Somethings We Should Never Outgrow!

A long year of music lessons was coming to an end. It was the last class, and we were all, ready to be done, each for different reasons. I had one more mostly painful Tuesday afternoon session to endure, my final 60 minute guilt trip, over having not practiced, note recognition, and Mr. Snowman, more faithfully with my 4 year old.

Jonas was up, his turn had come, I felt more tense than he did. I squeezed his arm a little too hard, my expression was a little too stern, I wanted to communicate to my son with my non verbal gestures that it was time for him to focus. My cues did not cause him to straighten in his chair, he did not get his fingers into position, instead he looked at me with tears brimming, and said, "I'm having a bad day! Can I get some loving?"

I was immediately contrite, feeling fresh guilt, and remorse, this time for wounding my son's fragile sensibilities, and for not noticing that he needed patience, much more than he needed to be whipped into shape.

After some reflecting on our little non musical exchange, I'm left wondering, when did I begin to see my own emotional needs as weakness? Why am I, as an adult afraid to say, "I'm having a bad day. Can I get some loving?" Is it really more mature to assume that people should read my mind and know what I need or want? Is it more grown up to grow resentful over my loved ones' inability to read my mind correctly?

Although it feels needy and vulnerable, I wonder if it wouldn't be better for me to take a page out of my son's book? Perhaps I should let his simple entreaty teach me something about how I should communicate? Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to express myself in a way that inspires compassion, rather than defensiveness in those around me? Maybe....?????

My children really have taught me as much as I've taught them!

Sometimes I Love It When They Cry!

Before you conclude that I am sick and twisted, let me explain. It's June (summer in most parts). Summer means that I, the mommy, spend, weeks, days, and long, long hours at my other job, the non-mommy job.

I love my work, love the patients, (except for the ones that don't bathe), love my Doctors, love the people that I get to work with. In short it's a nice break for me, the mommy, to get out of the house and do something that stimulates the clinical side of my brain.

Today was the first day, of my long summer stint of days, at the hospital. I came home around 8:30. The twins had already been in bed for a little while. My Buddy Boy, had gotten up to use the bathroom at which point he saw me. I kissed him good night, thinking that would be the end of it. Five minutes later he came into my room indignant about something. I told him it was bedtime, and I'd see him in the morning. Ten minutes after that, my husband came into our room and asked if I could go console The Man Cub?

Peeking into his room, I saw him, boo hooing for all that he was worth, face buried in his pillow. I scooted him over, laid down on his single mattress with him, and began to stroke his back, then his hair. The crying stopped. He turned over, and with our noses touching, he sighed, lip quivering, he drifted off to sleep.

Something about the way my son missed me today warmed my Mother's Heart. Very soon there will come a day, when I'll have to twist his arm for the privilege of a Good Night Kiss. So for tonight, I'll cherish the fact that nothing else in the world can soothe the woes of my children like their mommy!

Cherish the sight, smell, sound and feel of your children, in this moment, before the moment changes forever.

Good Night...

Tell Me About When I Was a Baby..

I woke the other morning to the sound of fruit being chopped and my 4 year old daughter's voice. She was asking my husband about when she was a baby. Rather than tell her, he decided to show her. He plugged the camcorder into the computer, brought out her birth video, and let the memory unfold in front of her.

Blurry eyed and exhausted, I pushed back the covers, and followed the pull toward Memory Lane.

I watched myself as a drugged, helpless, almost lifeless, being, go through the drama of delivering twins. I watched the fear play across the face of my husband, I watched medical professionals, move with frenetic efficiency around me, and our babies. I watched almost transfixed, traumatized.

I was surprised to feel such diverse and conflicting emotions simultaneously, as my eyes were glued to the screen. I seemed to be having an odd out of body experience, as though I were watching someone else, a different family, one that looked an awful lot like mine. More than anything, I felt a momentary panic, an almost desperate need to seperate myself from the scene, from that stage, yet perversely drawn to it at the same time.

I had an overwhelming desire to not go back. I didn't want to remember, the pain, the anxiety, the uncertainty, the sleeplessness. It struck me then, that time is merciful and that the memory softens what was reality. Moving on, is almost always better. I want to remember that.

I want to remember, when I'm having those fleeting feelings of my life slipping away that it isn't slipping a way, it's just entering a new chapter.

I also want to remember that each stage has it's sweetness and hardship, and that to live fully I need to embrace and learn from both. I want to parent with grace, for myself and for my children, so that, when I stroll down memory lane, either in my mind or on screen, I can feel a sense that I embraced the moments while I was in them, a sense that I was present, and that the next stage demands that I be present as well.

Regardless of how old my children are, how they got here, or what their birth experience was like.... I'm a mother, and that is a gift, a gift I plan to cherish.

Your Children Might Be Rednecks If.....

I know that at some point I should make them wear shoes, make them keep their clothes on, and insist that they stop peeing outside, but.....

I've been watching my children run wild outdoors a lot in the last week or so. The weather has been nice, which means they almost never want to come inside. It has done wonderful things for my soul to see my 3 little people sit together on the porch swing, I listen to them pretend, all manner of different things. They pretend they're on a train to somewhere. They speak in British accents, usually one of them is the parent, and so on. I feel as though I'm a fortunate eavesdropper, who is listening in on their childhood. As I listen in, I become saddened by the fact that they're getting older by the second, and pretty soon they wont be quite so easily entertained, by the simple pleasures, of lots of space, and sibling camaraderie.

I can't stop time, but I can stop and smell the roses now and then. I can watch, listen, engage, and enjoy these sweet spring days. The imaginations of my energetic tribe are blooming way better than my very neglected Lilac Bushes along my back fence. I never was much of a green thumb with regard to plants. I seem to be better a growing happy children.

Hopefully they'll continue mature, the way they should, but even more importantly, I pray I remember to let them be KIDS, even if that means they never want to wear shoes.....

Desperately in search of the magic potion!

I have every hope of finishing strong, but little to no energy, to ensure that it happens.

I've been wondering lately how school teachers do it? How do they manage to steer, teach, direct 25-30 children, 5 days a week, 9 months out of the year? Perhaps I should hunt down a teacher and ask him/her.

As a Home Schooling Mommy, with one student, I'm fresh out of get up and go. We have 76 hours left to complete the required time allotment for second grade. It might as well be 1000 hours, because 5 more seconds seems like more than I can bear at this exact moment.

This year has been amazing. I've loved nearly every moment of it. We've had Viking Funerals, colored murals of the Battle of Hastings, we've sprouted seeds, dissected flowers, made costumes of empresses, counted endlessly, written dates, worked with manipulatives, read fascinating biographies, and the list goes on.

This school year, I've learned as much as my second grader. Perhaps I shouldn't admit that. The most important thing for me as a teacher, at this point is to instill in her a love of learning. I want her to be curious about everything. I want her to learn how to think, and reason. Most of all at the end of my time as her teacher I want to look back and be able to say that my pupil is intelligent, wise, kind, compassionate and discerning.

Maybe all I needed after all, was to re-visit my goals. Seeing them may have given me enough energy to get through this day and possibly, the next 75 hours as well. However a little magic potion couldn't hurt either...

If you know where I could get some???

When was the last time...

you had a perfect day?

We spent lazy, spring, afternoon moments, lying on our backs, shielding the sun with our forearms. We talked about why people's faces turn red when they laugh? Why jets make white streaks across the sky? And what was the name of that movie, about a boy and a cave?

When he'd finished with his questions, I asked a few of my own. Who loves you the most? Who do you love? All the while, knowing that my name would be near or at the top of the list.

Eventually, he grew restless as little boys often do. I managed to keep him with me a little while longer by stroking the inside of his arm with my fingers. He loves it when I do that, it puts him in a near trance.

Before long he was off in search of backyard adventure, and a snack. My mommy allure can hardly compete with his constant appetite for food, and fun.

Watching him walk away it struck me that, I am ABSOLUTELY in love with my 4 year old son.

It also struck me that I need to chronicle perfect days like today. I need to put down on paper the bright blue of the sky, the fluffy whiteness of the clouds, the smell of new, spring green grass, the gentle whisper of the breeze and the buzzing of flies just waking up from a long winter nap. But even more than all of that, I need to memorize, catalog and drink in the amazing sense, that in this moment, EVERYTHING is perfect!!

The Pity Pot, not my favorite seat!

I've been feeling funky the last few days. If you must know I had a horrid Mother's Day. I've decided to put the blame where it should really lie. Marketers and distributors do their utmost to convince you, that there is a day in which it IS all about you. If you're a mom who is occasionally weary, you sink your teeth into the notion that on May 8th or whatever day in May Mother's Day happens to fall on, that on that day you will truly be able to wallow around in the notion that the world is stopping to pay homage to your sacrifice. If on that day you realize that the world couldn't care less it's a bit disillusioning, and you reel from the disappointment of unmet expectations, even if you're not sure what you expected.

It's not true. The problem is that as a mother, it's never all about you. The question can be raised about whether or not it even should be. Motherhood in and of itself is about sacrifice. Going from sacrifice to complete indulgence is a pretty big paradigm shift, even if it is just for one day.

I haven't decided exactly how to reconcile all of my mixed emotions about expectations, and disappointments. What I have concluded is that sitting, stewing, and feeling sorry for myself is an ugly practice that does no good, not for me or for those around me.

Here's to pulling up the boot straps, being thankful for my blessings, most specifically my children, and recognizing that life and everyday is what you make it.