Meeting the Stranger Dragon

Once upon a time, in a land much like this one, there lived a person of which many things could be said and were often said; depending upon whom was doing the talking.  But in actuality, no one really knew her.  On this particular day she dressed choosing her outfit carefully.  Kissing her children goodbye, she straightened her crown and headed quickly to court to begin her day.

It was a lovely autumn day, warm with a light breeze.  The sun shown on her golden hair making her feel warm and little happy for just a minute.  But truth be told, she barely noticed, not even on this day, her birthday.  She arrived at court to be greeted with a flurry of activity.  A preparation of sorts was underway, for a visitor she would meet for the very first time, a stranger she thought.

That morning she was nervous and fretful for many reasons.  Some of the reasons she knew and understood well, while others were a complete mystery to her.  She was perplexed and out of sorts, not something she was accustomed to feeling.  But, being a somewhat stubborn person, used to pushing her way through things successfully, and creating things from her shear will, she ignored the feelings of the morning and soldiered on.

Ignoring the court jester on her way in, she was debriefed by several advisors.   Finally after a rather unproductive conversation with Merlin, she quickly retreated to the parlor for a few moments.  Here she did a very uncharacteristic thing; she removed her crown.

If you ask her now, she would say she has always done this before meetings with strangers, but that is revisionist history at best.  If you asked her back then why she did it, she would not have had an answer for you and would have stared at you blankly.   Needless to say, asking her then or now would bear no truth.  The only truth is that it was the first time she had done such a thing.

The visitor arrived as she was entering court from the parlor.  She heard him while nearly simultaneously seeing him.  Here is the part no one will believe, nor should they, for this moment belongs to her alone; but I share it with you at her bequest.  She received a double shock to her system upon first hearing his voice, then seeing his face. But no, shock is not the right word, it is not the word she would use.  She actually does not have a word for what happened but rather an impossible picture, perhaps better described as a feeling,  flashed in her mind; twice, nearly simultaneously.

Upon hearing his voice, a picture of home flashed before her mind.  A place, matched with a person, matched with a feeling, of belonging, safety, sweetness, and calm.  The picture was so vivid, she could smell the air, see the light, and taste the goodness of it.  Upon seeing his face, the picture expanded, filling itself with immense emotion.  Feelings made tangible and solid, so strong she could actually see strength, freedom, and truth along with tables for food and chairs for conversation.  But these are words that mean little and barely do justice to the picture she saw and felt and touched…and loved.

It is a curious thing to be shown such a wonderful picture by a stranger in such a public way.  For she was so unprepared for what had happened to her, assuming anyone can be prepared for such a thing, that the meeting which took place with the stranger after that was a blur for her.  Although she has been assured that she performed quite well in her duties, she could not attest to the accuracy of those assurances.  Even now she struggles to remember much of that time except for the voice, the face, and the resulting pictures.

In the end, the stranger left, her court and her children grew, and the queen cherished the pictures and lived in them all alone.

Time marched on, but the pictures never faded.  One day, a handsomely fierce and dangerously fiery dragon came into the village.  He announced himself proudly, as fantastic trouble and mysterious loneliness.  He bounded around loudly without regard for her kingdom, her court or her children.   He blew a perilous fire that seemed to threaten everything the Queen held dear.

The queen tried everything to rid her realm of him. She tried fighting the dragon by sending her knights, but the dragon was too strong.  She tried outsmarting the dragon by sending her best advisors, but the dragon was too smart.  She tried bribing the dragon with food, wine, and riches, but he gobbled up all she sent and was ravenous for more.  She even tried hiding from him, but he seemed to be drawing nearer with each action she took.  She put all her effort into banishing the dragon from her kingdom, but nothing seemed to work.

She had nearly given up all hope, when she thought of the pictures, her pictures, the pictures that the stranger had given to her.  She was more afraid than she had ever been in her entire life.  If she revealed the pictures to the dragon, he might take them away from her or he might destroy them.  Worse yet he might laugh and think her pictures worthless, something that she knew would finish her completely.

After much contemplation, she did what had to be done; she went personally to meet the dragon.

The dragon was standing on the beach looking out at the ocean, his back to her.  Trembling, the Queen approached him.  She cleared her throat.  She opened her mouth and began to speak.  As the dragon turned around, he first heard her voice, then, nearly simultaneously he saw her face.  The pictures came flowing out of her and into the dragon.  The dragon stood still for a moment, a very long moment, a moment so long that it stretched over time and space and took forever within a second.

Then the dragon smiled.

The dragon took the queen into his arms, and for the first time, there on the beach, the stranger and the queen stood together inside of the picture and kissed.

It's all in the picture

As previous post attests to, my year is not exactly starting off with a bang.  Or perhaps it is, just not the bang for which we all hope*.


Which begs the question...

...for what do I hope?

Happiness
            Fulfillment
                      Contentment

Those are big words with a myriad of meanings, each meaning different depending on to whom you are speaking, what day it is, and if Venus and Mars are aligned.  Meaning of those words aside, I understand all too well the pit falls that come into play when running after happiness, measuring fulfillment, and longing for contentment.  Each action negating the thing for which you are attempting to attain.  The "running after" puts happiness farther away with each step, the mere act of "measuring" assures unfulfilled moments, and...well, certainly "longing for" pushes contentment off with a force equal to the longing.

                  Is there an equation for that?        

                                                                 C=1/L
SIGH...

So here the deal:
                      I don't know exactly that for which I hope.

I can't name it, but oddly enough I can see my hope in snapshot form**.  I don't have succinct words to write about it, but I can feel hope in my bones when I imagine certain pictures in my head.  I have learned (although I have to remind myself of this often these days) that thinking about my pictures can break the negative cycle of "longing for", "measuring", and "chasing after."  Here is one of my favorite snapshots that gets me through these tough times:

Warm night sweet with ocean breeze, darkness with small lights, flowing soft cloth, light touch, glasses of wine, smiles and laughter, deep conversation, kind listening eyes.

I could go on, but you get the picture (ba da boom).  For me, when I don't know that for which to hope, when words fail me, and people do as well, I think about my pictures and the feelings they evoke.  The one I shared above is of companionship, warmth, and understanding.  For me it rings of touch, taste, and sound.  It brings contentment as I linger in the picture.  If I never experience that picture, it does not diminish the effect it has on me nor does it take away it's power to bring contentment.

...for what do I hope?

Perhaps I hope for the picture.  Or perhaps I simply hope for the feelings associated with the picture.  And if thinking about the picture brings those feelings, is that not enough?***

Perhaps not forever, but for me, now,
                                            ...it's all in the picture.


________________________________
Footnotes for the others who overthink.

*  Although here is exactly where I want to start talking about it, I'll spare you (for now) the lecture on Conscious Uncoupling, where I tell you how we are each others' teachers, where I explain how there are no mistakes only experiences, and where I tell you that even through the pain of change and the heartbreak of ending, there is good.  Instead of lecturing, I will ask each of you to get the book Conscious Uncoupling:  Living Happily Even After. I think EVERYONE should read it.  Yes you the happily married person, yes you the single person, yes you the person going through a break up now and YES YES YES especially you the heart broken person who can't seem to love again.

**  Glasser calls this a quality world picture: a picture you hold in your mind that represents the feeling/goal/value that you strive to reach or maintain.  Please forgive me as this is likely a bastardized version of Glasser.  Choice Theory deals with the values behind the quality world pictures, talks about the pictures changing but the values remaining the same.  I would say the value represented here has to do with my basic human need for deep intimate connections. But I have learned that thinking about my quality pictures brings contentment, a by-product of the process that I find pleasing.

***  Don't get me wrong, I don't advocate day dreaming your life away and not accomplishing things or even striving to make your pictures a reality.  I am not against measurements (do you know what I do for a living?).  I am no stranger to striving, it is a value I hold at my very core.  I also do not think that longings are even bad.  I am simply sharing something that I have found to be an effective way of calming my mind, adjusting my attitude, and focusing my energies.

And if you are lucky, and you pay close attention,

particularly in the quiet moments,

your quality pictures can come to life.

Facebook post Jan 5, 2016

While there are likely people who will think us foolish, selfish, or just plain wrong to air such news on Facebook, Archie and I have decided to share with our community, in this way, some news about our family. We have chosen this venue because it is difficult for us to talk to everyone before the news is shared by others. Simply put we would like to make sure our story, in our words, is out there because our children will talk about it and it is our hope that they will encounter understanding and love.To you adults:
Archie and I have decided to separate. While we remain committed to each other’s success in life, and full of mutual respect for each other, we will be living apart. It was not an easy decision or one taken lightly, but rather one that is rooted in what we believe to be our best chance at being and becoming healthy individuals and the best possible parents to our children. In reality we are working on conscious uncoupling, a process that is rooted in compassion. For us it is a slow, purposeful, kind and respectful way of ending or changing a relationship. It is our hope to build each other and our family up through this process.
To our children we said the same thing but in their terms:
We know how important it is to be healthy. We work very hard at being healthy. We eat good foods and we exercise to make our bodies healthy. We read and learn new things to make our minds healthy. And we speak kindly and act nicely to each other to keep our hearts healthy. There are other things that adults need to be healthy as well. Right now Mommy and Daddy need to work on those adult things to be healthy (our kids know there are adult things that they will learn when they grow up so this is not a strange concept to them). Mommy and Daddy tried to work on them together, but it did not work. So we have to work on them apart.
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We are sorry if we did not speak to some of you personally before posting this. It was not due to lack of desire to talk to our friends, but rather a time constraint as our children know and will want to share their news with their community. It is also a daunting task to speak to everyone about something that remains painful for us.
Thank you for being a part of our lives. Thank you in advance for your love and support. It has not been an easy time for our family, but we remain optimistic about the future and believe that good things are in store for our family, no matter what our family dynamic might look like.

There is a young cowboy who lives...

I was a young mother, a child myself when my first son was born.  To me he was the best plaything for which I could have wished.  And since he believed babies came from wishes, I suppose in this regard he was right.  He was my wish.

I remember…

…that I filled his room with toys we both loved, so we could play together for hours.  He had a huge plastic play house in his room into which we both could fit.  It took up more space than was reasonable.  One day he said that he wanted to be able to see the planets when we were in the house (I had sticker-ed glowing stars and planets all over the ceiling of his room).  So I took the off roof and threw it away, because what adult was there to say we couldn’t?

I remember…

…when the rain was light and warm we would walk between the raindrops (like the witches) and stomp in puddles (like Ping).  We would dig in the mud for worms and hold their squiggly bodies in our fingers.  We would dance barefoot in the rain, because what adult was there to tell us to put on our boots?

I remember…

…when it was cold and rainy we would make forts and create imaginary worlds with sofa cushions, drying racks, chairs, and blankets.  We left our creations up for days and even weeks, because what adult was there to tell us to clean up?

I remember…

…we played and perfected our video game skills.   In fact Zelda was one of our favorites, but I never could fly very well holding that darn chicken and he had to do it for me every time.  Often we played the video games instead of doing homework, because what adult was there to tell us otherwise?

I remember…

…we played late into the evening.  And when we were hungry, we ate ice cream for dinner before tucking in on the sofa to watch TV as we fell asleep.  We kept vampire hours whenever possible, because what adult was there to tell us to go to sleep?

I remember…

…that our life was filled with music.  We danced in our under ware, wearing towel capes fastened with diaper pins, holding tinker-toy marching sticks, yelling at the top of our lungs.  At night I would sing to him my renditions of James Taylor, John Denver, and Joni Mitchell, with some REM and Nirvana sprinkled in for good measure.  We made up our own special song combining cartoon intro, commercial jingles, and our own made up silliness, because what adult was there to say we had to sing lullabies?

 It was with many memories of my son dancing around in my head, that I traveled north for his wedding weekend.  And while his wife is everything I hoped he would find in a partner, the weekend was still a happy/sad time for me.  As I watched him stand before friends and family, my eyes could still see the little boy, even though I knew that she saw the man.  As he read his vows to her, my ears could still hear the little voice, even though I knew that she heard his deep tones.  As I my thoughts continued to travel backwards to the past lived with him, I knew that she imagined forward to a life yet lived with him.

After the beautifully touching ceremony, after their first kiss ever, after lovely boat rides to the reception, after a Hawaiian music filled dinner, and after the most beautiful hula dance from wife to husband imaginable (leaving us all blushing), the son/mother dance was upon us.  We had not talked about it, I did not know about it, and he would not be dissuaded from skipping it (my suggestion since it had started to rain).

So caught up in the moment, only gradually did I hear the song to which we were dancing.  Then it all came flooding back, the memories, the childhood, the playing, the love.  It was the song I sang to him as a baby and the song I sang with him as a child.

There is a young cowboy who lived on the range
His horse and his cattle are his only companions
He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons
Waiting for Summer, his pastures to change
And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
Thinking about MOMMIES and glasses of MILK
And closing his eyes as the doggies retire
He sings out a song which is soft but it’s clear
As if maybe someone could hear 

HE SINGS
Goodnight moonlight ladies
Rock-a-bye sweet baby TAYLOR
Deep greens and blues are the colors I chose
Won’t you let me go down in my dreams
And rock-a-bye sweet baby TAYLOR
*MANY changes to James Taylor’s song which are my own

I will always remember…

…the rain was light and he danced barefooted.  We danced in the middle of a crowd, cocooned by their love and cushioned by their well intentions.  We danced alone, through time, as I closed my eyes and sang to him again the words that were so familiar to us.  I rocked the baby once more.  I sang with the child again.  And then at last, I beheld the man.

He has always been my wish.  And when I opened my eyes and saw her standing there watching us dance, I knew that he was her wish too!

What Scares Me

As Halloween grows near, with ghosts and goblins around every corner, I was speaking with a friend of mine about fears, real and imagined.  I told her, I don’t watch the news.  I don’t listen to the news.  I don’t read - yup you got it – the news.  It is not that I don’t care about what is going on in the world or even my neck of the woods, it is that my brain cannot get rid of the truly horrible and the media thrives on showing the truly horrible.  The news makes me fearful.

Point in case, as I am sitting in the hospital waiting room the TV is on CNN.  “Up next is a story about every parent’s nightmare, an 8 year old boy, lost in New York city, who turns to the wrong person for help.”  I am heart sick for the rest of the day and cannot sleep at night.  Nothing compared to the horror that his parents are facing, but I don’t need this story to remind me that my children are growing up in an unsafe world.  I already hold them close, trying to protect them from every bump in the night – and some pretty scary day “bumps” too.  I have made my home a virtual fortress - short of putting up barbed wire.  I don’t mind telling you we have cameras, alarms, sensors and every other bell and whistle in place to try and keep our little ones safe. 

I am actually not free from these things even on Facebook, my refuge from reality – come on you all know the life we have on FB is way better than reality.  Ok, well maybe there are a few of you who post all your boo boos and woes – shame on you and stop it!  But the majority of us share happy photos, funny quips and a chicken or two for a farm.  Anyway, sometime ago a “friend” disturbed my Facebook refuge with a story about Shaniya Davis – if you don’t know the story don’t look it up as it will tear you up, just know it is very very bad.  This “friend” said we needed to band together and get rid of such evil in our world.  She reposted the news story in all it’s horrible detail.  And she gave no indication on what banding together to rid the world of evil even meant.  In fact I would guess that everyone reading that post thinks evil is wrong, would like it gone from this world and agrees with her, but just wanting it so or posting on FB does not make it disappear and is not a solution.

At night my daughter has taken to falling asleep with me in bed – don’t tell me how I am ruining her, I actually don’t care.  This time at night gives me the opportunity to snuggle her, holding her in my protective embrace – I think my husband does the same when he rocks our son to sleep every night.  It is not always an enjoyable time for me as she drifts to sleep peacefully; I wish it were.  But often I think of the boy from New York or little Shaniya, or some other horrible thing that has crept into my mind because someone has unwittingly told me a story or recounted a tragedy.  I think about how I could best protect both she and her brothers; quit my job and stay with them 24/7 , hire a body guard, never let them out of the house, I even think about scaring them into being afraid of strangers or at the very least teaching them about strangers.  Thats smart, right, teaching them about strangers?

A long time ago, a young friend of mine was playing downstairs while his mother showered.  She heard a man’s voice downstairs and quickly jumped out of the shower, threw on a robe and ran downstairs.  There at the door, her son was talking to a man.  She quickly got rid of the man and shut the door.  When she calmed down a bit she asked my friend, “Haven’t we said you are not allowed to talk to strangers?” 

“Yes,” was his reply. 

“Well then, why were you talking to that man?  He is a stranger.” 

“OH,” said my young cousin.  “I did not know he was a stranger, he looked just like a human being.”

This is what we are up against as parents.  A world full of strangers dressed up as human beings.  But worse than that we are in a world where evil can be dressed up as human beings.  I don’t mean that in a metaphysical sense, I mean we have evil people among us and they look like us!  I can’t tell the difference between a serial killer and a computer programmer (there is a test you can take for this at http://www.malevole.com/mv/misc/killerquiz/).  So how do I think my children will be able to tell.  And worse yet, most children know the people that hurt them – so putting the fear of strangers into them does not always work either.

Besides, I don’t want fearful children.  The worst thing in Bella's little life right now is naptime and when we run out of gum, Zachary is barely even conscious of the world around him, and Taylor still thinks he is indestructible – as most man cubs do. 

I don’t know the answer.  I don’t know how to keep them safe from boogey people, while allowing them the freedom they need to grow.  I don’t know how to teach them about the world we live in without tainting their innocent hearts.  I certainly don’t know how to keep myself from worrying so they won’t grow up to be worriers themselves.   Do you?

__________________
I know this is a bummer of a post, but something that has weighed on my heart for a while.  It is easy to say that fear is not of God, but I believe we are also charged with training our children and preparing them for life.  I share this as a struggle of mine...perhaps you have answers and perhaps you struggle as well.

Bees and other conversations

She got there early.  After ordering her tea and choosing a comfy spot in a tucked away corner, she used the next few minutes to convince herself that everything would be normal.   As she had proven to be unreliable in the past, she did not believe herself now.   Her stomach was tightening, loosening enough to flip over, only to tighten again.  Cradling her hands around the paper cup, she blew on the tea she would not likely drink.  Looking around, she was extra careful not to make eye contact with anyone.   It was unlikely that she knew anyone here, but getting into a conversation, however brief or inconsequential, would have put her over the edge.  

Besides she was horrible at small talk.  She always marveled at how easily others seemed to talk to one another, chit-chatting about small things.  They reminded her of bees, buzzing about with purpose.  Constant buzzing.  They never lacked things to buzz about.  She could never do that, buzzing on and on. 

Oh she did want to be skilled in buzzing.  Often before parties she would practice.  “Can you believe that new finding that was published, the one on sound waves creating mass?”  She imagined her comment would illicit some equally clever response, followed by a deep discussion of physics and God.  They would discuss this new finding as it relates to the Genesis account of God creating the world by speaking.  Others might even join in the conversation, each person building on the comment of the last. 

It never worked out quite like she practiced.  Most of the time she never even attempted the buzz, but when she did she usually got a blank stare followed by a nervous laugh.  Then the bee she was talking to would buzz on about some inane thing, she would respond as best she could at respectable intervals between the buzzing of others.  Last night she had tried to think of some buzzing to start the conversation with today, but she knew it would be unnecessary. 

Mediocre paintings from local artists adorned all of the walls except the one behind her which held a cork board overflowing with papers.    There were two ladies on the sofa in the middle of the room buzzing away.  She strained to hear them as she pretended to read a “Missing Cat” poster on the cork board.

"…was the last time, I told him."  The thin, prissy bee shook her head in disbelief at what the shorter, older bee was saying.  “But he insisted that I was wrong.  Wrong! Can you believe that?”  The prissy bee looked worried and thrilled at the same time.  “So I did it anyway.  And do you know what, it was great, just great.  You have to come with me next time.  Or better yet, I’ll send you the information and you can do it whenever you like.”  Buzz Buzz Buzz.  She listened to the bees for a few minutes, could not figure out for the life of her what they were talking about and finally lost interest and began to scan the cork board in earnest.

She had started to relax just a bit when she heard his familiar voice.

“Hi.” Looking at her cup he pointed to the counter, letting her know that he was going to order his coffee.  She continued to blow on her tea while starring at the papers on the corkboard. 

“Tall Americana with room,” he told the baby faced barista behind the counter.   Babyface was slender and tall with a youthful beauty.  She wished she could remember what it was like to have the adolescent confidence that Babyface seemed to exude.  Did she ever have it or was she always nervous?  Even in her youth she remembered the great effort it took her to look carefree.   The thought of effortful-carefree-ness brought a smile to her face just as he sat down.

“What’s funny?” 

She could not even explain it to him if she had wanted to, and she did not want to.  She hoped that she was doing a good job of looking carefree and dare not give any indication of the huge effort it took just at that moment to sit there calmly with him.

“How’s your coffee?” she asked him, changing the subject.  He was already drinking it piping hot.  It usually took her 30 minutes of blowing to cool her tea down enough to drink it.  By then anyone else she had ever taken coffee or tea with was usually done.   There were dried puddles of tea in parking lots and bunches of paper cups in the back of her car as testament to her inability to drink the teas she ordered.  So wasteful, but who wants to meet for coffee with someone who drinks nothing?

Can't see eye to eye

Dear Lady Down the Street,

Hello.  We don’t really know each other.  But I can tell you are full of yourself.  You walk about the neighborhood as if you own the place, nose in the air, chatting with only the chosen few.  I am not one of those people so to me you have spoken maybe 3 words.  You certainly don’t talk to me at parties.  In fact you look right through me all the while being loud and obnoxious with your inner circle.  I would not mind chatting with you when I see you but I can’t bring myself to do it, you see I am shy.  I am not sure what I did, but have resigned myself to not even being neighborly with you.   

-Lady Up the Street-

Dear Lady Up the Street,

Hello.  We don’t really know each other.  But I know you don’t like me.  I walk by your house on nice days, admiring that pretty tree in your front yard, the one that has the robin’s nest in it, but you never talk to me.  I usually cross the street to talk to others.  I tried talking with you once or twice but it is awkward for some reason.  Sometimes I see you at parties but I have friends with whom I feel comfortable and so I generally stick with them, you see I am shy.  I am not sure what I did, but have resigned myself to not even being neighborly with you. 

-Lady Down the Street-

Get thee behind me Sweet Demons...

Ok, I admit it, I am CRAZY about what my kids eat.  We eat whole grains, minimally processed, fresh, and yes some might think strange foods.  The snacks my kids love are kale chips, popcorn with nutritional yeast and hummus with pita wedges.  Our pasta is brown, so is our rice.  Sometimes are eggs are green (kale or spinach) and our pancakes are often red (beet juice).  I think you get the picture.  We don’t have junk food, sugary snacks or candy, or I should say we did not have candy in the house until recently (I will not mention the times my husband would bring it into the house and I would throw it away).  Now we have it in the house all the time and before you cringe or cheer depending on your thoughts on the matter, let me tell you why.

My children have some CRAZY sweet teeth, sweet tooths, um…they like sugar a lot!  Although we did not have it in the house, whenever they saw candy at a store, cousin’s house, or their father’s car they would throw fits, beg, and even sneak with the goal of getting some into their mouths.  It was a major feat to get them to calm down without giving into them.  And the desire for sugar did not seem to diminish; the longer they were without it, the crazier they got for the stuff.

Driving to work one day I heard an interview on the radio from the author who wrote the book, Brining up Bebe, Pamela Druckerman*.  I did not hear the entire interview, but the small snippet that I heard spoke of the salvation that both I and my children were craving.  SWEETIE TIME.  Apparently every afternoon around 3pm, the French give their children small sweet snacks.  It is the only time of the day that their children get them, but it is every day without fail. 

I started to think about the concept.  It flew against everything that I had attempted with my children.  Limit or cut out sugary sweets.  Teach them it is bad for them.  Keep them safe from the evil sweets.  But the sugar demons had a hold of my children, and they were winning the fight for their attention and their sweet souls.  Could giving my children sweets, in small amounts, everyday, diminish their drive for sugar and send the candy demons away?

I was doubtful, but I tried it for a couple of weeks anyway.  Every day at 3pm, my children get SWEETIE TIME, a time when their SWEETIE CUPS get 5-6 m&ms or gummies, a small scoop of ice cream or a small portion of cup cake.  The keys were it needed to be EVERY DAY and had to be a LITTLE SWEETIE.  After 3 weeks all I can tell you is that SWEETIE TIME is pure magic.  My children are leaps and bounds better!  They are not frantic about sweets, probably because they know they will have a little every day.  They are calmer at stores when I explain that we can have some of “that” at SWEETIE TIME but not now.  And they even eat a much better dinner.  This last statement is hard to explain but somehow having a little sweet at 3 pm, gets their bodies ready for a good meal by six.

I would not say the sugar demons are completely gone.  I see them from time to time hanging out in the candy isle or chilling by the birthday cake at parties and I fully expect to see them dancing alongside the ice cream truck in another month as the weather gets warm.  But my children do not respond to them in the same way as before.  Who knew?  Fighting fire with fire, or in our case sugar with sugar does actually work!

_________________

*I have only just begun reading her book, and I am beginning to realize that SWEETIE TIME just might be my own bastardization of what the French do…I am not to that chapter yet and as I said, I only heard a snippet of the interview. 

Sweet like honey

While fixing dinner one night last week, Bella started fussing at Zachary for bumping into her.  I fussed at Bella for fussing at her brother.  Zachary ran around fussing at the dog .  And true to form Xena bit whatever cat was closest to her – I only wish I were making this up!  I stopped in my tracks, hugged Bella and told her I was sorry for fussing and remembering something a friend shared with me earlier that day I took out a bottle of honey and sat down with the kids.

“Bella and Zachary, kind words are like honey (then I gave them each a drop on their fingers to taste) sweet to the soul and healthy for the body.”  They loved the honey.  We did it again.  Then I said some kinds words to Bella and gave her some more honey.  I repeated the same thing with Zachary.  Bella said something kind to Zachary, he got a lick of honey.  I helped Zachary say kind words to Bella, she got a lick of honey.  We all hugged, were much calmer, even the dog was laying down beside us.  Then I put the honey away and started back with dinner.

As I thought of the exchange we just had, I started to cry.  My kids loved the little exercise, but I realized I was the one who needed it.  From where was Bella, Zachary and the dog learning to fuss?  ME!  From where were they learning harsh worlds or tones?  ME!  Tears and shame.

The problem is that most days I am tired.  I seem to be walking through a thick sticky fog with short times of clean clear air where I take a deep breath before the fog rolls in again.  I am not miserable, I am just tired.  I am most tired at the beginning of the evening, when I am trying to get dinner together, when my daughter wants to play and my son wants me to hold him.  If you have ever tried cooking with a toddler strapped to you, you know that safety is not the only issue – wing span becomes a problem; stirring is a four handed adventure, pouring is tricky at best, chopping is out of the question. 

I understand their needs, mom is just home from work we need time with her!  Simple.  But I need to get them – and their father – fed so that we can play, do bath time, reading, and all the things they are needing, wanting, and pushing to do.  But this is the hardest time of the day for me, it is when I am most tired and it is when I am most cranky!  This is when I am most likely to be short tempered and unkind.  Bad mother, horrible wife, hang my head in shame.

I don’t want to be this way.  If they would only freeze for 30 minutes, let me get the meal done and perhaps a few sips of wine, I would be golden.  But they can’t, they won’t, they shouldn’t.  I actually want them to be part of the routine, I like when Bella cuts the cucumbers with me, when Zachy comes over and hugs me then totters off to play with Daddy, or when Archie comes over and kisses me while some child is slung over his shoulder squealing.

So these days I take it slower, I measure my words, I make them softer and kinder.  I make time to play, tickle and hug my kids before making dinner.  I take breaks while making dinner to talk to them, hold them or play with them, and kiss their father.  Sometimes I put them in the sink so they can play/bathe while I make dinner.  And in case I forget, come home grumpy or start feeling a little crazy, I have a bottle of honey shaped like a bear on my window sill, looking at me.



The picture we now have hanging up in our home



Something you WANT. Something you NEED.

“I need that mommy.”  This is what Bella, my two year old, says to me about everything from her binky – don’t judge me on the binky thing we are working on it - to the remote control.  She needs to paint, she needs to blow bubbles, she needs to talk to her brother on Skype, she needs to play in the sink, she needs, needs, needs.  I am not sure how she learned the word need and not the word want.  When she says she needs gum, which is the most needed thing in our house these days, I ask her, “do you need gum or do you want gum.”  To which she always replies, “I want gum.”  But only because she wants me to give her the gum and does not want the lecture about how she NEEDS air, food, sleep, exercise but she does not NEED gum.

We recently took Bella to a rural primary school in Jamaica, to deliver some supplies they needed and to begin the process of teaching her to give to others, what we hope will be a lifelong endeavor for her.  It was her first foray into hands on philanthropy.  It is our hope that Bella would start to learn what NEED really looks like and juxtapose that to what WANT looks like.

Now I know that WANT and NEED are close cousins, I know that WANT can be as strong a word as NEED in some circumstances.  I also hope that Bella becomes a self assured woman that can make her WANTS known and have her NEEDS met.  But what we are trying to teach her right now, by teaching her the difference between WANT and NEED, is that sometimes we have to set aside our own WANTS to attend to the NEEDS of others.  That it is not inherently bad to WANT, but that it must be tempered with the NEEDS around us. 

picture by Anna Skladmann

The bottom line is that I don’t wish to raise a Paris Hilton, whose main goal is the pursuit of getting all she wants, acquiring lots of stuff, having the best and shiniest things, and showing the world how great she is by this very pursuit.   I hope to have a daughter who has, wrapped up in the pursuit of her own happiness, the desire to help others.  That her desire to meet the NEEDS of others is wound up so tightly in her being, that her very happiness demands she think of others too – not instead of herself like a martyr, not at the cost of her NEEDS, but certainly at the cost of some of her WANTS.  I hope that she has all she NEEDS for the rest of her life, but I hope that she willingly and at some point automatically gives up some of her WANTS in the fulfillment of the NEEDS of others.

It seems to me the gulf between NEED and WANT is no greater demonstrated than at Christmas time.  This is a time when many families rush about buying up as much stuff as they possibly can in an effort to give their children a fabulously magical Christmas.  It is also a time when many children go without even the basic needs like warm clothes or heat in their homes.  It is a time when families gather together for huge meals, parties and happy laughing times.  But it is also a time when many are very lonely, some devastatingly so. 

It was with this thought – about the disparity that occurs at Christmas – that my husband and I decided to adopt a new philosophy about gifts and Christmas. One that we hope will begin to teach the difference between NEED and WANT, one that will engage us in thinking and doing for others and one that will still give our children a memorable Christmas.   It is a two-fold approach; keep Christmas magically manageable while turning the larger focus on helping others.  This Christmas I think gave me a great foundation for the first ½ of this equation; keeping Christmas magically manageable.

Our children still get gifts.  But they are just a few well thought out ones, rather than a crazy abundance that has become the hallmark of Christmas for many.  Here I have to pause to reflect on Christmases past when I went ridiculously crazy and filled rooms with gifts.  I understand the thrill of the hunt for the hot new gifts, I get the beauty of overabundance, I certainly have felt the thrill of having my oldest child come down to more gifts than he could have possibly opened in a week – no joke, the poor little guy begged to stop opening gifts.  So I say this, few gifts and well thought out gifts, with no judgment on those who like me have done the overboard thing. 

Thanks to a pin on pinterest, our gift giving is simply four gifts; something you want, something you need, something you wear, something you read.  I had a great time researching perfect gift to fit each category and ended up with great gifts for each of the children.  Now two of my children are so young that everything Christmas is new to them, starting a new tradition with them was easy.  Luckily my oldest just rolls with the punches and has never been one to care for lots and lots of gifts – I think I ruined him with that one Christmas of crazy overabundance.

The four well thought out gifts for each child, a large family gift and fun filled stockings – that’s it!  It made for a less stressful Christmas for us in terms of shopping, and took not one iota of magic away from Christmas.  In fact I would argue it may have been even more magical as our focus was not on a bunch of gifts, but on the few we had and enjoying them together.

As for the second half of the equation - turning the larger focus on helping others - it’s a new work in progress.  We certainly are always open to opportunities that present themselves, but for now we are working on establishing a family mission statement that we hope will inform our focus on helping others during the holidays and beyond.   We have some ideas and are excited to see what happens this next year! 

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Two asides:

  I am aware these are not a completely novel ideas, they might not even be the best ones, but they are what we think will work for our family and I believe it will be fun to see our kids start to take a more active role in helping others as they grow up.  Our youngest ones are one and two years old, but it is my hope that if we pattern this new Christmas equation for them, they will eagerly join as able and even help shape and expand the ideas and traditions as they grow up. 

You may also wonder where God is in this conversation and these decisions, especially in light of the fact that we are talking about Christmas. He is at the very heart of this.  He is in the reduction of the gifts and in the magnification of helping others.  He is in the desire to raise children who think of others as automatically as breathing.  He just does not have to be mentioned at every turn, for us He is bigger than that.

Are you Santa?

The reign of Santa has begun in our house this year.  After a respite of some 8+ years, between the awakening of Taylor to the adult world – and thus the loss of Santa - and the awakening of Bella to the world around her, Santa is back!  Bella is two, so magic is not only very real to her, but it is also quite normal.  It is magically normal that GUM only appears after dinner is over, it is magically normal that her big brother Taylor can pull large balls out of her ears, it is also magically normal that a rather robust older man in a shockingly bright suit would bring her toys and candy if she is good.  No real leap of faith for Bella, her Mother says so, her Father says so and the world about her says so.  Must be true!

But what happens when she learns it is not so.  What happens when her friends at school learn from their older siblings and share this truth with her?  What do we say?  Will she mistrust us?  Will she extrapolate this to other parts of her life?  Will she extrapolate this to God?

You might think, since I have been through the life cycle of Santa with Taylor, that I am a pro at this, that I understand the intricacies of the before, during and after Santa belief for children.  But Taylor was an easy child, he does not even remember when he found out.  He pretty much took it in stride and kept walking.  And maybe Bella will do that too – and Zachary just behind her.  But I still worry that one of them will be the child with the broken heart, the child who feels betrayed or the child that learns to mistrust.

I can tell you it was with great relief that I found this blog from a mom who was busted.  Her child asked her in a note, if she was Santa.  I suspect this gave the mom time to contemplate.  The letter she wrote her daughter in response is perfection itself.  The care for her daughter’s feelings, the regard that she gives for the importance of this event and the wonderful way in which she allows the magic to continue in her daughter’s life is astonishing.  I share this letter with permission from the author.

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Dear Lucy,

Thank you for your letter. You asked a very good question: “Are you Santa?”

I know you’ve wanted the answer to this question for a long time, and I’ve had to give it careful thought to know just what to say.

The answer is no. I am not Santa. There is no one Santa.

I am the person who fills your stockings with presents, though. I also choose and wrap the presents under the tree, the same way my mom did for me, and the same way her mom did for her. (And yes, Daddy helps, too.)

I imagine you will someday do this for your children, and I know you will love seeing them run down the stairs on Christmas morning. You will love seeing them sit under the tree, their small faces lit with Christmas lights.

This won’t make you Santa, though.

Santa is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple, but it is powerful. He teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch.

It’s a big job, and it’s an important one. Throughout your life, you will need this capacity to believe: in yourself, in your friends, in your talents and in your family. You’ll also need to believe in things you can’t measure or even hold in your hand. Here, I am talking about love, that great power that will light your life from the inside out, even during its darkest, coldest moments.

Santa is a teacher, and I have been his student, and now you know the secret of how he gets down all those chimneys on Christmas Eve: he has help from all the people whose hearts he’s filled with joy.

With full hearts, people like Daddy and me take our turns helping Santa do a job that would otherwise be impossible.

So, no. I am not Santa. Santa is love and magic and hope and happiness. I’m on his team, and now you are, too.

I love you and I always will.

Mama
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Thank you  Martha Brokenbrough for allowing me to share this.  For a look at her entire blog entry regarding The Truth About Santa check it out at http://www.cozi.com/live-simply/truth-about-santa

Dodging Perfection

I have a confession; I have an addiction to perfection.  It is an unrequited addiction I assure you, it would be as if I said I had an addiction to winning the lottery – I never have won the lottery, I never have reached perfection.  But I have an addiction to try none the less. 

Take pumpkin patches for example.  We try a new one every year, looking for the perfect total package – pumpkins GROWING in the fields, handsome, well groomed animals to look at and maybe touch, beautiful tall trees offering cooling shade, a barn is always a welcome touch, food is optional but a warm drink is nice.  We never find the perfect patch.  In fact I never like the pumpkin patch we just visited as much as the one from the previous year, which can be maddening.  It means each year we are moving away from perfection, slowly but surely.

The Christmas holiday season brings out the worst in my striving for the best, certainly more than any other time of the year.  This year is no exception and although I have given myself permission to have a less-than-perfect holiday season, the problem lies in the fact that I often don’t end up listening to myself. 

Sure I have a potty training toddler who believes the house is her personal art project, an 11 month old walker who likes to disassemble things at breakneck speed, at least one crazy cat that insists on inviting strange woodland creatures in for nighttime romps and a dog that is on her last leg celebrating her last Christmas, but this Christmas season is going to be particularly bad for my addiction to perfection because I know ahead of time just how far the miss is going to be.  

How do I know how far my miss will be?  Because for the first time in my life, I actually know what perfection looks like.  Who has shown me this perfection?  You all have!  Well actually those of you who belong to the same club I belong to; the club that propagates perfection in tiny increments, the club that never shows you the whole picture but rather small snapshots of it’s beautiful parts, the club that has you thinking you can sew, glue gun, arrange, paint and cook your way to perfection – and in some cases purchase it.  I have seen your face, Perfection thy name is PINTEREST!

Perfection that is not my life!

Oh yes, I am already morning the shabby chic fabric bows that will not be gracing my packages, the paper bag advent calendar that my kids will not be opening every morning, the sparkling sugared cranberry brie bites I will not be cooking, the wreath of radishes I will not be hanging on my door and the popcorn garland we will not be stringing.  I mention only a few, but they are all in there, the board is simply labeled Christmas – one of 44 boards containing 1129 pins and 108 followers, but who’s counting?

The thing is, as much as I want a house that looks spectacularly perfect, my children want to make forts. As much as I would love to have a quiet glass of wine while I listen to bluesy Christmas music, my children would love apple juice while dancing to some rockin’ Chimpmunks – I could add some PINTEREST perfection to even the kid version of this by freezing candy chipmunks in the ice cubes of their drinks.  As much as I need to have the pumpkins off the front porch and all the Christmas decorations up by the 1^st of December, my children need their parents to simply play with them.

And so I give in, for the sake of the two little monkees that break my heart every time I look at them, for the big monkey that has made me so proud in college and for the ape that owns my heart – sorry honey had to stay with the theme here.  I give up the pursuit of PINTEREST perfection and promise to simply enjoy the chaos that is our life, for now.  So if you see me fretting over homemade christmas candies, stressing about pretty packages or sweating over the perfectly painted ornament, I give you premission to pull me aside and remind me of what is important.  As for PINTEREST, I will continue to pin, but it is for the future you understand!

Have you found your Veep?

veep (vEp)

n. Slang

1. A vice president, second in command, right hand person

2. Someone with whom you have shared so much that no matter how long it has been since you have seen or spoken to them when you do it is as if no time has passed, someone who reminds you of a glorious past (real or perceived)

A Veep is not reserved for presidential candidates or CEOs.   Whether we know it or not, a Veep is both something we all want and someone for whom we all search.  My search for a Veep started very young.  To understand how important having a Veep is to me, you must go back to 1967 in the Blue Ridge Mountains, down in the Shenandoah Valley.  My mother was in her senior year at a boarding school called Shenandoah Valley Academy or SVA.  She was not a delinquent, a druggie or god forbid, a loose woman /gasp/, but rather this was a sought after place, a veritable teen wonderland. 

Although the year was 1967, the school had remained in the 1950’s, frozen in an age of innocence.  The girls still wore skirts and blouses with headbands and clean faces, while the boys wore white collared shirts, slacks and loafers and with their hair parted just right.  You know the time period, even if, just like me, you weren’t alive.  We see it on TV and in movies.  A simple happy time.  Clean happy faces, clean pressed clothes, clean fun.  This is what the SVA of 1967 is like to me, a golden age.  In fact the pictures I have in my mind, the stories I hold in my heart and the feelings I have for that place make me nostalgic for a time and place that I never experienced.

It was in this bubble, this safe haven, where my mother met HER Veep.  I could not even begin to share all of the stories and adventures that bonded these two women to each other.  I am not even sure I am at liberty to share how the name Veep or her alter ego Viola came about, but suffice to say, they love each other deeply and their friendship has withstood the test of time.

My Mother                Her Veep 

Growing up we vacationed with the Veep and her family, spent weekends each other’s homes and played games that we made up ourselves – like GAAAUUD (as in guard but also has a version that is similar to god) which consisted of us kids being thrown on the sofa over and over if we tried to get up.  In short we shared our lives together.  We were always so thrilled to see them, the Veep family, and I remember the excited feeling I had that someday I would have a Veep too! 

Truth be told it has not always been easy for them – my mom and her Veep.  I have seen times when they are as tight as ticks and other times when they do not quite see eye to eye.  But like a good marriage, they persevere.  I don’t know how they do it; maybe they remember the good times when times are tough, maybe they remind themselves that ‘she is just doing the best she can,’ or maybe they just love each other despite their differences.  Whatever it is, this perseverance is what makes her my mother’s Veep.

It was with these expectations of a 1950’s perfect bubble world where I would find my Veep, that I attended SVA in the mid 80’s.  I stayed only a year.  After years of hearing stories, seeing pictures and witnessing the resulting friendships, I attended SVA looking for my mother’s school and my mother’s experiences.  I did not allow for the changes that had taken place over the years, not only in the school but in the world.  I wanted to travel back in time and I was continually disappointed when I was faced with the reality of my own time.  One problem was that I had created a dream SVA that NEVER existed, not even in my mother’s time.  The other problem?   I thought I would run smack dab into my Veep.  “Good day Tara.  Here is your room assignment, your class schedule and if you will step right over here this nice young lady will be your Veep.”

To be fair, when I attended SVA it was a grand place, still a veritable kid haven.  There were great teachers, fabulous students and awesome activities; it was still a place that was tucked away from the cares of the world and contained vestiges of a simpler time.  I would even venture to guess that my Veep might have been there.  I just did not stay or invest myself enough in the school or the people to find her.

Since I had been looking for my Veep almost all my life, it was with great celebration in my heart when I thought I found her in a friend.  We saw each other daily, shared intimate details of our lives, laughed and cried together.  She was a dear dear friend of mine for several years but alas she was not my Veep.  I was devastated when I first realized this.  But I was going through a divorce and to be fair to her, it was unpleasant all around to be in the midst of it.  She bailed and never returned.  And I began to doubt that a Veep existed for me.

It has only been recently that I have begun to realize a few things about this search for my Veep.  I have been doing the same thing with the Veep search that I had done with my time at SVA (and perhaps even other things in life but don’t make me look at everything).  I was disregarding reality and trying to create a person who does not exist, even for my mother.  Yes THE Veep, my mother’s Veep is an original, never to be repeated in any time/space continuum.  She is a dear friend to my mother, sharing an incredible history together.  But like the SVA in the bubble, I have created in my mind a fantasy friend that reality simply will not allow for.

Is this right?  Am I never to find even a fax simile of a Veep?  Actually, if I factor in reality and account for myself in the equation, I have several Veeps – and I would venture to guess that both my mother and her Veep have other Veeps too!

I have the Veep that did stick with me though the divorce, who said the hard things but loved me anyway, who comes to the important events even though she is an introvert, and who used to share chocolate volcano cake with me wherever we could find them (but now we have both given up that vice)!

I have the Veep who comes to our spur of the moment dinners, who never fails to brighten my day with her positive outlook on life, whose husband is one of my husband’s Veeps, whose son swears that he is Bella’s fella, and who loves my children even when they are rotten!

I have the Veep who after many years has resurfaced and it is as if she were never gone, who has one of the kindest hearts I know – she hand feeds her dying lizard and takes care of stray cats, who calls me once a week just to chat, and who thinks I am so darn funny!

I have two sister Veeps who are incredible, for whom I have waited and waited for adulthood to arrive and for whom the wait has been worth it, who are fiercely loyal, mama bears to all our children and who are beautiful women in their own right.

I have the two Veeps who my husband found for me, who have got to be some of the nicest women you would ever meet, who are intelligent and witty, and who live far away but whom I hold near in my heart.

I even have the Veep who did go to SVA, who I have gotten to know better in the last few years than I did in the brief one at school, and who I think is one very cool chick!

For the sake of brevity I must stop there but I know I have other Veeps and I love and appreciate everyone one of them for whatever time we spend with each other, however brief or eternal!

So I think maybe there is a spirit of Veep, in all the women in my life, that I have been tapping into without realizing it.  Perhaps some Veeps come and some Veeps go, perhaps there are major Veeps and minor Veeps, and just perhaps true Veeps are around forever.  I don’t know any more.  What I do know is that instead of searching for my Veep, instead of hanging on to an unrealistic ideal of friendship, I have decided to just enjoy the women in my life and simply let the rest of it take care of itself.  As for the 1950’s bubble school called SVA?  Well I am holding onto that one for my dreams!