giggling baby in jammied feet. I dream of mornings at home, sitting on the just-vacuumed floor, with a load of laundry in the washer and fresh sheets hanging on the line outside, shading the back patio. I wish for kids napping in a cool afternoon, while I sit outside with a laptop and a freshened cup of coffee, working and writing and reading and soaking in the warmth of the sun as the lazy afternoon peaks. I have a hollow spot in my chest, a dull lump in my throat when I think about all the mornings I've missed with my babies, with blueberry pancakes and bananas and little creamy-white puddles of milk pooling from a sippy cup onto the tile. I want to sneak away at 9 am when we all need sweaters, pulling two blonde imps in a red wagon and watching them run and spin and dance with barefeet in the grass. I want to have all the house chores finished by lunchtime so the afternoon stretches out lazy in front of me.
I am trying to find the power of center. The joy in just being, and in just belonging. Here. Now. But it's getting lost in the noise, the hum of bees stealing the nectar of all my flowers and I want to silence the bees. I know they are making sweet honey, raw and wild, but I want them to stop for a moment so I can hear the sound of stillness. Of air. Of weightlessness and the breath of the trees as they reach for the golden afternoon sun.
I jump from stone to stone, worry to worry, and I almost miss my own reflection in the stream. But I have those two little cherubs with their golden hair and their smiling eyes, skipping smooth stones across the surface or sinking a big round rock into the water with a "Plip". I promise myself I will watch as a crest of water rises to swallow the rock, that I will take note of the way neither hard earth nor nebulous water fights the breeching. At the way water rises to envelope stone and surrounds it in an embrace. At the way the rock breaks the surface, then settles without argument exactly where it's placed.
I want to be the flower and the nectar, the honey and the bee. I want my children to have it all. I want to have it all, and then I realize I already do. Somedays, I am the stream. Somedays, the stone. Some mornings I pack a lunch and sling a big blonde baby boy on my left hip, picking my way carefully up a cobblestone walk to leave him in the waiting arms of a woman who loves him like he was her own flesh and not just another paycheck. I commute and commiserate and invent and create and bang my head against proverbial walls and feel powerful or powerless and hate clothes with zippers and buttons and love myself in heels and lipgloss. Other mornings, I languish in laziness, thanking seamstresses of generations past for stretchy pants and shelf-bra tanks and picking untouched blueberry pancakes from a sticky syruped plate for a mid-morning snack, enjoying breezes, yearning for naptimes, wasting a morning on reruns and Big Big World and HGTV, crafting with my girl and cuddling with my boy. It's perfect and it's not. I want what I can't have and I wish and dream about the things I will change and the new adventures I will undertake, someday. When I have more: time, money, motivation, coffee, sleep.
I find a new approach. I remind myself that dreaming big is good, that imagination is critical and aspirations keep the world spinning when energy and motivation are on sabbatical. I remind myself that I can't relive what's been lived, and so I choose just to keep on. To live the happiness and the frustrations. To dream big but keep my feet on the ground and always moving forward.
Right now, though, I am forgiving myself this one wishing-away: the wishing-away of summer. Because after summer comes long cold mornings and earthy candles and footy jammies and holidays and coffee steam and bliss.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Unwinding the Threads.
The hardest part about making big changes in the way you've always done things is breaking the old habits. And it's not just that you have to break old habits, it's that so often you have to hold 2 ends of a string and wind your way over and through and under and back through and then flip it a few times to find a different angle. And finally, you end up with one long, unraveled thread which you wind carefully into a ball again so it stays in order. Or so you hope. Sometimes, too, you just break out a pair of scissors and cut the bitch because, truth be told, it's just thread and that damn knot was huge.
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Habit: Eating fast food.
Unwinding the thread:
- Think about why you eat fast food. Is it lack of planning? Laziness? Ease? Convenience? Cravings?
- Think about why you want to avoid fast food. The cheap food several times a week is ending up more expensive than you'd realized? It's not that good after all? It's making (keeping) you fat?
- Think about what it would take to avoid fast food. No more drive thrus? No more McDonald's playlands when the kids are wild and it's too damn hot out to do anything else? Could you leave the wallet at home and force yourself to eat there as well?
- Now, think about the alternatives to fast food. Non-fast food restaurants? Cooking at home? Crockpot meals?
- Now, think about the planning involved in those other options. Coupons? Grocery shopping weekly? Meal plans? Budgeting?
Cutting the thread: No more fast food. Period. End of story. No more excuses. If it means you eat PB&J three times in a week for dinner because you failed to plan, well then tough shit.
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What am I getting at here, exactly? I'm not sure, except to say that over the past few years we've made some good choices, some bad choices, and some choices that were neither here not there. We pat ourselves on the back for the good and regret the bad, but what about those other ones? The ones that make up the knot of thread we are then forced to work our way through? Well, it turns out those can sometimes be the best because they are the ones we learn the most from. Those are the things we do without knowing how they will end up, and sometimes we regret them and other times we prosper for them.
Lately, it's feeling a little like all those little 'neither here nor there' choices have led us up and down and over and around, but not where we need/want to be. So now we're left with this: do we unravel the thread, or just cut it?
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Before you go thinking this is some sort of weird blog confession of an impending divorce or another baby, rest assured it's neither. Nothing that exciting. Just the expression of all the noise that's been in my head lately.
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If I were to make a list, which I do sometimes on paper with bright colored pens, it would look a little something like:
- eat better
- exercise more
- patience
- no fast food (for real: the mind dump above is all what's been floating in my mind for months now)
- local, organic, sustainable, grown ourselves
- stop buying into commercialism
- remember to check the Target ad
- forgive self for hypocrytical nature
- follow that damn budget, already
- accept you're not a 'follow the budget' person and live off cash
- plan a vacation, and then take it instead of using Expedia as your lunch-break outlet
- do crafts with the kids
- read with the kids
- play outdoors with the kids
- bake with the kids
- make out with the husband
- bake with the husband
- stop being so lazy
- stop stressing
- stand up for yourself
- be kind
This list is not inclusive of all the noise, nor is it static (ba dun dun! get it? change? static?). It's forever changing and shifting, winding and building more little knots.
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For me, the winding is the way. Process is my preference over outcomes, which might go far toward explaining my failure to complete projects, general procrastination, and ever-changing dreams for the future. My husband is less process and more product. Break out the scissors and tell him how it will be. Then, know that whatever you tell him he will argue the opposite (hi, Leo) and then eventually swing back your way. Maybe not fully buying it, but at least window-shopping.
And I? I wield the scissors myself and: SNIP.
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Without the unwinding it looks like this:
Habit: Eating fast food.
Snip: Don't.
Habit: Overspending with ye olde debit card.
Snip: Cash living.
Habit: Convenience foods made at home, but still not really healthy.
Snip: Finish what's in the house now, and then stop buying them.
(Did you see, though? I can't get away from process entirely.)
-----------------------------------------------------
I admit to sometimes wishing that my husband cared less. Not about the big things: me, the kids, money, career, etc. But about the mundane things I want ultimate control over. Like, why do I have to have the husband with an opinion on floor rugs? Why can't he just be the guy who's all, "Sure honey, whatever you want."? And why does he have to do the grocery shopping sometimes? Yes, I appreciate that he grocery shops, but I don't appreciate that he considers 4 pears and 3 apples 'buying fruit'. I could eat that in one day.
I haven't figure out how to meld all this seamlessly: my process, his product, my need for control and his desire not to just let me have it. We're stubborn, the pair of us, and one of us has to be the first to make the move and either find the other end of the thread or break out the scissors. I'll be the one to volunteer to get the groceries, so that I can pile the cart with fresh fruits and veggies and whole grains and meats and dairy and a very select few 'convenience foods'. I'll be the one to convince Luca that pitas, hummus, grapes, and broccoli make a fabulous dinner. I'll be the one to just buy the damn rug, once I've saved up enough cash of course (cash living!).
-----------------------------------------------------
Sometimes, I sit still and mentally push my to-do and I-wish lists out of my mind. I clear it and I breathe in and when I do that, I always see them: my husband, Luca, and Rohan. I see their apple cheeks and their big smiles and I know without a doubt that we will do whatever we can to create the best life possible for our little family. We'll work our asses off to pay off debt and save and scrimp and yet always find a way to spoil our kids on their birthdays or, maybe more significantly, on some random Tuesday when all they really want is an ice cream cone. We'll clean the same damn mess off the same damn surface day after godforsaken day, just to have a house that feels clean and comfortable and full of warmth and love. We will send them away while we work to be with people who love and cherish and teach them, and with people who enrich them and thus, in turn, enrich us. We will make dinner together and eat in a circle on the living room floor, dipping our pitas into the hummus bowl in the middle. We will read and bake and lay in the grass in the backyard. We will go back to school, change professions, and never stop growing and expanding and creating. Painting our life canvas in tranquil greens and blues, then splashing fuschia over the top.
We will unwind when we need to unwind. We will cut and paste and make life into what works for us and make it better every day.
-----------------------------------------------------
Habit: Eating fast food.
Unwinding the thread:
- Think about why you eat fast food. Is it lack of planning? Laziness? Ease? Convenience? Cravings?
- Think about why you want to avoid fast food. The cheap food several times a week is ending up more expensive than you'd realized? It's not that good after all? It's making (keeping) you fat?
- Think about what it would take to avoid fast food. No more drive thrus? No more McDonald's playlands when the kids are wild and it's too damn hot out to do anything else? Could you leave the wallet at home and force yourself to eat there as well?
- Now, think about the alternatives to fast food. Non-fast food restaurants? Cooking at home? Crockpot meals?
- Now, think about the planning involved in those other options. Coupons? Grocery shopping weekly? Meal plans? Budgeting?
Cutting the thread: No more fast food. Period. End of story. No more excuses. If it means you eat PB&J three times in a week for dinner because you failed to plan, well then tough shit.
-----------------------------------------------------
What am I getting at here, exactly? I'm not sure, except to say that over the past few years we've made some good choices, some bad choices, and some choices that were neither here not there. We pat ourselves on the back for the good and regret the bad, but what about those other ones? The ones that make up the knot of thread we are then forced to work our way through? Well, it turns out those can sometimes be the best because they are the ones we learn the most from. Those are the things we do without knowing how they will end up, and sometimes we regret them and other times we prosper for them.
Lately, it's feeling a little like all those little 'neither here nor there' choices have led us up and down and over and around, but not where we need/want to be. So now we're left with this: do we unravel the thread, or just cut it?
-----------------------------------------------------
Before you go thinking this is some sort of weird blog confession of an impending divorce or another baby, rest assured it's neither. Nothing that exciting. Just the expression of all the noise that's been in my head lately.
-----------------------------------------------------
If I were to make a list, which I do sometimes on paper with bright colored pens, it would look a little something like:
- eat better
- exercise more
- patience
- no fast food (for real: the mind dump above is all what's been floating in my mind for months now)
- local, organic, sustainable, grown ourselves
- stop buying into commercialism
- remember to check the Target ad
- forgive self for hypocrytical nature
- follow that damn budget, already
- accept you're not a 'follow the budget' person and live off cash
- plan a vacation, and then take it instead of using Expedia as your lunch-break outlet
- do crafts with the kids
- read with the kids
- play outdoors with the kids
- bake with the kids
- make out with the husband
- bake with the husband
- stop being so lazy
- stop stressing
- stand up for yourself
- be kind
This list is not inclusive of all the noise, nor is it static (ba dun dun! get it? change? static?). It's forever changing and shifting, winding and building more little knots.
---------------------------------------------------
For me, the winding is the way. Process is my preference over outcomes, which might go far toward explaining my failure to complete projects, general procrastination, and ever-changing dreams for the future. My husband is less process and more product. Break out the scissors and tell him how it will be. Then, know that whatever you tell him he will argue the opposite (hi, Leo) and then eventually swing back your way. Maybe not fully buying it, but at least window-shopping.
And I? I wield the scissors myself and: SNIP.
---------------------------------------------------
Without the unwinding it looks like this:
Habit: Eating fast food.
Snip: Don't.
Habit: Overspending with ye olde debit card.
Snip: Cash living.
Habit: Convenience foods made at home, but still not really healthy.
Snip: Finish what's in the house now, and then stop buying them.
(Did you see, though? I can't get away from process entirely.)
-----------------------------------------------------
I admit to sometimes wishing that my husband cared less. Not about the big things: me, the kids, money, career, etc. But about the mundane things I want ultimate control over. Like, why do I have to have the husband with an opinion on floor rugs? Why can't he just be the guy who's all, "Sure honey, whatever you want."? And why does he have to do the grocery shopping sometimes? Yes, I appreciate that he grocery shops, but I don't appreciate that he considers 4 pears and 3 apples 'buying fruit'. I could eat that in one day.
I haven't figure out how to meld all this seamlessly: my process, his product, my need for control and his desire not to just let me have it. We're stubborn, the pair of us, and one of us has to be the first to make the move and either find the other end of the thread or break out the scissors. I'll be the one to volunteer to get the groceries, so that I can pile the cart with fresh fruits and veggies and whole grains and meats and dairy and a very select few 'convenience foods'. I'll be the one to convince Luca that pitas, hummus, grapes, and broccoli make a fabulous dinner. I'll be the one to just buy the damn rug, once I've saved up enough cash of course (cash living!).
-----------------------------------------------------
Sometimes, I sit still and mentally push my to-do and I-wish lists out of my mind. I clear it and I breathe in and when I do that, I always see them: my husband, Luca, and Rohan. I see their apple cheeks and their big smiles and I know without a doubt that we will do whatever we can to create the best life possible for our little family. We'll work our asses off to pay off debt and save and scrimp and yet always find a way to spoil our kids on their birthdays or, maybe more significantly, on some random Tuesday when all they really want is an ice cream cone. We'll clean the same damn mess off the same damn surface day after godforsaken day, just to have a house that feels clean and comfortable and full of warmth and love. We will send them away while we work to be with people who love and cherish and teach them, and with people who enrich them and thus, in turn, enrich us. We will make dinner together and eat in a circle on the living room floor, dipping our pitas into the hummus bowl in the middle. We will read and bake and lay in the grass in the backyard. We will go back to school, change professions, and never stop growing and expanding and creating. Painting our life canvas in tranquil greens and blues, then splashing fuschia over the top.
We will unwind when we need to unwind. We will cut and paste and make life into what works for us and make it better every day.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The Only Girl In The Room.
My husband is a Leo.
Our daughter is a Taurus.
You could call it a coincidence, but then I could call it a case of them both being a bit stubborn and a bit intense sometimes. Now, don't get me wrong: I love them both to pieces. And it's a good thing I do because if I didn't they would be convinced it was because of something wrong with me, since clearly they are perfect just as they are.
So what we get sometimes is a bit of butting heads, and it's interesting to me that we live in a house divided: on one side is the pair of them, a bit impetuous and boastful but at the same time so generous and loving it can make your heart burst with joy. On the other side is us: the son with the silly personality and carefree ways and flashing temper, and his momma who loves laughter and peacefulness but wants things done her way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On any typical night, I get home from work and Husband is mildly grumpy and pretty hungry, sitting on the floor with the aftermath of 2 wild kids circling him and dropping toys in their wake. As soon as I turn off my car, she's running out to greet me, sometimes with little brother following dutifully. Their faces are bright with smiles at first, and then: she starts to talk and he bursts into manic panic of some variety because I Have Not Picked Him Up Yet and Why Haven't I Picked Him UP??!!?!. I swoop his warm body up in my arms, kiss her like it's been weeks and not 9 hours since I saw her last, and go inside to put down my bag. And then we eat and we play and we barter over bites of food and potential desserts and she talks through the whole thing, interrupting stories we're telling to give us her version. And, in her version, everything happened 'last summer' or 'on Sunderday' and her voice sounds how I imagine a little squirrel would sound if a little squirrel could talk. And then sometimes he begs to be held or he WILL CRY, but when you hold him you'd better stand up and rock or he WILL CRY and then he needs kisses or he WILL CRY but when he's ready to get down and tells you, "All Done!" and you let him down it will offend him that he's no longer being held even though He Wanted Down and he WILL CRY. And then he'll be distracted by something and tear across the room with his head thrown back and crash into the couch with a boom and laughter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tonight, we went out to dinner. We fancied it up at Olive Garden, mostly because they have endless salad and endless pasta and my husband is still on that wing quest I mentioned before. It was a fun dinner, actually, with Rohan eating possibly more food than I did, and Luca barely eating unless I concentrated on reminding her to eat (flighty, too...she's a bit of that but it's so endearing, you know?) and the waiter misinterpreting my husband asking him for a to-go box for my leftovers as a sign that I wanted him to pack my dinner up as I sat there, fork mid-air between plate and mouth with angel hair pasta hanging from it.
And then, CRASH went the bliss when we walked outside, me with a big boy in my left arm and leftovers in my right, and her daddy offered her his hand to cross the parking lot. This was met with tears which were soon a full-blown meltdown of epic and heart-wrenching proportions. Why? Because, you know, she wanted to hold my hand. Naturally. Since both his hands were free and neither of mine were.
We both acted cool as we crossed the parking lot, acutely aware of the old folks watching the stormy sky light up in shades of pink and violet and most likely preparing themselves to judge our every parenting mis-step. Smile, keep your humor, don't let her rattle you with the scene she's attempting to create.
But when we got to the car and I leaned to buckle her in, it's entirely possible I lost all cool and semi-growled, "You WILL stop that right now." in the Scary Mom voice.
Once everyone was buckled in and some semblance of calm had stopped her tears, I asked her what That had been about. And at first it was, "I wanted YOU to hold my hand." but then I dug a bit more because even though I said before that he and she are so alike (this = the root behind the head-butting they do), it means I sometimes best know when to call her on her...bullshit? Can you call a 3 year old on their bullshit? Because, frankly, I do. And it works. Sometimes. Usually.
"At school," she whimpered, "when daddy gets me? He doesn't give me a cuddle."
There it was. Simple. Surprising in that he hadn't even thought of it and who expects a 3 year old to remember and fret over these sorts of things anyhow? And of course he brushed it off at first, because (a) he's a dude and (b) he's a dude, but when I pressed a bit he said to me, "Well, I don't run in and coo over her, if that's what she means." And then, to her directly, "But sweetie, does Daddy come in and talk to your teachers and all your friends?"
Her: "Yes."
Him: "Well, see? Lots of kids don't have Daddies who do tha-"
Me (cutting him off): "She doesn't care what other Daddies don't do, babe. She cares what her Daddy DOES."
Him: "Oh? But..."
Me: "Sometimes, even when she's only 3, a girl wants to feel like she's the only girl in the room."
::silence::
Him: "Oh."
When we got home, I gave Rohan some milk and got him in nighttime gear and carried his sleepy body up to bed. We had smooches and cuddles, and then I put him in his crib with his Bop-Bop and blankie and left the room. When I came back down, they were there, together in the playroom, peas in a pod teasing each other and building houses and shapes with blocks. She would erupt in giggles every time he'd knock her building down and then he'd tickle her feet and suddenly that magic between Daddy and daughter was back and, in his eyes I could see this: She was the only girl in the room.
Our daughter is a Taurus.
You could call it a coincidence, but then I could call it a case of them both being a bit stubborn and a bit intense sometimes. Now, don't get me wrong: I love them both to pieces. And it's a good thing I do because if I didn't they would be convinced it was because of something wrong with me, since clearly they are perfect just as they are.
So what we get sometimes is a bit of butting heads, and it's interesting to me that we live in a house divided: on one side is the pair of them, a bit impetuous and boastful but at the same time so generous and loving it can make your heart burst with joy. On the other side is us: the son with the silly personality and carefree ways and flashing temper, and his momma who loves laughter and peacefulness but wants things done her way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On any typical night, I get home from work and Husband is mildly grumpy and pretty hungry, sitting on the floor with the aftermath of 2 wild kids circling him and dropping toys in their wake. As soon as I turn off my car, she's running out to greet me, sometimes with little brother following dutifully. Their faces are bright with smiles at first, and then: she starts to talk and he bursts into manic panic of some variety because I Have Not Picked Him Up Yet and Why Haven't I Picked Him UP??!!?!. I swoop his warm body up in my arms, kiss her like it's been weeks and not 9 hours since I saw her last, and go inside to put down my bag. And then we eat and we play and we barter over bites of food and potential desserts and she talks through the whole thing, interrupting stories we're telling to give us her version. And, in her version, everything happened 'last summer' or 'on Sunderday' and her voice sounds how I imagine a little squirrel would sound if a little squirrel could talk. And then sometimes he begs to be held or he WILL CRY, but when you hold him you'd better stand up and rock or he WILL CRY and then he needs kisses or he WILL CRY but when he's ready to get down and tells you, "All Done!" and you let him down it will offend him that he's no longer being held even though He Wanted Down and he WILL CRY. And then he'll be distracted by something and tear across the room with his head thrown back and crash into the couch with a boom and laughter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tonight, we went out to dinner. We fancied it up at Olive Garden, mostly because they have endless salad and endless pasta and my husband is still on that wing quest I mentioned before. It was a fun dinner, actually, with Rohan eating possibly more food than I did, and Luca barely eating unless I concentrated on reminding her to eat (flighty, too...she's a bit of that but it's so endearing, you know?) and the waiter misinterpreting my husband asking him for a to-go box for my leftovers as a sign that I wanted him to pack my dinner up as I sat there, fork mid-air between plate and mouth with angel hair pasta hanging from it.
And then, CRASH went the bliss when we walked outside, me with a big boy in my left arm and leftovers in my right, and her daddy offered her his hand to cross the parking lot. This was met with tears which were soon a full-blown meltdown of epic and heart-wrenching proportions. Why? Because, you know, she wanted to hold my hand. Naturally. Since both his hands were free and neither of mine were.
We both acted cool as we crossed the parking lot, acutely aware of the old folks watching the stormy sky light up in shades of pink and violet and most likely preparing themselves to judge our every parenting mis-step. Smile, keep your humor, don't let her rattle you with the scene she's attempting to create.
But when we got to the car and I leaned to buckle her in, it's entirely possible I lost all cool and semi-growled, "You WILL stop that right now." in the Scary Mom voice.
Once everyone was buckled in and some semblance of calm had stopped her tears, I asked her what That had been about. And at first it was, "I wanted YOU to hold my hand." but then I dug a bit more because even though I said before that he and she are so alike (this = the root behind the head-butting they do), it means I sometimes best know when to call her on her...bullshit? Can you call a 3 year old on their bullshit? Because, frankly, I do. And it works. Sometimes. Usually.
"At school," she whimpered, "when daddy gets me? He doesn't give me a cuddle."
There it was. Simple. Surprising in that he hadn't even thought of it and who expects a 3 year old to remember and fret over these sorts of things anyhow? And of course he brushed it off at first, because (a) he's a dude and (b) he's a dude, but when I pressed a bit he said to me, "Well, I don't run in and coo over her, if that's what she means." And then, to her directly, "But sweetie, does Daddy come in and talk to your teachers and all your friends?"
Her: "Yes."
Him: "Well, see? Lots of kids don't have Daddies who do tha-"
Me (cutting him off): "She doesn't care what other Daddies don't do, babe. She cares what her Daddy DOES."
Him: "Oh? But..."
Me: "Sometimes, even when she's only 3, a girl wants to feel like she's the only girl in the room."
::silence::
Him: "Oh."
When we got home, I gave Rohan some milk and got him in nighttime gear and carried his sleepy body up to bed. We had smooches and cuddles, and then I put him in his crib with his Bop-Bop and blankie and left the room. When I came back down, they were there, together in the playroom, peas in a pod teasing each other and building houses and shapes with blocks. She would erupt in giggles every time he'd knock her building down and then he'd tickle her feet and suddenly that magic between Daddy and daughter was back and, in his eyes I could see this: She was the only girl in the room.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Gratuitous Cute.
Because I can:
just one of the girl who now hates having her picture taken
this one is my favorite..him, draped over my legs like he loves to do
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