Smile When You Open Doors.

I am all warm and cozy.  I lay in my bed as the air gets cool for the night.  The blankets are heavy warming my tired legs.  A shawl my friend knitted me before I dashed off to Pheonix for my brain surgery is wrapped around my exposed shoulders warming them up with more then its navy cotton yarns.  Saturday night I danced the night away with my friend, her husband, and several others for her birthday.  I find great gratitude in all of this. The gift of friendship, the gift of dance and music, the gift of warmth and shelter, and most of all the gift of life to be lived.

        Over the past few months, I have focussed my inner language on acceptance.  The breadth of this line of contemplation is expansive.  In a nutshell, it is about finding purpose and beauty in all things internal, external, and universal.  For example, once I made my household a party of two instead of one, I had twice as much to pick up.  And, now we are a party of four, two of which keeping getting bigger and more stuff, I am picking up four times as much stuff.  Stuff stuff stuff.  The acceptance comes when my anxiety over too much clutter and misplaced things rises to my head, I am working to let it go and just pick it up.  Now, before you imagine me trailing behind all my peeps with a dust pan and yelling expletives, understand this is a work in progress.  I am trying to not announce my chatter of frustration aimed to create a seed of guilt in their minds.  Rather, I am claiming some tasks, assigning other tasks, and accepting that quite a few items of stuff will end up in the trash or resale. I am currently considering holding hostage of washed and folded clothing until dirty laundry hits the basket instead of the floor in a habitual manner.  In turn, this will promote an exuberant display of anger and blame on their part.  I accept that.

       As I begin to find acceptance in the inner and outer workings on my life I have learned that the more I resist, the more the problem persists.  The other day, not even considering the whole phenomenon of Balck Friday, I zoom into Target assuming I could purchase desired toy at sale price.  Wrong.  There is no desired toy.  Not here, not there, not anywhere.   After a moment of frustrion in my head, I shrugged and said to myself, if it is meant to be, it will happen.  When I woke the next day, I thought, even though my city's store called that city's store and found no desired toy, I think I will call promptly when they open to make sure.  Sure enough there was one desired toy!  Once the kids were settled in school, I ventured to said neighboring town to purchase desired toy put on hold.  Yeah, check off awesome Santa at our house.  Being as the shopping is quite questionable in my town, I thought I would drive through the mall of the "fancy" stores.  If a car pulled out of a parking space then I would spend an hour window shopping. Just as I finished the thought, a car pulled out.  I parked.  I wandered.  I liked.  I didn't like.  And, I ended up in one of my favorite stores.  As I started to look for Christmas gift suggestions to add to my wish list, I heard a familiar voice.  One of my closest friends had just popped in to do the same.  We lunched.  It was a blessed morning that led to a copacetic afternoon and evening.

      Over the past weeks, there as been a series of frustrations that melted into better solutions then previously imagined.  I found looking at the bright side extremely fulfilling.  Like the other day, In begrudgingly entering my eye care facility, I helped usher in an elderly couple that reminded me of my grandparents.  I had a quick chat with the woman about the silver lining of them giving up driving.  She thanked me and smiled as I let her in front of me in line.  Then, I discussed my boots with the gentleman behind me as he thought they would be perfect for his wife for Christmas.  My day continued with bits of gifts given and received.  It all started with opening up a door with a big smile and good morning.

      Yes, that is what happens when you find acceptance and patience in irritations.  You smile.  I lost count of how many times women have told me they have enjoyed practicing next to me on their mats in yoga.  At first I thought it was odd.  My balance is still off after a year of recovering from brain surgery.  I am falling all over the place so how could that be any good?  Last week, a fellow yogi inadvertally explained these locker room comments when she said, "Where you aware that you smile the entire class?"

       Maybe we don't get it right most of the time.  What is right?  Maybe we aren't the perfect mom (or dad) with all the answers.  Could you tell me what a perfect parent is?  Now, think about perfection from the child's mind.  Changes your perspective, doesn't it?  Maybe things just seem to get in your way at work, on the road, at home, and in the gym.  Could it be a reason for this?  Could it be you are going the wrong way, need to slow down, or not ready of it yet.  If it happens differently then planned, is it okay, maybe better?  Just think, if I hadn't had the frustration finding the only toy my son really wanted from Santa, I would not have had the timely luncheon with my dear friend who I have been missing in the maze of our revolving doors.  Nor, if things in the past didn't happen as they did, would I be wrapped in a cozy shaw knowing the heartfelt message of caring it embodies.  Find gratitude in the things that you have just the way they are and acceptance in the things you can not change.  Live here now while moving froward.  Smile and open doors for people seeing their perfection in their imperfection in the moment of your shared presences.

White Water

There are many days I have felt like I was consumed by a tidal wave.  Just swallowed whole in a crater and washed down with a huge wave into the monster of life.  But, not today.  No, the past couple of weeks I have been rafting class six white water rapids.  Wave after wave, holding on with the tips of my fragile nails in spite of the water in my eyes.  I have so many stories swirling in my head.  I will flush them out in here yee blog.  But, to spare you the burden of my can of worms (yes, the kids and I have been researching idioms for school), I will keep to the tiny night crawlers good for bait while staying clear of the big fat foot long ones that scare my daughter towards screams of terror.  Let's see, where do I begin...

       It was 3:33 am.  The sun had not risen.  It was dark.  The phone rang.  No school.  Desperately trying to understand the situation in my fog of fours of sleep, I search the news feeds, Facebook, where ever I can find information.  Then, I look outside.  Rain.....   Hours later, my world was flooding.  That evening, the city was cut in half, people evacuated,  and my neighborhood was put on evacuation notice.  Rain , rain, rain, a day later, we are fine, high and dry...sort of.  The lucky ones.  Kids have the first ever flood days, an impromptu fall break.  It rains every day.  Kids sweep out the garage and play in there anyway.  Son has his birthday party with two boys in the area.  We walk and skate when the sun is out. From our hill vista, we evaluate the rise and recession of our Dry Creek and ponder why parents are letting their little ones get in the nasty brown waters of the ponds left once the creek started to receed.  It smells.  And so it goes....

     Meanwhile, these five days were scheduled for me days.  Days to be an artist and slip in a little yoga here and there.   Amazingly, two paintings were started, a little one finished, kids learned to use the sewing machine, and I cleaned my studio to get ready for the Longmont Studio Tour.  The house did not get cleaned.  Oh, did I mention a day volunteering in one of the neighborhoods with the worst flood damage.  Talk about smelly and dirty.  The kids and I resigned we were no good AT&T he heavy lifting and dirty stuff and opted to sit with the ladies in the shade scrubbing Christmas ornaments.

     Meanwhile, I prepped for a friend's wedding in which Hubby was best man.  This included walking over to the only shop in walking distance to find a dress for the occassion.  Score, the perfect dress bought on my consignor credit.  I love consignment stores!  Friday rolls around, Hubby snaked his way in from the airport, and we are off for a five hour drive to Basalt.  Out west near Aspen, the weather is great.  We had tons of fun.  And, we shared buckets of love to our sortofbutnotreallyknownyoufortwentyyears extended family.  Five hours we are home to celebrate Son's birthday with family.

     Meanwhile, during all this flooding, volunteering, art making, sewing, teaching, walking, wedding, and generally trying to maintain the sanity of my offspring and myself, I am screening calls.  When's my scans?  They are supposed to be next week.  What do you mean they aren't approved by the insurance company?  What, huh? The doctor needs to do what?  Who the heck knows what is going on here?  Agagagaggghhhh!  A good week of figuring, waiting, returning calls from four different locations, and finally I get resolution only three days prior to when I am supposed to have my fall cancer screening.  The PET is denied.  The appointment is cancelled.  CTs are ordered.  The MRI finally gets approved.  Blah blah blah, appointments for scans scheduled for Friday.  Keep in mind, the Studio Tour is Saturday and Sunday.   Thank goodness I am organized.  Somewhere in the week, I got it all done and the laundry too.

     Wait, there is more.  I know.  Really?  The nurse at the CT stabbed me five times to get a good vein for the IV.  That makes six punctures in my elbow pit if you include the blood drawl a few days before.  My arm is so sore, black and blue.  Oh, yes, and get this, she forgets to do the chest CT, and I have to go back in on Monday.  Really?

     Meanwhile, yes there's more, a dog bit me on Tuesday.  Since I was rushing to get to yoga, I didn't hesitate to look and limped through the pain to be on time.  Ergo it wasn't until after my shower Wednesday that I noticed the area was black an blue with a puncture scab.  And, Thursday, the dogs rushed at me again.  That snow balled into calling the animal control and trying to get a tetanus shot on Friday.  After my Scans in the am, I went of the IM who said I had to go to the ER who said I should wait until Monday and go to the public clinic run by FEMA with shots for $21.  Monday, after my make- scan I find a well earned seat on my porch and chill while eating my sandwhich and drinking pint of water to wash out the contrast from the scans.  I am on my iPad feeling pretty relaxed and ready to head out the door for my 2:40 appointment when my dad walks in.  I am surprised because he wasn't supposed to come over to help move art back into storage until school was out.  Then he says he should go get the kids.  What?  It is only 2:15, and I still need to go get my shot.  Oh, crud, iPad clock is an hour behind.  It's 3:15. So the end of that segment is three times I have been diverted from getting my tetanus shot.  Three strikes your out.  Guess it wasn't meant to be, at lesst not at this time.

      Somewhere between medical personnel shrugging their shoulders and saying, "Welcome to Obama care" and this moment, I had a wonderful weekend during my Studio Tour.  It was a busy couple of days, and I am extremely glad my mother was there to help me host the steady flow of guests.  I made some big sales and lots of connections.

      All of the above, the good, bad and the ugly, occurred in a web of events through the past couple of weeks.  In the spaces between the waves, I found joy in my children, danced at a wedding, helped food victims, painted, received uplifting critique, finished three magazines, almost finished a book, took a salt bathe, did yoga, spent a lot of time with my folks even if it was via phone worrying about each other in our own parts of our flood-split town, and breathed.  On Monday, after my second set of scans for which I had to fast, I went into my favorite coffee shop for a sandwhich and rice milk latte.  My favorite barista committed on my happy smile.  "Whatsa happening with you?"  After spilling a list of my woes including the tearful sibling spat over rock collections this am, I told her I am happy because all that is done.  It's my yesterday.  And, by Wednesday, I might get to stick my head out of my shell to find the calm in the storm.  I look forward to a rejuvenating therapeutic massge and a short to do list.  

      My mantra for today: Accpet that which is troubling.   Muddle through without resistance and forgive their burdens.  Like the seasons, they will pass.  There is a calm in the storm of life.  It is coming.  It will be here.  Breath.  Namasta.

Survivor's Guilt

So there I was, laying on the front porch.  The sun had come up.  My feet were up on the arm of the rocker. I breathed in the delicate sent of lavender and cedar stirred up by the rain.  The breeze was gentle whistling through the varied tones of my four wind chimes.  Life was alright.  My house had flooded.

    I really wanted to go take a shower.  But, I couldn't. How could I when so many didn't have water to shower in?  How could I use up fresh water?  Did I deserve a shower after getting a few moments of stillness while the kids played for and hour at a neighbors house?  My basement wasn't full of muck.  I didn't just loose all my valuable memories.  No, did I endure a rigorous evacuation.  No, we stayed home somewhat confident our house was high enough above the flooding creek.

    Survivors guilt is something I have dealt with many times in the past.  Being one of the "lucky" ones carries a burden all of its own.  In the process after a terrific event, little or catastrophic, personal or all encompassing, every one goes through the stages of mourning.  Guilt, is the third stage after denial and anger.  As one of the lucky ones, it is a challenge to move beyond feeling guilty that you have it better then someone else.  

    I watched a 30 minute aerial video to assess the damage to the town of Longmont.  Earlier in the day, after opening a pad way near our home, we saw the plane swoop down over our head to land in the airport.  I had thought it quite odd that the "jumper plane" (owned by Mile-Hi Skydive) was out on a trip.  After watching the video, I under stood and looked for our car on the footage.  At any rate, the speaker, as he looked down at a shopping area, remarked, "That is so odd that everyone is just going about there business like there wasn't a flooded river a mile away." This got me thinking.  Why shouldn't we, everyone, be going about business?  Shops still need to sell stuff, make money, and feed the economy.  People still need to eat.  In fact, owners and friend of Sugarbeet, one of our best high end restaurants in town, will be open for business as soon as the road is fixed up.  according to friend's posts they fought tooth and nail, or sand bag and broom, to keep the space from flooding.  Doctor appointments need attending.  And, baby still needs formula.

     So the question is, how does one deal with the quilt of getting out alive when eight families lost loved ones, hundreds still unaccounted for, and thousands of homes are lost or severally damaged.  The first step, actually it is the fifth stage of grieving, is to accept where you are and what you have.  Skip right over stage four, depression.  Accept that you are one of the lucky ones and go take a hot shower.  It's okay.  With acceptance, you can release your guilt that tethers you like a brick on the string of a helium balloon.

    I went to go take that hot shower but kept it short.  In doing so, I was able to relieve my own rattled nerves and step forward.  More over, I was better able to step back into my main role on this Earth at this time, motherhood.  By finding my own thankfulness and rejoice, I could share my light with my children and elevate their own emotions out of their fear of uncertainty.

     Today, we decided we need to help those less fortunate then us after the flooding.  I had one appointment to bring bins over to a church.  The bins are used to shuttle stuff out of basements to be washed and saved or ditched.  The church had moved their volunteer site to a house closer to one flooded neighborhood.  No one was home so we left the bins and continued along our way talking about plans for lunch.  Then, I remembered a friend posting her father, and our dentist, needed help in his home in that neighborhood.  So the kids decided everyone needs lunch.  We would go home and change in our "yuckies", grab lunch at Wendy's, purchase fifteen sandwiches off the dollar menu, and go hand them out.  The curbs were full of vehicles.  Using our Jedi power, or luck, you choose, we found a spot right at the entrance to the neighborhood.  With our waters and the sandwiches slung on our backs, We ascend the hill handing out sandwiches.  We head towards 1159.  Upon our arrival, we receive quizzical looks.  The family we thought we were helping was not at the residence.  We shrug it off with a grin. Must just be where we are supposed to be.   They put us to work.  The kids shuttle cleaned items up the stairs to the "clean room". I help the grandmother of the house locate a tarp and find small tools that are laying about.  Everything is laying about.  I take a second to head across the street with the sandwiches to the food tent.  There, I find that family we were intended to help at 1156. Oops.  Returning back to the other house, I find the kids happy and helpful.  We finish our assigned jobs of moving things from point A to point B and head a Ross the street.  There, we are given the assignment to help bring ruined stuff from the basement in bins to the middle of the culdesac.  We put on two gloves and a mask.  Everyone is covered in mud.  Men are pulling muddy things out of the basement.  Women and teens are carrying the bins back and forth.  I carry one bin with the kids and a small Christmas tree before we decide this type of work is not for us.  After washing up, we head over to the tent on the front lawn with the aunts.  There items deemed washable or setting out to dry in the sun.  After a toothbrush cleaning, the ornaments and knock knacks are shining like the day they were purchased.

    What felt like a full day was only a few hours.  My brain toyed with the guilt again.  Did I do enough? What a wimp for getting out of the dirty work.  Should I come back tomorrow?  I just don't feel like I did enough.

    "Mommy," Daughter says as she clicks her seat belt, "I feel really good about what we did today."  All the clouds of guilt were pushed away.  If you find yourself on the better end of a crisis, find your acceptance, be grateful. and move forward.  In stepping out of the stuck places in your head, you open the door to do what it is you are supposed to be doing on this Earth.

The Flood of 9/11/13

So it's Wednesday night.  Business as usual.  It's raining so soccer practice is cancelled again.  Daughter enjoys Jazz 2 while Son and I run errands.  It is really raining as we return to the dance studio.  We watch her dance.  Boy, is she having fun.  So little compared to all those middle schoolers who make up a majority of the class.  The way out the door is a fuss as Daughter is told she can't wear her "expensive jazz shoes" out of the studio.  She can't remember where she put her street shoes.  I think, and I am the one with the brain injury... It's raining. 

      We arrive home, snack, put out a bucket to see how much rain collects, and off to bed.  No interest in a shower.  Oh wait it is nine o'clock, and now she wants a shower?  It is really raining.  They fuss.  I knock them over the head with a...no, they pass out after letting them know I will be getting them up early in the morning to do homework that wasn't completed.

      Wrong!  4:44 am, the phone rings.  I am so deep in sleep I am not sure how I got the phone to my ear.  The district is calling.  My heart is in my throat.  Why are they calling at this time in the morning?  It must be tragic.  School is closed due to flooding warning.  What the f#€¥!  

    I go outside and it is raining, really raining.  I crawl into bed freezing cold.  I check my iPad, Facebook, MSN.....  Zzz.

    7:30 on the nose, Daughter dressed for school wakes me from the terribly deep nap.  "Can I go finish my homework?  I am dressed and my bed is made."  Yes, seriously, this task gets done only on school mornings.  However, I would give the bed making a C, up from the D- of last year.  I tell her there is no school.  "why?" She asks.

    "I really don't know.  The district just called and said all schools were closed."  The morning is spent trying to balance kids questions, research on what is going on, touching base with my parents, wondering what state my husband was currently in, and breakfast.  Breakfast, yes, the most important meal of the day.  You know what, I don't feel like making it, get your own d@#^ bowls.  Okay, just thoughts as I sweetly tell them, "Pancakes are not on the menu just because school is cancelled today.  Here's your cereal bowls.  You know where the rice milk is.  Fine, you can watch Johnny Tech.  Whatever it is called since school is cancelled."  Ah, time to think.  The bucket is over flowing, by the way.  I mean the bucket outside with rain water.

    In a nut shell, the St. Vrain river flooded.  Earlier that morning, before the alarming phone call telling me to stay in my home unless otherwise directed by the authorities, Jamestown, in the mountains was hit causing mudslides.  One man lost his life as his home collapsed.  Lyons, at the base of the foothills and in our school district, was flooded, and it was coming our way.

   Well, it was already flowing the ten or so miles we live from Lyons.  By the time I figured out what was going on, finished breakfast, button up rain coats, and walked over to the "sled hill" above the Dry Creek, it was not so dry.  Guess I won't be doing the run I was planning.  The water level was not quite to the foot bridge.  The kids are nervous.

   Getting home, the kids each call all their friends in the neighborhood to see if they could play.  Better entertained kids then worried kids.  We pick up one gal and drive around to see the flooding on the bike under pass on the secondary road between the schools.  The small pond in the new park is becoming a lake.  The path is blocked off with its gate.  Sometimes it floods under there.  Yes, in the spring with mountain snow run off.  This is fall, it is supposed to be mostly dry, ergo the name.

   A sweet young man joins us and the four of them, two second grade boys an two fourth grade girls, rummage through the house for entertainment and end up in the garage.  This worked out as a win, win solution.  I got some time in my studio and a swept out garage.  And, they had shelter with outside access for quick dares to run out in the rain.  I think they were playing house or vetinary hospital.  Hard to tell.  

  Time melted quickly.  After a quick load of wet clothes in the drier, the boy went home.  Son and the girls were fed whatever I can scrounge up.  I am exhausted from all the thinking and trying to get news without a TV.  We drive girlfriend home. We know the flooding is really bad by now.  On the way back, its dusk, we stop at the Sled Hill.  The flooding is over the footbridge.  Kids are nervous.  They climb up on my bed after getting their teeth brushed.  They watch a video on my laptop.  I work on my studio that I had rearranged and had planned to finish organizing so I could start a new painting.

   Some where in my lost time of Thursday I get a call from the district that they will close on Friday too.  I find out friend in Lyons is on a "hill" and okay but the rest of the town evacuated.  Bridges are out. Homes are lost.  This is bad.  This is a One Humdred Year flood that is over due since 1870 something was the last one.  The phone rings.

   It is the city this time.  We are on evacuation notice.  It is getting dark.  I am confused what to do.  I see neighbors out in the street.  We confirm.  Stay put.  It is better then trying to drive somewhere as the flood has cut the city in two and effecting towns out east, south and the Thompson is flooding the cities up north.  Call or come over if you need help.  But, it is all okay, we aren't considered flood zone on the map we looked at when we bought our house, right?  And, the "sled hill" is at least two stories tall above the creek that has necome a river.  We are good.  I don't sleep.  Messaging other mom friends worried all night.  Worried about so and so.  Did you hear from them?  So and so is evacuated and okay at their friends house.  Should we leave?  It is curfew, we are okay up here....right?

     Four hours sleep at the most.  It's Friday.  Kids half joking and half freaked out taunt about being off school another day.  Oh, just wait when they realize Fall Festival, soccer, and all that is cancelled.  Oh, and they can't go anywhere and school is closed until next Thursday.  Shoot, if I'd only known, I would have booked a trip for this impromptu fall break.

     Now, I do make light of the situation.  But, do know I lost complete track of time Friday in a daze of survivors guilt.  Here I was, my little corner of Longmont on our high ground, here we are dry.  After lunch, the kids go play at a friends house.  The sun is out, and I take a little walk.  The water receded a bit.  There is an impromptu lake created by sewer over flow.  People a cut ally let their kids and dogs swim in this brown water.  Yuck. 

     I take a little me time on the covered front porch.  My brain is not acting great with lack of sleep and stress.  I can't think straight.  Meditation and the aromatherapy of my lavendar and cedar bark settle my nerves enough to go up and take a shower.  I feel guilty using my water.  I rationalize that my only job is to take care of my children.  And, I can't do that if my brain is so out of whack that I can barely see.  That's okay, right?  Put on your air mask first when the plane is crashing or you can't help those in need.

    I feed the kids when they get home.  They aren't too hungry.  Neither am I.  My stomach is upset.  Collitis acting up with all this stress.  Phone rings, evacuation order is lifted. Husband gets home from the airport.  The National Guard is in town.  We are classified as a National Disatser.  I sleep, sort of.

   Today is like any ol' day of summer.  It is a bit rainy and a bit sunny.  Kids are needy.  I idealize an image of working in my studio while kids do their own crafts.  Yet, I succumb to teaching both to sew on my old machine.  Two quilts, one with puppies and the other for a baby girl who is due to arrive in February.  Time fades in and out as I accept the four days of painting I had planned are shrunk to an hour here or there maybe nowhere.  It is okay.  We have our house.  We have electricity, water and food.  Everyone I know is safe, even if displaced.

    And, that is what it is like being one of the lucky ones.  My second disaster.  One being the 1989 Loma Preeta 8.5 earthquake that collapsed the Bay Bridge.  Just like our home here, my parents bought a house on bedrock in a good school district. they did thin in spite of the further commute for my dad to work.  We were safe, sort of.  Dad got home after several anxious hours.  We slept together  on couch cusions in the living room for over a week as we endured aftershocks, dry bread and emergency water.  And, we only lost a few colliectibles while gainimg a few cracks in the ceiling.  

     Yes, I say we are lucky as a new storm lingers in our forecast.  Love and charity to all in the Front Range. Check out this arial footage.  

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lZBw_vkJb98&sns=fb&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DlZBw_vkJb98%26sns%3Dfb

PS Wednesday was 9/11.  I want to acknowledge that date and all the losses in the aftermath.  And, lastly, we survived another Friday the Thirteenth, isn't that awesom?!

Kids Teach

This past Labor Day weekend, I had the pleasure of joining three other families and a nearly-newlywed couple.  We had a great time full of laughter, games, spoons, cards, singing on hikes, fishing, exploring, watercolor painting, doodling, s'mores in the rain, cops and robbers, bedtime stories, scary tales of the BIFFY monster just before trekking the fifteen feet in pure darkness, stars, drizzle, thunder claps as loud as a cannon, and special early morning visit from a doe.  One of my favorite moments came just after the children were band from playing cops and robbers due to stealing the toilet paper from the BIFFY ad using them as bombs and locking one of the littler guys in the wood shed with the axes.  Instructed they needed to do some quiet play, they found came inside and taught each other new card games. Then they went outside and built a fort together under the twelve year old's guidance.  It was wonderful to see seven kids ages four to twelve work together.  Later, one of the smaller ones came in and asked if they were all cousins.  That made me feel so happy.  I also love the fact that both my kids noted the others had little imagination in their play.  They made it their mission to teach them what they know.  By the second day, the youngest girl accepted my winged purple elephant as her guide and joined my daughter in making a fairy home down by the stream complete with mud balls, tarins (stacked rocks) and leaf alters.  I noted a lot  of awesomeness watching these kids running around.  Here is few things that stick out in my mind.

Kids like being with other kids.

Kids fight.  Life is a completion for attention and siblings are the worse enemies.  

Kids don't like being told what to do.  

Kids like being asked to do something when you get down to their level and look them in the eye.

Kids love to help.  They just need to know they are part of a community and everyone else's is helping. 

Kids only think it is fair when everyone is doing it, including the adults.

Kids don't like being different.

Kids like being different.

Kids love it when they are in time out and everyone else's is still playing....not.

Kids don't like being in trouble when one person is at fault and the whole group gets the punishment.

Kids accept the punishment with less resistance, negotiating, and bitterness when everyone else is punished exactly the same.

Kids are weak, they cry.

Kids are strong, they cry

Kids are brave when you show them compassion for their struggles even when it seems minor to an adult.

Kids know a tiny little splinter or cut really, really, really, hurts.

Kids know the cream you put on that cut really hurts.

Kids know who to trust to make them feel better.

Kids actually do know you know best even if they try to prove otherwise

Kids push your buttons and long for you to pull them back.

Kids know it is tough what you are going through and when to give you a hug.

Kids love to know what you are going through so they can give you a hug.

Kids are the best huggers.

Kids are smarter then most adults think.  Sometimes they just need a little time and guidance to sort it all out.

Kids love challenges.

Kids thrive when you tell they you noticed just about anything they have done, said, or thought.

Kids criticize.

Kids can be taught to critique constructively.

Kids know it takes time and adults are always slow, too slow.

Kids do know how to wait if you tell them your objective of your task at hand.

kids can learn social manners.  

Kids are hilarious.

Kids pick their noses and pee on themselves.

Kids don't like to stay tidy when there is fun going on.

kids love when tidying up is a game.

Kids get bruises, scraps, and cuts and it is always someone else's fault they got them...so they think.

Kids know it is never their fault until an adult tells them it is.  Even then it is questionable.

Kids are selfish as it should be.  It is a survival skill.

Kids are fragile and they are tough.

Kids have a lot to learn and much to teach.

Kids can show you how to take pause to notice to fungi on the tree, the caterpillar on the bench, and the mushroom that looks like a Smurf house.

Kids want you involved in their world and pull you to the Earth when your head is in the cloud of business.

Kids seek knowledge and to understand.

Kids talk a lot and want you to hear them, not just listen.

Kids want to be talked to, sang to, read to, and given head rubs.

Kids accept.

Kids forgive.

Kids are amazing.

Tonight, watch your kids, or borrow someone's kids for a bit.  Listen, observe and slow down.  There is much you have forgotten.  Make a list.  Find acceptance and teach acceptance.  Give and receive to these amazing beings.  Someday, they will be the adults, and this is their training session.  Let's make lots of mistakes together while the stakes are low.  Time is running faster then you can imagine.  Right now is the right time, you are in the right place, and you are with the right people.  So be it with love and acceptance.  Namasta. 

First Day of School Cool

Fist pump and they're off. In seconds, they are off to rekindle friendships they had to put on hold for what seemed like "FOREVVERRRR," or 82 days, depending on your perspective.  I chat with a fourth grade father who I would describe as capitol G double E...  okay let's just say...the electrical engineer type.  Actually, in the two minutes we pointed out our daughters he managed to tell me he was newly divorced, relocated and his daughter was being picked up by Grandma just like mine.  Daughter reassured him she and her best friend would take care of his daughter with a quick chin bob and "sure thing.".  With a quick hug and a reminder Granma was the pick-up goddess today, I  head over to second grade.  One more fist pump to the cool cat in blue, and out of there before the bell rings at 32 seconds past 9:01 am, according to my watch.

There are times in the course of parenting when you are thumped on the head and hear the whisperings, "They are growing up?"  My son changing his clothes in the men's locker room unaccompanied is a great example.  Also, my daughter asking to use the phone in her room so she could talk for an hour about "stuff" with her girlfriend is another.  Walking into class on the first day of school unaccompanied, with no tears, and a fist pump instead of a hug is another one.

We have come a long way finding acceptance in where we are in the space in time in which we exists.  I say we as I reflect that it was me who got teary eyed when I sent Daughter to her first day of Mom's Day Out at the Sunflower Farm.  Yes, she didn't fuss.  She twirled around to the dress up clothes, put on some fairy wings, and jumped up and down wanting to feed the baby goats.  Son was more hesitant at his first day of Farm School a year later, but he had his sister shoving him around to this goat pin and that chicken coop. "Use the sanitizer after you feed the animals," she instructs the rules in her three year old speak.

Transition to inside school was pretty smooth as the move was made as it was getting cold and snowy.  This preschool was two days of painting, crafting, numbers, and letters.  Really, the teachers were quiet excellent so we stayed on through four year old and pre-K.  Well, that is not the only reason.  My cancer journey started during those preschool years and the church preschool was so supportive of my needs as well as having a lunch hour option when I needed more time to recoup from treatment.

Starting at the public school was a whole different demonstration of attachment on the first day of school and beyond.  Regardless of the fact that we had just gone through a hard year of surgeries and chemotherapy and daughter technically didn't attend Kindergarten, her first grade year was full of tears.  Each morning, I pried her off my leg crying.  I blessed the teacher and left trying to keep calm.  Luckily Son's pre-K started before his elder siblings, and he missed the drama except on Fridays.

Maybe watching his sister's drama once a week was enough of an example. The next year, second grade, Daughter gained her courage and entered class a little more smoothly.  She would hold me for a little too long at the door making us late.  Anyway, we often just made the late bell due to Daughter or Son having a fit at the house about going upstairs to get socks, shoes won't tie themselves, hair doesn't want to be brushed, or shirt is too itchy.  This was the year, Kindergarten, for Son to write his own screen play drama called "I Don't Want to Let Go of My Mom's Apron Strings."  Since the room door was on the inside of the building, I had to literally pick him up and put him inside.  Some mornings I just walked him down to the principal's office to "collect" himself because I had an appointment at 9:30.  With assistance of the teachers and school counselor, both kids found their way into their classrooms by the end of the year.

Last year was touch and go on wanting to be away from me.  The year started well as Son got to go in to his classroom prior to the school year starting to "help" his teacher.  This was so he could work out with her some special needs he had before starting with all new kids.  They created their own "sign language" and he started off as a leader in the classroom.  Or, maybe the year started off so well because Daughter had the same teacher the past two years...or because Mrs. D. is so totally awesome!  Daughter was a bit of a struggle as she had reading tutoring at 8 am.  pretty tough year for her always thinking she was "stupid" because she was "one of those kids."  One of a dozen kids from her grade level.

Whether it is accurate or not, I put stupid cancer to blame for my children's attachment issues.  I was pondering the other day how growing up in a cancer family effects them.  I know lots of children have a hard time going to school.  I know it is age appropriate to spout off to your mother one minute that she is "ruining" your life by asking you to where you are going, who you are calling, not letting you go there because she hasn't met those parents, and did you do your chores.  And then, the next minute, turn around and cry when you are asked to leave her side.  My children are old enough now that they talk about their past four years.  Jack told his friend the other day, "You never saw my mom with long hair, huh?  I can barely remember what she looked like."  There is a family portrait in the living room taken the Sunday before my surgery.  Son is three.  Daughter is four.  Husband is, well 40 ish. And, I had just turned 34.  When I heard this comment by my son, I realized his only memory of me with hair is that portrait. Daughter has talked to me at night before bed that she is sometimes afraid to go to sleep at night because she is scared that I won't be there in the morning.  She says that she was too scared to sleep when I was gone for ten days (brain surgery) last October, she didn't know if I was coming home...ever.

This summer, I heard the whisperings, "They are growing up, Mom."  They rode bikes over to friend's houses, called peers to set up their own play dates, learned phone manners, jumped off the top of the houseboat with the teenagers, climbed a 14er, rafted class 3/4 rapids, learned to ride a bike with only hand breaks, didn't really want me around in the pool but did want me to teach them how to swim correctly, and they even flew to my in-laws all by themselves so I could attend my high school reunion.  It has been a crazy summer of cutting the apron strings.  Okay, I refer to it as more like making the apron strings bungee cords.  They bounce right back to my apron folds when they fall, get picked on, get frustrated, or even when they are totally excited.  I love you kiddos!  I am so proud of you for walking into school without drama nor fuss especially when you are going home with Granma because it is my treatment day.  Yes, don't forget your fist pumps.  Id rather have a hug, you know. 

Because of You - the Poem

Because of you I ate rabbit.

Because of you I swallowed a gold fish.

Because of you of you, you, and you,

I have swallowed a snail, ate rattle snake,

Munched on ants, considered scorpion 

and passed.

And you, you made me laugh so hard

Soda sprayed out of my nose,

Gross.

Because of you I have climbed a Fourteener,

Or two, or three, or seven.

Because of you I am a poor fly fisher

It's not your fault, you tried.

Because of you, you, and you, I have

Kayaked, swam under the ocean, tried surfing, 

Jumped waves, ran from sea foam, and

Built castles in the sky, I mean sand.

Because of you I have water skied, snow skied, 

Snow shoed, cross country skied, ice skated

and sled down the bunny hill.

Because of you I jumped off the high dive.

Because of you I decided not to jump out of a plane.

Because of you I climbed up a rock face

And loved the thrill of the repel.

Because of you I have seen the South West quarter

Of the United States of America, Florida

Tennessee, North Dakota and the Presidents who rock.

Because of you I have been to Guadalajara, Hawaii, 

Costa Rica, the Bahamas, and climbed The Mayan ruins.

Because of you, I hiked the Swiss Alps.

And I have been to Disneyland twice.

Because of you I have tried knitting, needle pointing, quilting,

Sewing Barbie clothes, painting, scrapbooking,

Printing, metal smithing, carving, figure drawing, 

Writing Poetry, memoirs, and blogging,

Choir, drama and jazz with various degrees of success.

Because of you I have thought about Buddha and the Dali Llama

Because of you, I read parts of the Bible and Tao.

And it is all of you who have helped me

Wrap my head around the profound collective conscious

Knowledge of the Source.  

Because of you I have learned much.

Because of you I want to learn more.

Because of you I have been places, 

Sought peace and knowledge,

And spoke the words I heard.

Because of you I am who I am.

And all that I am becoming.

Because of You

Since I could speak, I have asked the question, "why am I me?" God made you that way.  Because you are no one else.  Why do you think you are you?  I remember looking up into my elder's eyes and hearing these phrases.  To this I would respond, "I just don't understand why I can't see my backside without  using  two mirrors."

I would go to my room and think and think trying to make sense of a big problem.  I just didn't understand why I thought what I thought.  And, why the color of blue of the sky I saw just may not be the color you saw.  Why did God put me here right now?  (At the time, I thought of God as a big man who watched over us and made us do things like puppets; the guy in the sky, right.). The questions were so big and so profound I would get a headache, loose interest, and return to my Barbies and Legos.

Oh, the things I have learned thus far in my life.  I will save much of my musings for another day if you will stop and have a cup of chia with me.  Today, though, I was thinking about how you help sculpt my concept of who I am.  I am in California.  I am here to visit my BFF from high school.  Twenty four years.  It was art class.  Everyone was listening to Mr. Akamichi's instruction.  The room was quiet.  Suddenly, not knowing her own volume, she shouted, "Do you have any batteries?"  She was referring to her dying CD Walkman, of course.   Later, lunch I think, I saw her leaning up against the library wall some other folks.  I asked her if she got if trouble in art class, and the rest is history.  

Throughout the years there has beenthe usual ebb and flow of a relationship.  Her life leading this way, mine that way, and both to return back to the same place. Just for a moment.  thousands miles away, we can pick up the phone a talk as if today was twenty years ago.  Today, as we walk along the coast at Point Lobos, I ask her, "what one thing in your personality do you think has changed over the years?"  I will keep her response and our further pondering between us as it should be.  But, this conversation sparked a question I had been rolling over in my mind for years, why am I me?  And, how has those I encounter in this life time effect what I know about myself?

The second reason I am here this weekend is it is our twentieth high school reunion.  Two birds one stone.  I didn't leave my school with warm fuzzy memories about all those standing with me in sheer, white acetate robes that stuck to our calves.  In fact, I left the promp and circumstance as quickly as I could eloquently place the school in my rearview mirror.   

Tonight, we had a small meet up at a pub.  I chatted with a few peers I recognized, tried to remember the names of some others, and shared photos of our kids on our IPhones.  Yes, we have come a long way from hand written book reports.  Stories were shared..."Oh,remember when... What was that teacher's name?  How's so and so doing?"  Honestly, I could only understand fifty percent of what was shared due to only having one good hearing ear.  And, I will remember even less tomorrow.

What I do remember is one fellow student telling me he'd recently had a dream about me saying something profound that changed his way of thinking.  I said something like, one doesn't go anywhere without common sense.  That comment opened up a lot of his thinking.  I so wish I could remember that conversation.  The more I think about it the more I  get closer to knowing what the heck I meant.  Yes, I think it was in Physics.  Is that right?  

At any rate, thinking about this moment in time and other memories sparked with the simple phrase, remember when..., had me thinking about how being in the same space and giving it each other thoughts in words, we inform each other.  Just because I met you, Who I am is built upon.  I am who I am because of you.  And if you think too hard on it, I know from experience, it will become so profoundly crazy you will need to go play scrabble on your iPad to crest some sense of order.

Potluck

Potluck: whatever is available or comes ones way. (1586-95)

    If you ask my children what words Mom says with frequency, they will tell you: Awesome, way cool, apparently, breath, hold on a sec., its okay,and, of course, no, not now.  Recently, I have realized I have a new word on my list, potluck.  This past several days have been full of potluck.  Saturday, we went to Lyons for their Old Time Days.  I had gotten up early to go for a run while they drooled over their cereal and watched Phenius and Ferb.  Getting distracted with this and that as we headed out the door, we weren't able to get out until ten.  So much  for going to the Farmers Market before hand.   As we arrived in Lyons, at the feet of the foothills, we don't see the festival which is usually downtown.  I get on the phone seeking a map, times, etc on the iPhone.  I was frustrated with slow data  and not finding what I wanted when the kids brought over a dad with his two little girls.  He told us where the festival was and thanked us for reminding him to take his girls.  Win-win, I'd say.  Arriving at Bohn Park, we see nothing but carnival rides.  Where are the crafts and stuff we thought would be there?Bummed, we wonder down to the children's area behind the stage.  Face painting, craft projects, magic show (best I have seen), and hot dogs at noon...all FREE.  Jackpot!  A morning of free fun.  Well, almost.  As the storm clouds loomed, and a few drops were felt, the kids took the ,money I had brought for lunch and rode one ride.  A three dollar trip up and down a little track to which Son exclaims, "that ride wasn't very good.  Now I know and won't worry about going on it during the County Fair."   Score one for mom, no wasting dollars on silly rides in August.  We took it as it came and enjoyed ourselves immensely, potluck. 

      Things continued to ebb and flow through out the weekend.  We missed something then got something different.  Sunday, we missed yoga (surely more of a bummer for Mom)  So we went to the outdoor pool.  It was cool and breezy.  But being so, there was hardly anyone there.  No lines for the slides!  Oh, and great karma at the cashier.  I had thought we had run out of punches for entrance fees last we visited and was prepared to pay cash.  Boom shock-a-locka, we had thirty three punches in our account.  And now had dollars to spend on afternoon snacks from the vending machine.

       Life has been a series of stumbles and jumps, bad luck and awesome karma.  Though we missed things, lost things, argued about things, and plain got frustrated, we were given something in its place that was even better.   We found DVDs for our car trip at the library.  They a due in seven days, three days before Wed return.  Not to fear, we can check them out twice at the first check out and not have to renew, two weeks!  Wish I knew that as I had reluctantly returned my Book Club novel I was not finished with not being able to renew as there was a hold on it.  Bummed, my peer  Book Clubber said she'd lend me her copy to finish.  Potluck!  

       Yesterday, we rode our bikes to Proto's for lunch to celebrate Daughter's reluctantly starting summer school (we also have nothing in our fridge). We bike over after school.  I am hesitate to order as Son is going through a gluten cleanse.  Okay, one meal, I have nothing to serve him at home away. Oh, yeah!  They have a gluten free crust and with no cheeses, toppings are free.  Potluck!  After a delightfully stimulating luncheon on the patio with my two Lovelies, I go to pay the bill.  Where I my twenty I had put in my pocket?!  So embarrassed, I pay the tip with the five I must have grabbed by mistake and promise to call in the payment when I got home.  With grace, I am trusted.  And that felt pretty great.

       Today, I am at my oncologist.  His MA announced she was leaving.  She is one tough cookie.  As she talked about her plans of a new home, new job, and her impending civil union, her excitement was muffled with doubt.  Stress.  Everything changing all at once.  I shared my wisdom of band-aides.  It is better to just rip them off as opposed to pulling them off very slowly yanking on every little, fuzzy hair.  I told her I felt this was an awesome twist in her life that will open up some awesome things.  She started to cry.  My tough cookie who is always stoic crying.  With a few words and a look in her eyes, she told me how much I meant to her life, a passing by, a moment.  For a moment in her life,she received my gifts of inspiration.  Yes, I now know that is why I am still here.  There are just too many hugs and smiles to be shared.  I teased her to not let the nurses see her cry as she walked out of the exam room.  She smiled.  Off for a new adventure at the middle of her life.

       I am no saint.  I get frustrated and cry.  I get mad and cry.  I want to punch a wall.  And, sometimes I want to wring your neck.  Mostly, I want to make you laugh and teach you to find the luck in the potluck of life.  For every mishap, there is a goodness.  You just have to find it.  Many souls do not know how to find those silver linings.  I am happy to show you.  Just give me you patience in my Humanness in return.

       Lesson number one, change all your wording to positive.  Think about what you say to someone, especially young ones.  Did you point out where they failed or did you accent their successes?  Have you said " I noticed you..., thank you" to something they did well?   Did you pay attention and turn off your electronics when they share a story or want to show you a new trick they taught themselves even if it seems "stupid?"  Ask yourself, "Was that comment necessary?"  Maybe it was not.  If it is not positive, maybe it doesn't need to be said.  If it is a judgement, it doesn't need to be said.  If you could help them make improvements, compliment first then say, " Let me show you something I know/learned...."  And, last, when your children are picking on or judging others, simply ask, "Was that necessary?"  Nine times out of ten it is not.  By catching your young ones, you can teach yourself.  Flow out positive and you will be filled in return.  Fill someone's Love Bucket today.  Good karma.

Mammaphonic

Tonight was my night to hostess Book Club.  Our book, Mamaphonic, edited by Bea Lavendar is a collection of essays written by artists of various genres.  I was given the book when my first was born in 2004, by my dear artist teacher friend and mother-mentor Beth.  I chose the book for several reasons.  One, it was a different genre then we have read before.  Two, the short stories may lend themselves to be finished while not-so-much watching the kids in the park.  And, three, I wanted to read it again, nine years later.  The conversation of the Club offered mixed reviews with one consensus, there were only a handful of stories worth processing.  Overall, the summary of our collective motherhood journey of fitting in our own time doing whatever we do is an ever evolving experiment.

    Upon closing the door and turning out the porch light, I began to contemplate my own journey from the first read to the second read of this collection of essays.  Before I earned my identity as mother, I had given up.  I lost two babies in my tenth week with a year between each.  Another year had passed.  I had processed the mourning through paintings and journals entries.  Then scooted them in my shadows with a shaky confidence.  I was going to be an artist.  I would spend my summers free of teaching and seek out galleries for representation.  Putting all my business of art in order was cathartic.

    Portfolios were all in order and ready to start pounding the pavement in the "big city."  October.  I was pregnant.  November, the baby was still there.  December, she was still there.  We shared the news she was still there, and my world started to spin.  My art world that is.  Just like some of these mothers in this book, I was faced with deciding how I was going to fit it all in.  Teacher-artist-wife was a piece of cake.  Four roles, how would that work out?  Long story short, I chose Mother-wife-artist.  Given the opportunity to stay home and paint was a grand opportunity.  I knew that I could not be the teacher I wanted to be and be the artist I wanted to be all the while changing diapers and purée fruit and veggies.  

     With slight reverence, I slide into the role of stay-at-home, just for one year.  That year was grand.  Just me and the baby.  There were spaces for me to create.  Pockets of time to just do what I wanted to do.  Daughter spent most of her first six months swaddled like a burrito in the portable crib in the basement I called my studio.  We walked through the cemetery nearby and strolled all through the neighborhoods between 15th and 1st Street and Main Street and Sunset.  I could draw you a map.        I may not have been very productive or inspiring during this time, but it was our time.  It was a time I waited for her to be old enough for going to the pool and dipping her fingers in paint without them going right into her mouth.

     We moved from the two bedroom.  We had room for another.  And, so he came, a surprise.  Two babies, one mom.  At first they consumed me with one napping every three hours and the other giving up her two nap schedule.  Art? What art?  Hand quilting fit in the spaces.  Not awe defining, just simply making something. Once a day napper and a twice a day napper.  What was art?  A sketch book doodle, a journal entry, a lullaby e, a poem, those were the art of mothering. A few feeble paintings were sketched out in the wee hours of the night between toddler bed training and the next nursing session.  This was their time.  Not mine.

     As they grew and became mobile, they stopped putting everything in their mouths.  So I set up a table in my studio and we did stuff.  I am not really certain what all that stuff was.  Watercolors, crayons, chalks, drooling on the paper, eating the home-made play-dough, and toddling over to distract me.  But, I made stuff in the spaces.  I made enough to stay in my art co-op and brought them in to my sittings at the gallery.  This worked until they were not just mobile but fast movers. I no longer trusted them around the work of the glass blower and gave up my membership.

    I was a mom-wife-occassional artist until one of them was going to school three hours once a week.  Awesome!  Then two kids going to farm school together, the same time, out, gone, my house, my space, silence.  Bites of two hours and thirty five minutes to be in my space, to think.  My time to create increased as the year passed to the next.  This allowed me more time to dedicate to them when They weren't in school without the distraction of creation.  I knew I would get me time, it was scheduled.  These are my favorite years with my children.  Life was grand and ticked by like a well engineered clock.

    In and out of years, in and out of time, we have travelled to far and strange places as a unit of three. Yes, there is a fourth, a co-commander, but during the day, it is us.  This past year they were both in school full time.  I had lots of time to create in and out of all the stuff of life that gets in my way. We found time to make stuff together on weekends and after school.  I have ambitions of teaching both to sew in spite of having to finish most everything that is started.  Each has evolved into the studious painters with the help of "real art class"in school.  I also started teaching after school once a week and hope they learned more then how to sharpen two dozen pencils and stack stools at the end of class.  My Daughter still draws her portraits with the eyes on the fore head, but Son does not.  He must have been listening more then I thought when he was giggling with the other first grader in the class.  Daughter can tell a story with her images.  I wonder what will come of her unicorns as she matures as an artist.

  Yes, when they are in school, art, yoga, therapy, volunteering, doctors appointments, and coffee Fridays all squeeze in to a week.  Yet, I longed for full days not crowded with to-do lists.  Now, that it is summer break again, I have travelled full circle.  There are not nappies needing to be changed nor fruits to be puréed (unless lunch is a smoothie, of course.). There are camps to be driven to, pools to go to, chores to get done, play dates to arrange, and stuff, lots of stuff, to be picked up.  Every night I rake the house.  I like it that way.  But, sure enough, each time the kids walk through a door, any door, the leaves of stuff blow right back in smothering my sanity and diminishing my time.  I know, poor me, sounds like a personal problem, blah blah blah.  Oh, the time to create sits in my head and waits.  It waits for the moment when both have disappeared on their bikes to trole the neighborhood.  All the while, I long for them to be home as I force myself to set down my rake and head up to my studio.  I have grown a lot the past several years letting the leaves collect in the corners with the cob webs to grasp my time in between the noise.  My prince and princess have as well. When they come home from their wonderings, I don't have to put down my paint brush.  At least not right away.  No, not until my most honest critiques have told me to use more pink and neon green.

     The second time I read Mammaphonic, I discovered different stories, the ones by moms with older kids.  Writers, artists, and musicians trying to hold their doing in their fists, finding spaces, balancing.  Everyone balances their life in their own way.  Yet, it is all the same finding the space for your doing whatever we are all so busy doing in amongst all the chatter of have-to-do.

     

Keeping

So I am digging through my  change pocket in my wallet hoping to find fifty cents.  Instead, I find two teeth.  This starts me thinking about the things I keep.  There are the obvious ones like quilts handed down to me from my mom's family and one from Hubby's family.  I finally found the right Mission style library cabinet to show them off last year.  A silver tea set because it was my great grandmothers.  It is packed neatly away in a bin hopefully maintaining its shiny self with the lack of oxygen.  Then there is a dozen dolls.  Two were my moms and others ones she made me when I was little.  Did you know she used to sell hand made dolls at craft shows in Dallas?  They are so lovely.

        I pay for the ice cream, chocolate fudge, breaking a twenty.  I hate to do that when all I needed is fifty cents.  Now, I have a wad of my dollar bills to contend with.  I stuff my cash in my pocket to deal with later and catch a drip of ice cream as I head back to the theater.  It's our anniversary.  Thirteen years.  There is something worth keeping.  I think of the memories kept in our albums.  I think of the memories of emotions and and contemplations stored under the bed.  Tightly wrapped canvases.  There is a nude self portrait under there.  I sleep on top of her.  Four years ago, I had just a couple of weeks to record my thirty-three year old body, my 34-Ds.  The left is bruised with three biopsy scars, swollen, angry.  I only gotten my "sisters" recorded before they were tossed in the biohazard bin and samples shipped to the Mayo Clinic for testing.  The face, tummy covered in stretch marks, and hair was done during the six weeks before my hair fell out two days before my second round of chemo.  The background is red, and i am releasing butterflies from my right hand which is really my left.  A record of me before all the surgeries.  It is worth keeping.

      I stealthily slink into the darkness of the movie theater and squint to find Hubby.  The seats are almost full now.  I wiggle through the row and slump down in my saved chair trying to lick another spot of ice cream dripping on my thumb.  Hubby smiles at me.  I feel like I am 22.  I meet this guy when I was twenty two.  Fifteen and a half years later, he is bemused because I "had to have" my chocolate even after he took me to this super healthy vegan restaurant.  Yin and yang here folks.  Yah, he's figured me out.  Worth keeping.  I am sure glad he has kept me.

      Oh, the things we all keep.   There are heirlooms, maternal hand-mades, recipes from Great Grandmother Letha, quilts Great Grandmother Ruth made in the latter part of her life, wedding photos, oil paintings from high school and ones that journal my life journey.  None of it has value to any one else.  Sometimes it is a secret the little things we keep.  Shhh, don't tell anyone I still have the mix tapes from my high school boyfriend.  Do you have a cassette player?  No?  Shucks.  I have rock collections and jars of seashells I spent hours finding in Monterey, Carmell, Half Moon Bay, Cayucos, Pismo Beach, Hawaii, and Cozumel.  There is one hiding in my jewelry box that our scuba dive guide gave me in Hawaii on my honeymoon.  I clutched that thing all the way through ascending to the surface.  It is little.  I wasn't supposed to take it.  I think our guide knew I would take it.  It doesn't matter now, that was thirteen years ago three days from now.  When I look at it...smile.  Well, I kept it.  

     I don't know what will come of the teeth in my wallet.  One is Son's first tooth.  The other is Daughter's ninth.  They lost them just weeks apart.  Son lost his the last day of school.  daughter lost hers up at my parents cabin while we were fishing at the lake.  Being displaced from home in both cases, Tooth Fairy placed them in my change pocket in my wallet.  She just might leave them there for a bit, wrapped in their love notes.  They make her smile knowing she is walking around with her children's DNA.  Oh, sometimes it is very strange the things we keep.  Or is it?

Fathers Day

Woohoo. What a ride.  Fathers choice, we took the kids and Husband's sister down Brown's Canyon near Beuna Vista.  These class 3 rapids were quite the step up from the cold float trip on the Colorado last year.  I have rated this stretch of the Arkansas River about a half a dozen times at different river levels.  Peaking two days ago, this was a blast.  Husband ran these rapids as a guide when he was a young pup just settling into Colorado about twenty years ago.  He remarked on how the rock formations he knew had changed over the years.  Our guide and the one in the other rafts was definitely full of tall tales.  The kids believed every word, even the story that the Sevens rapids series was created when there was a double decker train track running through and it toppled in the water creating a stairs step of rapids.  Tall tale or not, these were my favorite.  The kids liked Zum Flum pictured above.  It was also good to have Husbands Sister along for the ride. 

     

Test 7.75

Lately, life has been a series of signs.  When I look up at a digital clock, it is 11:11, 5:55 or 3:33.  In one day, I run across blogs on the same topic as a friend just chatted with me about.  And, I met a stranger in the elevator who was going down, but went up when I called the elevator from the fifth floor.  Then down, and back up when I noticed I forgot my latte on the fifth floor. then down to the second floor where I departed.  We chuckled at the weirdness of the elevator farce and pondered the meaning of its occurrence.  Well, we made each other laugh, we agreed.

    I have yet to determine the breadth and purpose for all the poking to get a clue, listen harder, observe more.  What I do know is I am being tested by some little beings in my life.  Yes, my free-range chicks are nestled in their beds and look like angels.  Okay, well, actually, they talked me into allowing a slumber party of two on the trundles.  It is only ironic they chose to sleep in the same room and giggle themselves asleep when they were fighting and hitting each other all afternoon.

     Earlier today, they went out riding their bikes around.  They came back.  Then out again.  Then returned. And then, packing water bottles they announced they tried friend A and friend B who were busy so they were trying friend C.  Okay, call me when you there.  I change out the washing machine and drier, wipe up lunch, look outside, move things from point A to point B....I am getting a little nervous.  Seems like they should have called by now or returned if friend C wasn't home.  Ring, the call.  Phew.  

      Letting go of your children as they seek independence is bittersweet.  I was glad to see them go so bravely, glad for the silence, the cease fire, and worried whether they would know what to do if a stranger put them in danger all at the same time.  Did I teach them enough?   Were they listening?  My chicks returned home right before dinner so proud of themselves for stretching the apron strings.

     Later, the real test started.  I am not sure exactly why I take the brunt of all intense feelings Son has, I don't even know why he was so mad today.  I think it had something to do with me not making what he wanted for dinner.  (I am not dumb.  I know there is way more to the story then that.). He comes into the kitchen were I am singing and making dinner.  "I am running away. You are the worst mom ever.  No one loves me here."

     "Okay, it is getting dark, you might want to grab a jacket.  Where do you think you might go?  The park has bathrooms and a pond.  You might want to grab a fishing pole.  Love you."

     He stomps towards the door grabbing his hoodie off the rack.   Sister looks at me bemused.  "Just go with it," I whisper.  "Start giving him stuff to bring."

   She smiles, grabs a backpack that had water bottles.  "Here you might want some water.  Oh, and some snacks."  She keeps bringing him things, a Smurf figure dressed like a clown, his favorite near, a jacket, who knows what else.  Each time he trudged towards the exit, she'd say, "uh, you forgot this."

    Well, sure enough he packed it all in his pack and headed off.  I watched for him to pass the back window.  He didn't..  I started getting a sick feeling in my tummy.  What if he gets hit by a car?  What if he gets nabbed by a bad guy.  What ii he doesn't come home?   I turn to the stove top, a good place to hide your face once your eyes begin to well up with tears.  

     Daughter pats me on the back and asks if I am crying.  I tell her about my what-ifs.  I tell her that I try so hard to love him and show him, but I still don't know why he acts like this.  She tells me some very wise words.  She tells me he is still hurt from when I left for ten days last fall for the surgery. She says he is mad about the cancer.  And, that he was so little when it started he doesn't remember me without it.  Then she consoles that he probably went to the "hill."  I text my friends who live over there to tell me if they see him.   Sister pops out to check on Brother.  He has come back.  I am relieved and still crying gator tears in the spaghetti sauce.  Wasn't there a movie about a woman crying her emotions in soup or something?  

    I feel a little arm reach around the middle of my legs as I am getting broccoli out of the fridge.  I turn, he just looks at my puffy, tear full eyes and gives me a hug.  No words.  He runs back outside.  I guess I passed the test.  I am just not sure who is the grader.

    My children are pushing my limits this summer.  Some are so frustrating I want to spearmint.  Other times make me so proud.   We are working on cutting the apron strings.  I would just like to ask one thing.  can I have apron strings made of bungee cord?  I send them out in the big bad world, knowing they will pop right back.

The Summer Secret

We started a gratitude jar.  Wait let me back up.  We fed the homeless.  Wait, need to back up some more.  I saw the Secret.  Wait, further.  Okay, let's begin with the start of summer break.  As a stay-at-home mom, summer break is like a weekend that won't end.  For two weeks, I have managed to fit in housecleaning, grocery shopping, organizing, weeding, mending, meal making, meal cleaning up, teaching, and a number of other tasks in pockets of time between the pool and  "Mommy, I am bored."  I went into summer naively thinking that this was the summer my angels would learn to do chores without grumbles and reminders.  Well, it turns out my little ones are more like free-range chicken then those in a nesting box.

      Much emotion has erupted in their lives as they transition from the world of structure, friends, fun and, hopefully, interesting new things to be learned.  The catalyst, as in most households, seems to be Mom.  Yes, dear Mom won't let me eat dessert every night.  Dear ol' Mom makes me go to bed when the neighbors are still playing outside.  Dear Mom changed the plans.  It's her fault we can't go to the pool. (Um, yes, it is my fault for driving over something and getting a flat tire, please forgive me.). 

       Though I try to steer the energy of our troop towards the positive, it seemed to be cycling down the tubes.  Where did I screw up?  Why are they so unhappy?  Why is it my fault for every frustration?  And, dang it, why don't they help with the dishes while whistling a little tune like Snow White?  Road block after road block as I desperately try to make our time positive.

        Then it dawns on me.  I am trying.  That is the problem.  Okay, so it didn't come to my in a lightening strike of epiphany.  No, there were the subtle messages, road blocks.  Sometimes, it takes quite a few.  And, if you still aren't getting it, then you might get the privilege of getting hit in the head

        Last night, I turned on my TV.  We now have some sort of gizmo were you have to search for shows.  I haven't quite figured it out and morn the days of just watching whatever was given to me to watch at that moment in time.  Now, I have to make a decision.  But, not last night.  I turned it on and The Secret, the movie, was there.  Just there in the front of the line of suggested shows.  Ding.  Ding.  Watch me tonight.  Get a clue.

        I have read the book, and several others around the same concept, in the past.  The idea is basically around the Law of Attraction.  The movie rotated through a variety of modern thinkers speaking about the history of the concept, the reasoning, and how to put it to practice.  Yes, I know this.  Negative thoughts attracts negative energy.  Positive begets positive.  What you put out is what you receive.

       So, today, I minded my peas and Q's.  Or, was it carrots and my two J's?  I would try to catch myself when we were going down a negative path.  Flip it.  I'd try to flip it to positive.  This is not any easy task.  Baby steps.  One elbow blow at a time.  My wonderful, intelligent, creative beings in my charge, you are so awesome and helpful.  (Play it on repeat)

      There is a lot of work to be done.  But, we will get there.  Tonight, after swimming, I missed our turn.  I pulled into the grocery store parking lot to cut through to the back road and back up onto the road I had missed towards our home.  The kids were tired and grumbling.  In front of us, on the corner, was a family of five.  They had a cardboard sign.  I couldn't read it.  Two girls about my kiddos age, a mom, a dad, and a baby girl.  I pulled past them and suddenly thought, "We need to make them dinner."  After consulting the tired chicks in my backseat, we decided exactly what we would bring them.  We flew in the house, collected our items, made sandwiches, all things that didn't need refrigerating, and loaded in the car.  No arguments.  No tears. Very little talking.  Just doing.

      At the parking lot, we parked and got out.  Daughter takes the sack of food, Son follows, and I say, "Here is some dinner."  The family beams.  Without looking what we had given them, the father says thank you.  I choke on my tears.  There was just this weird and awesome feeling inside all of us.  I can't explain it.  I have given change to other folks sitting on the corner with a cardboard sign.  But, this time was different.

     Driving away, Daughter bemuses, "I put a piece of paper and a colored pencil in there because I thought the girls would like that." We came home.  While I was cooking dinner, our neighbor mowed the remainder of our lawn. I had tried to mow for Husband while he was away on business.  I was only able to make a Mohawk in the middle as I made two passes around the edge before the thing ceased and would not start up again.  ( actually, should I admit I had the young man across the street get it started in the first place.  Ergo, I was too embarrassed to go ask for help again so I quit.)

      The kids were so excited.  "We gave the family food tonight and our neighbor mowed our lawn.  See it works.  You get what you give."  And, no, I had not talked to them about the Secret, they came up with that on their own.  Or maybe it is from years of listening to messages.

      Tonight, before I sent them to Lalalamd, I showed them the gratitude jar.  Anytime they want, and at least every night before bed, they are to write one thing that makes them feel good.  Neither of them hesitated a second before scribbling out a thought, folding the paper and placing it in the jar.  I couldn't resist, after writing mine, I peaked at theirs.  Both said they were thankful they could give the dinner to the family.

       So we move into summer learning a new way of living.  How do you teach your young ones to become great adults?  A concrete anthology is yet to be written.  For me, I will continue my journey of acceptance.  I accept my children use me and each other as personal emotional punching bags because in us, they are safe. My children are wonderful beings.  And, I will attract their positive energy with mine.  I will have strength and endurance to live freely and mindfully while modeling my knowledge in practice for my free-range chicks who are always watching. The chores will get done joyfully.

PS. The first step of the Law of Attraction is to change your sentences to what you want to happen, to the positive.  I will live well to my eights.  Yep.

Da Plane, Da Plane

Okay folks, I know you want the whole story, so let me be brief and you can read the full version in my book that will be published...um...like a year after I start it.  so Scott and I were to return to Denver at 6 am Sunday morning.  we all got on the plane and heard there might be a small delay as the techs look at an issue on the wing.  A bird flew into the wing during Sunday morning in bound from Denver to CR.  Later, when de boarded, I saw the dent.  Though we were all hopefully the first hour and after being un boarded and fed lunch, they determined not safe to fly.  I am okay with that.  So they were going to try to get us on American, but it is booked.  We are talking 150 passengers.  They only fly one plane down on Saturday nights.  So they flew in a new plane Sunday.  Mean while, after arriving at 3:30 am, waiting for news, and being served two meals (one really gross) we were sent to claim our bags, stuff ourselves in shuttle vans, and go to the Best Western with a voucher at Denny's. Oh yum.  thankfully I have such an awesome husband who is good at handling these situations and we got on the first bus, first group to get rooms, and went ahead to eat dinner on the early bird side of things before 18 hungry teens and at least a dozen young, tired children flooded the place.  Went to bed early! Watched Jack Reacher on computer and set the alarm for 3am, again.  3:30, first in line of 150, new flight number, same time, same flight plan, same crew, same passengers and same captain.  That is when the de ja vu started.  The captain was so cool.  There was an issue with the passes of ten teen volunteers.  Apparently, they were at the end of the line and got checked in after the country standard time period of two hours prior by a few minutes.  I am guessing this was the fault of the check in staff, as they weren't ready when we got there to check back in.  So anyway, immigration wanted to pull the teens off the plane without their adult chaperone, rebook them, and so on.  Which would mean we all would have to get off the plane, claim baggage, recheck in a third time, and so on so the kids could get their bags.  Never mind they would be unattended minors in a foreign country.  The pilot said no one was getting off his plane, especially those teens.  They had the authorities come down to the airport, he did whatever diplomacy he had to do, two more hours. We were taken off the airplane, but allowed to leave all our stuff as we ALL getting back on that plane and going home. i think this was about nine.  We had a little yoga with the yogis returning from
retreat, the kids played freeze tag and the teens, well, not sure what they were up to exactly.  We were fed another meal.  Just as Scott and I got in line for a sack of whatever they could find upstairs on the
terminal cafes, we got on the busses to the mew plane with a wolf on its tail.  We left San Jose, Costa Rica. We did land in Denver about five so happy to see the kids when we got up to Longmont.  I don't know if things could have gone smoother on the part of Frontier.  I know there were several agitated folks.  But, in the end, I think we all understood that they were doing what they could.  Sure they could have communicated there was no hope of using the first plane sooner.  AndI am pretty sure most of the food gave people stomach aches.  However, I do know the flight attendance were awesome, we did get two vouchers, three meals, movies on the plane, chips, snack bars, all the drinks we wanted, and a bit of humor in part of the pilot.  Sure wish I remembered his name.  Oh, and the folks of flight 87, I mean 2087, no make that 987, was it 2088 in the end? Yes, so the passengers I spent 30 some odd hours with we're great.  Through all the grumbling, there was always laughter.  I met some very interesting people from all over Colorado. Also, l "like" the fan page of the farm of the Tica, what Costa Ricans call themselves, sitting next to me of Facebook.  Oh, and who else,
besides the twenty or so men, women, and children who joined us, can say they did a flash mob yoga with total strangers they just spent two days with in an international airport waiting room offering our practice to our flight home.  A prayer that was answered just thirty minutes after savasanna.      Namaste.

The moral of this story is things happen, find a silver lining, do unexpected yoga in public (dancing also works), and drink your lemonade.  Breath.  Oh, yah, and Sara can't make it short.  (Shrug)

I promise to write about the good stuff of  our trip with you later.  Wait until you see the hummingbird pictures!