I Got Another One

Yesterday, I ignored my outrageous pile of clothes that needed folding.  

I plucked through them and pulled out Patrick and Caroline's clothes for the next day.  

I gathered them and looked at them and held them close.

I breathed them in and closed my eyes.

I have one more day of doing this...

this...

the mundane...

the boring...

the rituals of living...

I got another day...

she did not.

A lady in my town that I only knew as a "friend of a friend" passed away.

She leaves behind so many, including her son, age 14, and her daughter, age 11.

No more packing lunches.

Figuring out carpools.

No more chances to argue about clothes...

or bedtime...

or homework...

or showering.

No more music that reminds her of something special.

No more silly jokes.

No more snuggles...

or books that keep you reading until way too late...

or chances to try again.

Honestly, sometimes this world is too hard.

Why did she have so few days?

Why do I have more?

No clue.

I wish I could make sense of things that seem utterly wrong...

and rotten.

But I'm no sage.

I just get another...

and I'm not taking it for granted.

I'm going to squeeze this day like it's a soggy pool towel...

kiss my babies about a hundred more times than necessary.

Text those two that think they're big.

Hug that hubby.

Snuggle the pooch.

Dance.

Sing.

Write letters.

Check crap off that enormous list of stuff to do...and smile while doing it.

I get another day!

I'm going to eat good food.

Buy a brand new baby girl something special.

Plan a trip.

Daydream.

Make time for yoga.

Kiss long and hard that sweet guy who spends his days with me.

I'm gonna thank my mail lady.

I'm gonna buy someone a coffee.

I'm gonna give someone the benefit of the doubt.

And pay that parking ticket.

No more nagging.

No more procrastinating.

No more delaying.

I got another.

How to cherish it?

How to hold it dear?

How to make it count?

Fill up that grateful spot and let it flow...

let the universe know how much you love this time...

precious time...

always ticking away...on the good days and the bad days...

Today, you have another...

one more chance...

one breath at a time...

one smile at a time...

let's enjoy it.

It's not coming back...
but it's ours right now.
Grab it.

"I still find each day too short for 
all the thoughts I want to think, 
all the walks I want to take, 
all the books I want to read, 
and all the friends I want to see."  
-- John Burroughs

Life

What do you think makes for a happy life?

Truth is...it's not much.

Something to love.

Something to hope for.

Something to do.

Those are the "grand essentials" of happiness...if you have that, you are pretty much batting 1000.

Sometimes we go through times where we are out of balance:

I have too much to do and nothing to love.

My dreams feel out of reach...my "hope for" is a joke.

My "something to do" feels mind-numbing and monotonous.

But, the process of life forces us to find a way to make room for the big three.

And when we do...it's magic...poof: happiness.

So, on this anniversary of the biggest decision of our courts to allow abortion to be legalized I want to ask all of you...

are we better off choosing death over life?

Does our world see the sacredness of life?

In our world of technology and amazing photography we can all clearly see that life in utero is most definitely going on in there.

We have fingernails and toes and full 3-D images that show perfect profiles of the children within.

Can we at least establish that the "clump of cells" concept is out dated?

That's no clump of cells...there's a full fledged human in there.

Now, that human might not be convenient.

It might be the object of very bad timing.

It might be born into poverty or sadness or a messed up world.

But what it takes to be a full-fledged human baby is so miraculous it deserves that chance.

With abortion, we've accepted the idea that life is a convenience.

We have swallowed the idea that some lives are worth living and others are not.

We've been enveloped in a world that takes the sacred and the holy out of conception and birth.

Anyone who has been witness to a birth knows that it is sacred ground.

A portal.

A passage from another world and into ours.

Shutting that down seems like an impossibility but the side that embraces abortion has done just that.

What are the odds that a baby will arrive in your life?

None of us know.

We can try and try and try and still be infertile.

We can have one child and be unable to have another.

We can have sex one time and find ourselves pregnant.

It's a crapshoot.

It always is.

And that's the beauty of it.

It's a leap of faith.

A crazy idea.

A wild, unbelievable blessing.

A miracle.

Yes, friends, every.single.baby.is a full-fledged miracle.

Healthy or not.

Poor or not.

Crack-addicted or not.

Miracle.

Out of the everywhere and into the here.

I have a child that the world views as disposable.

People have asked me "if I knew"...insinuating in the most despicable way (but always with the brightest smile and most interested face) that if I had known I might have chosen better...

I always answer that I did know -- in my heart, with the strongest premonition I've ever had -- but all of my tests came back 

all-clear.  Including my favorite one, the ultrasound where the technician pointed out all four chambers of Patrick's tiny baby heart, when in fact, he was born with no chambers and needed open heart surgery almost immediately.

Yes, I have a child that many, many people believe should be terminated...his life is too terrible, 

too burdensome, too much trouble to be allowed to breathe another breath.

Ummmm, not really.

Tonight, I had a regular old boring night.
I made breakfast for dinner.
Walked Caroline through the basics of borrowing in subtraction.
Found my son who is "disabled" more able than me with our TV system...finagling some way to watch You Tube on our TV?!?
Read books with both Patrick and Caroline before bed.
Listened to their prayers.
Cleaned up some dishes.
Procrastinated, yet again, on making lunches for tomorrow.

Not one time did I wish my son wasn't born.
Not one time did I watch him interact with his sister and think anything other than I wish they would stop annoying each other.
Not one time.

Babies are miracles.every.single.one.
My prayer is that some day our entire world can hold sacred every life:
the unwanted, the inconvenient, the disabled, the difficult, the very old and fragile.
Every life.

I don't believe any of this is a "choice".
Gifts that are given.
People waiting, just waiting, to rock your world...
one tiny baby footprint at a time.

Tonight, I am grateful for my children.
Grateful for all of the children I have been privileged to know and love.
I am also profoundly grateful for the gift of life...most especially my own.
Ordinary.
Clumsy.
Messy and funny.
Thank you God for this sacred time of being alive.
Man, is it beautiful.

365 More

"525,600 minutes, 525,600 moments so dear.  

525,600 minutes.  

How do you measure? Measure a year? 

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. 

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In 525,600 minutes -- how do you measure a year in the life?  How about love?  

How about love?  How about love? Love.  

Measure in love.  Seasons of love." 

-- "Seasons of Love" from Rent (the musical)

I've had her for three hundred and sixty five more days.

An entire extra year.

Hundreds of thousands of minutes, countless moments, dozens of books and a myriad of chances to squeeze tighter, hold closer, give second chances and measure in love.

Today, of all days, it happened to be her First Reconciliation.

The irony of talking about sin and transgressions with someone who still believes in Santa and carefully writes notes to the Tooth Fairy and still sleeps with a multitude of stuffed of animals is not lost on me.

She knows about making good choices.  She knows how to be kind and thoughtful.

She does it pretty much every day.

I'm not too worried about her spiritual health.  

She's closer to God than almost anyone I know.

And yet, this is when our church says she's ready...and on this terrible anniversary of losing 20 six year olds, 

a whole bunch of seven year olds made another step forward.

In the glow of candles, amid family and friends, they spread out among four different priests and went up there and asked for forgiveness.

So much lighter now!

Caroline was worried about this whole process and so her teacher helped her out.  She asked her to hold a book.  Then she piled another one on top, and another, and another -- until she was holding five heavy books.  She told Caroline that when you do something wrong, it feels heavy and weighs you down. Then she swooped in and removed all the books.  She told her that she would feel so much lighter after Reconciliation. 


As we walked up to church, Caroline wondered aloud if she would "feel lighter".  She couldn't wait to find out.
She wasn't fearful.  She wasn't anxious.
She was curious.

Afterward, she sighed and said, "I'm so much lighter!"

I smiled...that lucky smile.
The smile of a momma who had someone else give their child a gift.
Someone else had given her another way to see the world.
I was so so grateful.

Walking home, I tried to hold her hand but she was skipping ahead.
My heart is always lifted when she skips...but then it remembered the twenty who no longer skip...and the many, many heavy hearts surrounding those twenty.
My heart always holds those twenty close.
I can't look at Caroline and not see them.

At her birthday, I thought of the quiet homes with no extra candle to add.
When she lost another tooth; got bolder swimming; started voraciously reading.
All of the days she spent singing, dancing, creating, laughing and telling knock knock jokes.


Six moving to seven -- 525,600 extra minutes.


What did I do with those precious extra?
How did I spend them?
Sadly and beautifully, we just went about our days...taking hikes, trying new things, making new pictures,
learning and wondering and asking and celebrating...
nothing too special...

until it's gone.

So, Newtown, Connecticut and most especially the families who have not had that extra,
I want you to know that your insane, mind-numbing loss is not forgotten.

You are alongside us on our journey now...forever.

We are lighting candles,
remembering
and choosing love every chance we get.

Tender Mercies

"Happiness isn't complicated.  

It is a humble state of gratitude for simple pleasures, tender mercies, recognized blessings, and inherent beauty." 

-- Richelle E. Goodrich

Today was a happy day.  

It included nothing expensive...in fact, it was free.  It was filled with inherent beauty that's for sure.  

Simple pleasures were abundant.

I counted more than several blessings and one tender mercy..but that's a story for later.

In my local paper I had read about a man who grows two acres of zinnias and offers them free to anyone who can pick them.  His one caveat: for every bouquet you pick for yourself, you must pick another one and leave it at the zinnia patch.  The bouquet left behind is for someone who cannot pick it for themselves -- maybe they are in the hospital or a nursing home.  The farmer has the pick up and drop off all lined up.  All you have to do is fill the empty vase...with his freshly picked flowers.

Like some sort of Bobby Flay "Throw Down", a proposal like that is irresistible.

We set off for the zinnia patch.

Anyone know California's state motto?  Eureka!
(aka: We found it!)

We picked.  We wandered.  We stared at the wildlife that hangs out in a flower patch: hummingbirds, spiders, lizards, butterflies, dragonflies...the list goes on and on.
We gathered zinnias and then gathered some more.
We marveled at the varieties.

We were all alone in a patch of flowers...thanks to one man's joy in simple pleasures.
And who exactly is that simple pleasure for?
Me? A mother looking for something fun to do during the summer?
My kids? Who need waaaaaaaay more time spent wandering flower patches, exploring nature and being in the quiet outdoors.
My sister? Who was looking for a place to hang out with her kids.
Her kids? Who love to explore.
Maybe it's the people who are going to get our extra bouquet...stuck in a hospital room or nursing home with a burst of the beautiful outdoors gracing their room.
Maybe it's for all of us...just sprinkling a little more beauty in our needy world.
That's the power of an act of kindness.  It just doesn't stop.
My bouquet gracing my kitchen table just puts my whole family into a zinnia kind of mood: vibrant, joyful, sparkly, unstoppable.  We can't help but smile...and stop and admire their beauty.

How about this beauty?

Just waiting to be picked...just beggin for a home.

I have to admire someone so willing to decorate our world...one zinnia at a time.  It challenges me to think of ways to do the same.  It reminds me of simple joys and the grace that surrounds us every single day.

Today's clouds...trying to decide which kind they were...fluffy, feathery or maybe stormy all in the same sky.

So...we got home, played florist and placed each flower in a hypnotic way into our vase and away we went.  I picked up Patrick from his play practice.  I filled my tank up with gas.  I noticed my tire was low.  So, I attempted to put air in it and I failed.  Thinking it was the air machine (it couldn't be me, could it??) I went to another gas station and tried again.  This time the tire pressure gauge was not kidding, my tire was low, really low.  I attempted to put air in again and wound up somehow letting more air out.  Can you say...really sad.

I looked up and there walking right by me was a young guy.  He was clearly on his way somewhere and moving fast.  I reached out and asked him if he knew how to put air in a tire.
Kindly, he stopped.  He didn't just do it for me, he took the time to teach me, sharing his technique of pulling the hose way out and tucking it under his foot to keep it steady. He filled my tire...checked in with me...warned me about over-filling my tires and then was on his way.
A tender mercy.
A stranger...crossing paths for only moment...but making a difference with his kindness and care.

So today was a boring old summer day.
Filled with zinnia pizzaz, kind guys willing to fill up low tires, sunshine and the freedom of summer.
Who loves summer? Yep, me...big time.
What have been your spots of sunshine this summer?

This Day

"People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle.  But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth.

Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: 
a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes.
All is a miracle." 
                                            --Thich Nhat Hanh

A few days ago a thirteen year old was having fun at a family summer camp with her entire family and some cousins and friends...within a few hours she was dead, in her father's arms...from a peanut allergy.
Honestly, it just doesn't get any more heartbreaking than that.

I've been thinking about her.
I've been looking at my children differently since I heard that story.
I've been noticing the tiny details of this day and recording in my mind its precious presence.

How many days do we have??

None of us know.
So we go around pretending that we have an infinite supply.

Or we freak out and hover and can barely breathe through the thought that someone we love will die.

***
Let me tell you a side story right here...when I was newly married, I had the summer off so I wasn't working but John was.  Off he would go in the early morning and when he would leave and I could feel his absence I would just cry and cry.  Why?  Because I was scared, really scared.  I suddenly knew, without any doubt, that if something were to happen to John I would be devastated.  I couldn't be distant from that vulnerability.  It stared me in the face every day he went off to work.
I felt the same intense vulnerability when Jack was born.  There was no shrugging off this connection -- what was I going to do??
I had to find a way to accept the gift of marriage and motherhood without drowning in the vulnerability of it.  The only way I found to do that was to really pay attention to the moment I was in.  Trying to outwit the future was impossible.
***

Is there an in between...a happy medium?
Can we find a way to cherish today and not get overwhelmed by the mundane and the monotonous?
Without a doubt.

We have to notice it.
We have to abandon the to-do list and let the day flow.
We need to find a space for silence.
We need to experience the moment and then cherish it.
We need to listen...to music, to others, to the people we love...really listen.
We need to notice the light, the leaves, the sigh of the dog, the blossom on a tree or
the tiniest snail making its way.

Those iridescent snail trails are one of the most magical things just littering our daily life!

All of it is there for us to notice...just waiting for us to accidentally stumble over its beauty.
And I do mean stumble...over the legos, the Barbie shoe, the random marker cap, a grape, a blob of sunscreen...it's all there.
But in that "there" is the good stuff.
The proof of family, of people to love or work that means something to us.
It's connections and seeing things a new way.
It's learning and growing and finding that moment of peace.

It's there. Today. Right now.
The scent of roses or coffee or your husband.
It's in the juicy bite of a peach, the salt and pepper deliciousness of a ripe tomato, the incredible poetry of fresh basil.

It's in the satisfaction of a newly swept kitchen floor.
Or a stack of folded clothes.
Or a plant that finally decided to take root.

It's all around us...just waiting for us to acknowledge the gift.
Just waiting for us to open it.

My latest reminder...waiting by my front door.

Let's not bank on the extra days ahead.
Let's make this a day to remember.

Found this sign in a bathroom (of all places!)  of an awesome restaurant, Mama D's in Newport Beach, CA.
and if you go, order the pink sauce!

What do you do to make the most of this day?
Please tell me how you find the magic in each day?

Look...a fragment of eternity

"I'm saying look, here they come, pay attention. 

Let your eyes transform what appears ordinary, 
commonplace, into what it is, 
a moment in time,

an observed fragment of eternity." 

-- Philip Levine

Caroline -- age 7

Sometimes you look at them and they take your breath away.

What is your normal, routine, just humming along gig becomes frozen in a moment 

and the beauty dazzles you.  

It is exquisite.

You feel suddenly breathless.

You squish it into that memory place hoping it will stick.

You pause enough to really feel and know this "fragment of eternity" and then 

in a whisper of time it has vanished.

There's no capturing it.

Just as quickly as it landed, like a butterfly miracle, the moment has moved on into the sea of next moments and new thoughts or needs or things that must be done.

Today I had one.

I looked up at her with her black spot of missing baby tooth, summer streaks of light in her hair, enveloped in the shade of crocodile green leaves pausing for that moment to give me the 

yes-I-can-climb-this face, and I snatched it right up.

Summer's ordinary blessing of time at a park.

Climbing, playing, exploring and investigating this amazing world.

Plucking trumpet flowers off of vines.

Swinging and sliding and jumping and reaching new places.

All in one moment, it crescendoes. 

I notice.

I wrap my heart around it.

Thank you is all that can come out of that moment.

Thank you for her and for parks and friends and good health and for the will and wonder to climb and thank you for letting me be here right now, in this place, to notice.

Thank you.

Have a Coke and a Smile

"What's great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest.  

You can be watching TV and see Coca Cola, 

and you know that the President drinks Coca Cola, Liz Taylor drinks Coca Cola, and just think, you can drink Coca Cola, too.  A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking.  

All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good." 

-- Andy Warhol

I don't know about you, but where I live Coke is on the way o-u-t.

Nobody drinks it.  

Everyone shuns it.  

If you didn't know better, you'd think it had some actual cocaine in there the way people react.

Around here, children can never have a Coke.

Like chocolate decadence cake, it is hardly ever seen and rarely tasted.

It's a forbidden fruit.

I'm old school.

Yes, I still drink Coke.

(sssshhhh, keep it on the down low...because it is a serious personal flaw)

I have Coke in my fridge regularly.

I do allow children to drink it -- on occasion -- OK, every Friday night.

I'm not belittling childhood obesity.

I'm not a fan of High Fructose Corn Syrup.at.all.

I could use more exercise and could be in better shape...

but there's something about an ice cold Coke that is delish.

And lately, I've been dividing people up into two groups:

those who will have a Coke and a smile and those who don't.

When I visited my friend Beth in the hospital for the first time with her daughter Chloe, I bought her a sandwich at Subway.  I stood there in front of the drink cooler and toiled.  

Was she a Coke drinker or not?

Would she be offended if I offered her a Coke?

What would she think of me?

I chose the Coke.

Turns out I guessed right...she's a Coke drinker.

When the guy who was landscaping my backyard was sweltering under a broiling sun stood up to take a break, I offered him a Coke.  Or a water.  Both would be ice cold.

No question: he went for the Coke.

He gave me a smile.

Yes, we bonded...under the guise of Coke.

When the guy who was crawling under my house and fixing my rogue ventilation came up for air, 

I offered him a Coke.

I didn't even cringe. 

I knew he was one of us.

He guzzled that sucker so fast I felt bad...the man was parched. 

I should have asked sooner.

Turns out that Coke is a pretty great ice breaker.

It leads to conversation.

It helps a busy person to pause, take a break, and enjoy something simple.

It can definitely help strangers reach out to one another.

Just like the smiley revolution, I think passing out Cokes on a hot day might bring about serious world peace.  Or maybe it would help us see we're not so different -- that we really can stop and drink and relax together even if the only thing we have in common is the item we're drinking.

I know, I know.

Coke is bad for you.

It's bad for our kids.

We should be drinking water, or kombucha, or chai or green tea.

Or maybe milk.

I still say that it is a nice part of life.

I'm grateful for the many Cokes I've shared.

I'm grateful for the smiles.

I'm grateful for the fun times, the popcorn, the movies, the pretzels and the deliciousness that Coke brings with it.

I like the way I can break down barriers with a simple question:

"Would you like a Coke?"

More often than not, the answer is yes.

Those are my kind of people.

Come on over any time...free Cokes all around.

Slip Sliding Away

"Darn the wheel of the world.  Why must it continually turn over?  

Where is the reverse gear?" 

-- Jack London

We negotiated.  She wanted a shower.  I wanted to give her a bath.  We compromised as we fortunately can often find our way to do: I'd wash her hair in the tub and chat for a minute.  I'd enjoy her hair, her little face wet with water, her closed eyes and lashes laden with dew drops. I'd notice her leaning her head way back, letting me rinse and rinse and rinse long after it was necessary.  I'd wash her face and touch those cheeks and suck up that smell of cleaning away the grime of the day and getting ready for the night.

After that, she'd get to have a shower on her own.  I'd set it up and hand her the soap and give her the freedom of water rushing down, time alone lost in her thoughts, the privacy and big-ness she is ready for and waiting for.  Darn.

I remember reading a long time ago that we make a big deal about the beginnings.  We take photos of the first day, the first time, the first class and we record them.  But no one gives us the memo on the last day, the last moment, the last time.  Hardly ever can we tell that it's ending.  It just slip slides away...morphs into something new and before we know it, it's over.

Because I've done this a few times, I'm more aware of the endings as they approach.  I'm on the look out now.  I know.
I can feel it and now I take the mental photograph.

I can't tell you how many baths I've given but I am my mother's daughter and she loves a clean child.  She scours the fingernails (I still remember my fingernails hurting from her own fingernail cleaning underneath mine), washes behind the ears and inside the corners of the eyes.  She gets in every nook and cranny and the result is a very clean child.  

I am the same. 

 I never minded giving baths.  I loved the forced opportunity of stopping and slowing down and cleaning and caring for my babies.  I cherished the smell of a fresh-from-the-the-tub child.  I snuggled in bath towels as long as possible, giggled at the naked adorableness, watched those bouncing booties...but now, twenty years into it, my time is running out.

I know.  I know.  Get over it.  

It's not that big a deal.  But for me, it's another reminder that the joy of babyhood, toddlerhood, preschoolerville and yes even early elementary school is on its way out.  My chickadee is turning seven in just a few weeks and her patient tolerance for my intensive mothering in the bath department is going down the drain...the final whirlpool is beautiful.  It's all very very good.  I'm just noticing.

So, today, I'm grateful for the few baths I have left.  Grateful that I have had the joy and chance of bathing four kids.  Grateful for the bounty of clean water that I so often use with the barest of acknowledgements, knowing there are millions of mothers who would love nothing more than to put their baby in a hot bath and scrub them clean.

Today I'm grateful for my baby and my ability to finally see the bend in the road and know that it's all changing...as it should be...

in all the right ways.

Now is Now

"But Laura lay awake a little while, listening to Pa's fiddle softly playing and to the lonely sound of the wind in the Big Woods.  She looked at Pa on the bench by the hearth, the firelight gleaming on his brown hair and beard and glistening on the honey-brown fiddle.  She looked at Ma, gently rocking and knitting.

She thought to herself, "This is now."

She was glad that the cozy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now.  They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now.  

It can never be a long time ago."

--Laura Ingalls Wilder

This is now: Patrick playing the bass drum with his school band.

Snuggling during a drive-through car wash = now.

Bike riding on a gorgeous spring day...also now.

So many beautiful moments.  Breath-taking.  Ordinary.  Little tiny gifts wrapped in a bow that changes every single day.  I try to be just like darling Laura Ingalls Wilder and notice, listen, savor and freeze them.  They are passing and fluid.  Moving and changing and morphing and growing and adjusting and then in a whisper...gone.

When I read those words out loud to Caroline the other night, tears were streaming down my face.  Oh to hold that moment of lying in bed next to her, smelling her just clean hair, feeling her body right against mine, listening to the words sprinkle out and create the now.  

I held my breath.  

I tried to squeeze that feeling in my heart into a corner that had never been 

and make a sacred spot for it.

I kissed my girl and tucked her in and soaked it all up.

Now is now.

How grateful I am for the myriad little pockets of time that make each day a grace-filled gift.

What does your now look like?

How do you savor it?

If you tell me your secret, I'll tell you mine.

The Mess

"Life isn't like a book.  Life isn't logical or sensible or orderly.  Life is a mess most of the time.  And theology must be lived in the midst of that mess." 

-- Charles Caleb Colton

The famous sticky hand given by our dentist...um, thanks.

Yesterday it was dentist day for Caroline and in less than ten minutes upon entering our house The Sticky Hand was gracing our wall.  Awesome!  Random sticky, gooey hand-shaped object...how did this get to be an official prize from the dentist??  Only God knows.  But like some sort of designer jean, it is the preferred item, searched for, carefully pulling and peeling away other inferior potential prizes, to find the goo hand.  Just what my house needs -- something else hair can glom on.  

Could this be the cherry on the cake?  Quite possibly.  

My house is a mess.

Exhibit A: the living room table

Like most of you, my house goes through its fair share of ups and downs.  Clean for literally one minute before someone traipses something in, finds an amazing rock, decides to decorate something cardboard, pulls out a Barbie, stuffed animal, puppet, lego or puzzle piece just for fun.  

I try to get zen.  Try to picture the story the items could tell.

I try to recognize the steep bell curve of messes and know (literally: lived) the fact that the messes do stop...but when you're in the thick of a House Gone Wild it's hard to think clearly.

Calgon, take me away!

Or better yet, fairy godmother, Harry Potter, Hermione, heck I don't care, someone wave that magic wand and make it all better.

cue deafening silence...

Yep, that mess is here to stay...unless I get going, put on some good music and get after it.

Today I'm making my peace with The Mess.

 I'm grateful for my mess-makers, my pile of dirty clothes, that really dingy sink and the yuck.   It wouldn't be home without it. :)

At least Ken looks happy.

"Any idiot can face a crisis --

 it's this day to day living that wears you out." 

-- Anton Chekhov

        How do you do it?  Any hints? Special tricks? Fairy godmother 800 numbers?

Mommy and Me 2013

"Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering." 

-- Pooh's Little Instruction Book (inspired by A.A. Milne)

Sometimes it happens like a rogue wave...just sweeping you away from your intended plans.  Last night at one in the morning my feverish littlest one woke up in the night, mumbling and sad.  She was thirsty and scared.  Advil was given, covers tucked back in, cold ice water close at hand and just like that: my day was revealed.  Caroline would be staying home from school.  All those other things that busy my days would need to be left behind. Back in my own bed I started restacking the deck...perhaps I could go grocery shopping then, maybe I might find this missing email during a possible nap, potentially clean the desk that is towering with things that need to be dealt with right.this.minute.

The school morning came quickly, two others still needed to get off and then my slumbering tousled six year old came out of her bed like some bear from hibernation.  She was rested and stuffed up but the fever had broken.  She needed to stay home but...

well, let's just say, that I took full advantage of her hushed acknowledgement after the other two left:

big eyes revealed what her heart already knew -- 

It's a Mommy and Me Day!

Mommy and Me Days began in preschool.  Being fourth in line means most of the time other people are hanging around.  Most of the time -- heck 99.5% of the time -- other schedules and important events dictate your day.  You watch other people play sports or sing in the choir or perform in a play.  Most of the time, you are last on the list.  But Caroline figured out even at age three that when those other kids went off to school, she had a Mommy and Me Day.  She knew when her preschool days were, knew when I was working at her school and knew when I was all hers.  

She cherished it and named it and helped me to notice the precious present.

Since she started kindergarten she would lament the lack of Mommy and Me Days.  We would take a bike ride or go get the dog food together but it wasn't quite the same.

Our life had changed.  Schedules were different.  Although that time was something I missed too, there didn't seem to be a natural opportunity to recreate it.

First grade began and the busyness of life took over.  We'd sneak an errand or enjoy her friend's birthday parties together but that luxurious giant chunk of time was nowhere to be found.

Enter the fever time out.

Mommy and Me 2013.  Pretty sad that it took that to make us have the time...but what a fun, fun time it was.  We played a serious set of Hangman, leisurely ate breakfast, walked Buddy and discussed at great length how amazing, sensational and terrific our dog really is. We played Bop It like a couple of kids at Christmas.  We danced and laughed, snuggled and used a pretend brush to paint make up on each other.  We watched our old friend Winnie the Pooh and his Blustery Day...giggled with Tigger, cheered for Piglet and felt sorry for Eeyore.

Together this six year old and 40 something mom added up to 22...belting out and dancing to Taylor Swift's song.  Our math may be wrong but we have some rockin' moves...no doubt.

We had chicken noodle soup for lunch and became chefs...wearing our aprons and cooking up brownies and other treats that were necessary, so necessary for healing and fever breaking and general good health.

So today I'm grateful for the forced time out.  Time out of schedules and other people who come first.  Today I spent the day exactly as it needed to be spent...thank you Advil, thank you little bug, thank you Caroline.

Look Up!

"It's your sky, so you make the decision where your clouds live." 

-- Bob Ross

I've got a thing for clouds.  Yep, living in a land with a majority of days that have endless, empty blue skies might make that seem ironic, but maybe it makes sense.  Clouds are not in my world very often.  So when they are, they seem to bust out the moves, put on the tap shoes and go for it. Recently I had one of those days.

Maybe it was reading a whole bunch of Nancy Drew books and solving mysteries with Encyclopedia Brown as a kid, who knows.  It might have been reading Harry Potter or watching James Bond.  Wherever it was, somewhere along the way it was revealed that most people rarely make the effort to look up. Nancy proved that taking the time to view the world from a different angle often reveals a secret.  However it happened, I learned to stop and look up as a kid.

 On this day, I couldn't help it...the entire universe was sending me clues...starting with the one in my van's rearview window as I was trying to put away my groceries:

Beth, stop what you're doing...there's a show going on.


With a view like that I couldn't ignore the dance the sky was doing apparently just for me.

I looked across the street:

Little Iphone 4 camera...and ka bam...Ansel Adams. Thanks clouds!

It actually got silly this game of me and the clouds.  I mean I had stuff to do and things that needed to be accomplished and I'm sure all sorts of other important things and all I could do was enjoy the clouds.  I felt like someone newly in love...it was all I could see...all I could think about...and it was beautiful.

I had to get gas...and look who followed me.

When I have moments like this it makes me wonder what I'm not noticing most of the time.  What beauty is just above my normal line of vision that I often miss?

H-e-l-l-o...anybody paying attention??

Today I am thankful for the ephemeral, transient, fleeting beauty of clouds.  How could water vapor form such a multitude of shapes in a myriad of hues?? How can they move so swiftly and yet feel so oppressive?  How can the formless not only take shape but literally sculpt the horizon???

Clouds never stay still.
Their presence reminds me and challenges me to live this moment right now.
Life is always changing and flowing.
 Endless blue skies give up their ballpark to guys like these
who get run out of town by the serious bad boys
 who in turn head for the hills
 and allow that ocean of blue to hover above once again.

The very same day...making way for some blue.

Feather dusters, arrows pointing the way, a thick blanket, whimsical wafts, imaginary creatures morphing and molding...whatever path you take, clouds, I am a fan.

Mount Washmore

"...there is no such thing as a charmed life, not for any of us, no matter where we live or how mindfully we attend to the tasks at hand.  But there are charmed moments, all the time, in every life and in every day, if we are only awake enough to experience them when they come and wise enough to appreciate them."

--Katrina Kennison

I used to have a seriously awful relationship with laundry.  I detested it and I was pretty sure that it detested me.  It smirked at me, filling immediately upon emptying out.  It mocked my attempt to control it.  It dominated my pitiful efforts and constantly reminded me who was in charge.  It was overwhelming, unruly and very disobedient. Kind of like a dog with no manners, my laundry spilled out everywhere, climbed up on me when I tried to shirk it away and constantly hounded me.

All that changed in just one moment.

My mom was taking care of Jack and Mary Kate for me while I was at a hospital appointment with tiny baby Patrick.  I came home and my mom was doing my laundry...putting it away, folding it in her careful way, organizing and helping.  I must have had a look on my face of angst or sadness and my mom asked me some sort of question about the laundry.  I just started crying.  I told her what was in my heart, "Don't you see?  I just want to be doing what you're doing...just taking care of the kids, doing my crappy laundry, myself. I don't want any of this hospital stuff.  I just want to be here."

Suddenly laundry looked pretty good.

I made a mental note in that moment to never take the ordinary, mundane, insidiously repetitive household chores for granted.  You see, if you are doing those things, your life is pretty great.  You have a family that needs tending, children that need cleaning, and the ability to get it done.  Laundry became my indicator of just how good our life was.  Full to the brim meant a full life for me.  I looked at those clothes, towels, sheets and blankets as the stitches of my daily life and the chance to clean them and put them away as a neat hem on a gorgeous wrap around family blanket.  Finding baby clothes in there once again became a secret gift.  Onesies, footy pajamas, the occasional binkie all reminded me of the fleeting moments of babyhood.

I mark time with the laundry...finding sports jerseys, school uniforms, seasonal kitchen towels and even the university T-shirt that would never would have been in my pile except that Jack spends his days there now.  Like all of life I can see the change in my world by the size of my pile.  Soon enough Mary Kate will be doing her own laundry far away from here and my pile will get even smaller. 

I find peace in the pile...comfort in the folding and organizing and the joy in having a family and a giant-sized Mount Washmore, as my friend with six kids affectionately calls it.  I know all too well that this time of family laundry is only a season of life.  Even though that season feels forever-long; it ends.

So today I'm grateful for the overflowing laundry basket -- happy to know John's raggy old favorite T-shirts, comforted by the Rapunzel underwear and reminded by the larger and larger socks and pants of my growing kids just how quickly it goes. 

I'm grateful to have a family --  Mt Washmore and all.

The Gift of an Ordinary Day

"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are.  Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart.  Let me not pass you by in some quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.  Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so."                                                                                                           -- Mary Jean Iron 


Oh, the beauty of the ordinary day!  I know I treasure ordinary days so much more since Patrick had leukemia...a day NOT in the hospital, a day NOT focusing on fevers or weird symptoms or reactions to chemo... a day where everyone is home and busy living a regular old life.  To me, that is a slice of heaven.  But lately, my ordinary days have been filled with one big event after another in such a way that it feels like the dominoes falling one after another at an astonishing rate.  They fall so fast that it is hard to appreciate their perfect positioning, their colors changing, their incredible design...all I can see is a blur.  Today was another one of those blurry days and I need to write it down, if only to savor it and get the chance to look back on the domino spill and see the intricate pattern and the beauty within what looks to any outsider as a giant mess.

Today was Caroline's birthday.  That alone would make this day full of sunshine and joy.  Remarkably, her birthday fell on a school day (she only goes three times a week) and so today was also her "Special Day" at school.  This means that for one day, preschool was all about her.  She created the theme, Popsicle Day, and many activities centered around it.  She was the Guest Teacher.  She chose the morning song and the book to be read at Circle Time. She wore a crown and the crowd sang to her.  She was honored, cherished,  and celebrated just the way every single person on the planet should be and in truth very few ever are.  I love the way her school takes the time to do this.  It costs no money.  It really doesn't change the school day at all. It is a very clever way to make one student feel important, noticed and appreciated for their individual beauty.  Most importantly, that boost lasts.  Conversations for weeks and months follow about that Special Day.

Because this is Caroline's last Special Day at DCCNS, every single part of the day seemed extra bright for me.  The parents stopping and wishing her a special day, the kids following suit.  The crown, hand-made by me at our first parent meeting in September, brought out and worn with pride.  The red chair, the sign out front of school informing the world of the Special Day. All of it made me appreciate this little haven once again. How blessed my girl is to have gotten this start to school.  How blessed I am that these strangers in the beginning, now are friends and have grown to appreciate my child and treasure her too.

After the parent meeting Caroline and I rushed home from school, took Buddy for a quick walk and headed off to Patrick's school.  Today was my last day to teach art with Patrick's class.  I have been teaching art once a month to these kids since they were in kindergarten and pregnant with Caroline.  So it only seemed fitting to have my last time with them be on her birthday.  Hand in hand, Caroline and I walked down to school, found the paints and paintbrushes we needed, popped the masks off of the molds we used and headed down to the classroom.

A few days ago, the fifth graders used paper mache over a mold to create masks.  We learned about all the ways masks have been used in different cultures.  We saw examples of masks form all over the world and even had a mask from Mexico that the students could look at up close.  Our theme for the lesson was the wisdom from Miss Frizzle, the unusually creative teacher from the Magic School Bus books.  Her words: 1) Take chances 2) Make mistakes 3) Get messy!  For me, that is a good motto for life and fifth graders are just beginning to see the benefits to playing it safe, staying clean and avoiding failure.  I wanted my lesson to be a little counter cultural.  I wanted to plant a few seeds that maybe mistakes aren't so bad, that taking a risk might be worth it and that getting messy is way more fun.  Happily, they dove right in to the paper mache and held nothing back.  They got creative, focused and enjoyed the process.  Watching them quietly each in their own world smoothing the newspaper with the starch, I remembered their cave art from kindergarten, their Thiebaud inspired ice-cream cones from first grade and the many, many days I was privileged to share an hour or two in their classroom with them.

This group of students has been the first group in our school to have a child with a disability right alongside them learning.  They have shown time and again what a beautiful group of people they are.  They are remarkably inclusive -- helping each other and reaching out.  They are tolerant, patient and super smart.  I see them as the pre-adolescents they are today and can't help but notice the shadow of the innocent wide-eyed kindergartener that they were just a few years ago hiding behind their wiser eyes.  They have embraced Patrick and I forever hold them close for that.  They have put up with my art ideas and welcomed me with enthusiasm for years.  I will miss them but I will pass the torch of art education to a real artist and a fantastic teacher and I will work alongside of her, glimpsing the teen-agers-to-be now in junior high.

I didn't have too much time to linger or get nostalgic.  There was paint to clean up, brushes to clean and masks to find a home for.  Once we got home, I wrapped a few gifts for Caroline and made my peace with the idea that a perfect birthday dinner was not in the cards for my birthday girl.  Why?  Because in addition to Caroline's Special Day and Patrick's last art lesson, today was also the semi-final game for Jack's volleyball team.  Winning this game would put them in the championships for the whole region.

Tonight's game was a bitter match up.  Many of the players knew one another from playing club ball in the off season.  Several of the guys from the other team would be playing volleyball in college and were bitter that Jack's team had beaten them during the regular season.  They wanted redemption and they were gunning for them.  It was going to be a battle.

The starting line up of Jack's team was made up entirely of seniors.  They had worked for four years to get to this point.  Jack, the starting setter, hadn't even made the team as a freshman.  He was a "freshman manager" meaning the coach saw something in him that had potential but he didn't want to give him a spot on JV.  He had the chance of going to practice with six other "managers" and playing side by side the JV but having only one or two games all season long.  He took it and loved it and knew that volleyball was going to be a life long love.  He played club ball in the off season and drastically improved.  Three years later, he was the one calling the shots on the court, setting the hitters up for crushing spikes and serving up a series of unanswerable serves.  Tonight would be huge for him.

We decided to attend the game as a family, even though it would be a late night for Patrick and Caroline.  Just before we left, we sang Happy Birthday to Caroline and watched her open her gifts.  We threw on some red and gold and headed out.

The tension in the gym was already noticeable as we entered.  Blissfully, Patrick and Caroline opted for a snack bar hot dog, some raisinettes and cheetoes for a sub-standard birthday dinner...something's got to give on days like today!  The other team came out roaring and before we knew it, we were behind by five points and giving serves away.  Our side was quiet and their side was dominant.  Spikes hit inside the ten foot line.  Our blockers missed.  Our serves went in the net.  We were listening to their trash talk and we weren't answering back.

At one critical point, Jack was up to serve.  Patrick was cheering with gusto and to me it sounded like he was saying, "Jack, you're the greatest!!!"  I was touched.  I leaned over and said, "Patrick, it's so great you are cheering, are you telling Jack that he's the greatest?"  He looked over at me with a doubtful expression.  "No, mom, I'm asking him: Do you believe in fairies?" I busted up.  Hopefully, by now, you know of Patrick's intense enthusiasm for things having to do with Peter Pan.

It was classic Patrick...here, at this intense, critical moment Patrick was reminding Jack of the magic available to him.  If you just believe, it can happen.  I couldn't stop laughing and the question/cheer became mine for the rest of the night.  Over the din of the crowd, together Patrick and I asked, "Do you believe in fairies?"  We whispered it to each other.  We looked knowingly at each other when something magical happened on the court.  We knew that a little fairy dust could go a long way.

And, yes, it did.  Losing game one only solidified Jack's team's determination.  They fired up.  They hunkered down...diving, jumping, spiking, digging up impossible balls and leaving it all on the court.  They won the next three games and Caroline learned to count to 25.  She had her fair share of cheering and snacks. Together Patrick and Caroline rushed the court when the final point was scored.  Jack had a fan club and two adoring fans who wouldn't leave his side.  It was awesome!

And then in a matter of minutes, just as  quickly as it had begun, the net was taken down, the gym was emptied out and our family of six went out into a rainy night.  We were worn out and enthused but filled to overflowing with a gift of another ordinary day.  May it always be so.