Summer Air

Summer just began for me this year. I started back to school full-time this summer, just finished my finals, and as I come up for air, I get to inhale the summer grass, summer shine, summer waves, with a slow summer sigh. And yet.....two of my children start school in seven days, SEVEN DAYS.......while one gets to wait until September 6th (only because they are putting in a new playground and have some building code thingys to fix.)

Now, when I was back at the good old Woodrow Wilson Elementary in Salt Lake City, Utah, we never went to school before Labor Day. Life was less rushed, and that's not nostalgia speaking. We really did get to just play for quieter periods, for longer periods, with free reign. Summer seemed a full quarter of the year instead of eight-ish weeks. We actually made our own paper dolls with cardboard furniture, cooked mud pies in the tree oven and tried to mount a full production of Wizard of Oz. (The perfectionist in me trashed that idea when I could not figure out how to get my hands on ruby slippers---Target was but a gleam in some bullseye. Plus there was the flying monkey problem.)

Lest I paint a picture of an idyllic childhood, there were days of "let's play witch," which would now probably involve pseudo J.K Rowling characters. But back then, it was simply tying each other to the stake (metal porch pole) and enduring the wrath of the townspeople (siblings.) Sadly, one day my brother decided not to untie me after my turn at witch. I think someone came and got me before dark.....

There was also the time we were visiting our great aunt's during our lazy summer days, and the neighbor, not knowing what upstanding kids we were, accused us of stealing his croquet balls. Good times, huddling under the covers waiting for the sirens, dreading the felon life of the wrongly accused. Ah....summer memories. At least we were outside where we could logically be accused, instead in front of a screen all summer.

My favorite activity this summer is watching Spencer (11) take rehabilitation equipment and turn it into sport. A month ago, he bought a wheelchair for $5.00 from a neighbor boy (who come to find out, was told to throw it away in the community dumpster, but who sees Spencer, and gets a better idea.) They connive to save the chair from scrap metal hell and within minutes, Spencer is sporting wheelies. This is on the heels of taking crutches from the deep recesses of the closet, turning them upside-down, and walking on them like stilts.

Yeah, creative summer minds at work. Somewhere in the mix are water balloons, for sure, but not Otter Pops, which are banned from our house because my children do not know that getting the long, skinny plastic tubes of empty Otter Pops into the trash can requires walking over to said can rather than tossing willy-nilly or letting lie wherever the last sip occurs. These are children over the age of ten. It's sad really, because they almost got the privilege back, until I came home and saw the tell-tale plastic on the floor, and fell speechless. When did an Otter Pop cross our threshold and who is to be yelled at? I see all three boys bursting with the unbearable, delicious secret that they can no longer hold: they bought a box and have been partaking for awhile now, knowing their top secret stash would be safe in the freezer as my summer was busy with homework. The game was, to prove to me that they were responsible to the point of my not knowing they had the contraband. And it almost worked. Too bad I am a Nazi-garbage mom when it comes to those Otter Pops. Well, that and Easter grass. But that's spring, not summer.

Cheetos and Photos

Cheetos are a color that I'm pretty sure does not exist in nature and when applied to an heirloom quilt will not come out easily, but my friend, Mena, didn't even try. She just left her child's fully formed handprint to be fossilized into the threads of the fabric forever. As she was explaining her logic (why wash out the stain when it could stay there displayed on the wall with the quilt as an addition to the memento) it hit me how cool that was. She was killing a flock of birds with the one stone: memorializing a child's moment in time, being extremely visually funny AND replacing plaster of Paris! Mainly though, she was memory keeping and that I salute.

Isn't that why we go through the anguish of hunting and gathering each family member to get that family photo? So that for one moment in time, if the planets are aligned just right, we can get everyone in the same room, semi-clean, maybe happy, but at least smiling, and looking at the camera--all at the same shutter speed time with eyes 100% open? Given the odds, it is a bit of a miracle.

Looking at the posed and unposed moments caught on film have helped me through many a dark day. In the movie Limitless, Bradley Cooper's character becomes addicted to a cutting edge pharmaceutical that allows him to see things (ideas, connections, projections, trends, patterns, people) in amazing clarity. Suddenly, the film's lighting brightens and the blue in his eyes intensifies--- we know his brain is now operating at full capacity rather than our everyday 10%. That's exactly how I feel when I look at our family's photos. It is like all of the extraneous nonsense falls away and everything becomes clear. My brain seems to operate at a definite higher level. The good, the bad, and the grey is more defined and the thousand words that the picture replaces cut to the core of why we moms do what we do day in and day out for the sake of our families.

Then of course, there is "the rest of the story" after the photo was taken. Like when Christian fell off the table we were posing on during our Christmas photo shoot. We would forever after tell him,"Five seconds after that shot, you were screaming and bleeding, on your way to the ER, but hey, great shot!"

Two years later, same annual Christmas shot: me, nine months pregnant as Mary, Victoria as a put-out shepherd, Christian with his lambie blanket as a mischievous lamb, Scott as a real bearded Joseph and unborn Joshua as unborn Jesus, complete with hay and a wooden bed loft disguised as a stable. Fast forward to after the shoot: Victoria swinging on the stable, Christian pulling on her legs, an unfortunate fall, and more stitches, this time, Victoria. Yeah, Christmas can be bloody at our house.

Tonight, all three boys burst into my room. I knew they were up to no good, but when they ask with such enthusiasm if they can photograph me.....Tip of the day: don't go anywhere near your kids who laugh maniacally and have just discovered a phone camera app called "Fat Booth."

It's the memory-keeping though, (once I delete that phone app) that clarifies and brings into focus the important stuff, even though getting that photo can feel like a tactical and logistical nightmare.

The last photo we were able to take of all of our children before our youngest died in an accident, was by far the most difficult, painstaking photo ordeal. But something kept nudging me to get it done, to do whatever it took. The day started out normal, but as we got closer to the appointment time, moods were flaring; tension was high. At the actual shoot, he-who-shall-not-be-named, kept timing jokes with the camera shutter, so that instead of smiles, we had people cracking up, looking off camera. It was a photographer's nightmare right up there with wedding guests' drunken half-closed eyes.

I was so upset with it all, that everyone was sent to time out in the van to wait there while the photographer checked out the proofs. Fifteen minutes later, she informed me that none of the photos (and she had taken a LOT) had all five children looking at the camera, smiling. Really? Really. Not one? Well, maybe one, but it would have a weird streak down the middle of the shot. "Photoshop, no problem," I am thinking----emotions so high, tears so near the surface, anything, any shot, we can salvage, please, please. Again, no idea why this image was so important. The initial impetus was to get a cute and loving photo for Father's Day, nothing else. Oh, did I mention that meanwhile, one of the children decided to not go to the van, and took off, whom I searched for and eventually found sulking in the mall.

During my search, the photographer took pity on my pathetic attempt to control my emotions, and printed up the only the image that was salvageable, what was sure to be a streaked image from what she showed me on the negative.

But when she handed us the final image a thirty minutes later, it was streak-free, with smiles from all five, right into the camera lens---the last photo all five would take together. To me, it was the Holy Grail of photos---so worth the quest in that moment, even not knowing how truly priceless that image would become for our family. Some awful days are like that...so worth the effort to memorialize, whether it is saving Cheeto hands or memorializing each child in one beautiful moment of clarity.

HaHa and Clean Ceiling Moments

J.M Barrie wrote a fabulous scene in the beginning chapters of Peter Pan that you almost never see onstage or in film, but would be extremely funny and quite lovely in a new animated version. (Hint for new animators looking to write royalty checks.) The scene starts out one evening when Mrs. Darling is tidying up her children's minds at the end of the day after tucking them into bed:

All mothers tidy up their children’s minds when kissing them goodnight. After they have fallen asleep, mothers pick up stray items from their children's minds that need cleaning, and other items that need mending, and other items that need throwing away. But most of all, mothers collect from their children’s minds items that bring a smile and a tear.

Now some nights after finally getting children into the actual bed (and by getting into I mean staying, and by staying I mean not deciding to turn the light back on and read or draw ) I have been far too exhausted to approach any kind of tidying of minds or rooms. But on the J.M. Barrie nights, we get to read together, or chat, or relate who said what and then after family prayer comes hugs and more delay tactics. Those are the nights the mind tidying begins. Not just the children's but my own. I can focus on what went right that day or week, rather than keeping all of the bits of torn notes, discarded wrappers and outdated paperwork. I can look at the children and remember who they really are.

"But most of all, mothers collect from their children’s minds items that bring a smile and a tear."

I LOVE that! When we look at our children asleep or when we scrapbook or journal or blog or e-mail or photograph or sew (for them) or read (to them), or take a hike (with them) or talk about why dandelions fly, we are tidying up and highlighting those things that bring a smile and a tear. In the clutter of everyday life, mothers are needed to clean out the junk and grime and noise, and help their children focus on the moments of beauty and of laughter and of kindness. Some call it slowing down. Some call it setting priorities. Some call it sharpening the saw.

For me the tidying up of my own mind at night has been just as crucial as the bedtime tidying up of the children's minds. Many nights, I would nurse a newborn while typing an e-mail with my available right hand yearning for human contact in order to put life into perspective via the internet at two in the morning, giddy at the thought of having an e-mail response waiting for me in the morning from another adult who may or may not also be sleep deprived. Or sometimes, instead of typing, the smile and a tear came from simply being with that child, just the two of us in our own world at two in the morning. Most times not, as sleep deprivation is my kryptonite.

Collecting a smile and a tear. Taking inventory of the day. Patting ourselves on the back for the good moments. Forgiving ourselves for the bad moments. Remembering, oh remembering what went right, even if it was a horrible no-good, very bad day. I read once that a mom was trying terribly hard to find the good in a horrible no-good very bad mess of a bedroom and determinedly looked up and said,"Well, the ceiling is really clean!" Hey, she found the clean ceiling moment in that room. Not only that, but she found the HaHa moment (as opposed to the Aha! moment.) One of the things I loved about my husband when the kids were little, was that he could find the HaHa in the most heated of meltdowns. Having the imagination to find that ceiling comment, is straight out of his book. I've been trying to take pages out of that book the last twenty years. So quite literally here are just a few excerpts from pages of my "Kids' Sayings Journal" that have brought a smile and a tear.

Christian (age 18): Mom, you created a blog? Mom, a blog is a very big responsibility. You have to take care of it. Just because some of your friends have blogs doesn't mean that you are ready. (Clearly, my job is finished with him as our roles have now reversed.)

Victoria (at age 4, all Lucy-like): I'm gonna give you a uncle sandwich!

Joshua (at age 3, counting the pilled fabric balls on his blankie): Shhh! I'm counting my babies.

Spencer (at age 5, starting sentences with): As you know..... (I guess. How do YOU know and when did the fairies bring this twenty-year old changeling?)

Victoria (at age 7, having a pre-spelling test meltdown): I wish there were no such thing as a silent "e"!

Emily (age 3 quoting "The Producers"): Don't be stupid, be a smartie, come and join the naughty party! (Bless her heart, she had no concept of a Nazi Party. Although why she thought a naughty party was cool to sing about...)

(Mom to Christian age 4): What happened to the word, "please?" Christian: "I threw that word AWAY!" (Okay, manners communist.)

Looking over these, I wonder if they are funny only to me. In my mind I see the expressions and the normally obedient child say something outrageously naughty, or the pure innocence and complete belief in something as sweet as counting and protecting fabric babies on a blanket. That's what makes our collecting and cleaning of our children's minds so unique and personal---and what brings that smile and a tear. Finding those HaHa moments and clean ceilings in the context of chaos. It's what we do. Mrs. Darling would be proud.

Epic Motherhood

SUNDAY, MAY 15, 2011

Epic Motherhood

Moms have always both fascinated and scared me. Having a mom, being a mom, and having learned from lots of moms for decades, I have appreciated the many different and unique ways of mothering. Having seen the underbelly (pun totally intended), I also understand the many ways in which we as moms try so hard to not repeat mistakes and do all we can to really do our best, even if that is SO not-pretty on some days. The good, the bad and the ugly is what I write about, but mostly the good----learning to glean the good and (borrowing a phrase from my Star Wars crazed son) learning to turn the dark side to the light. (Good thing he doesn't read this blog, or I would be getting major grief for misrepresenting basic Star Wars mythology. I'm also banned from using the word "epic," as apparently his generation made the word cool, whereas my generation only introduced the word to the general population in the 70s.) So, Christian, this is for you: Motherhood is EPIC!

At the age of 14 I actually started reading books about motherhood, parenting and even childbirth. Weird, nerdy, and absolutely empowering for me, those books were my first attempt to try to understand what the role of a mother really is. Deep inside, I knew that a mother was an amazing entity, but how to be a good one? Over the past 22 years, I have given birth to five children, each of whom came equipped with his and her own set of physical, emotional and spiritual gifts and weaknesses. I felt from early on, that my job was to play detective and figure out what those particular strengths and weaknesses were, then nurture the heck out of the weaknesses and encourage (in a super-cool-laid-back-don't-get-too-excited way) the strengths. I never did get the super-cool-laid-back part down, whether it came to encouragement or discipline, as I am a pretty passionate person. But life in general is a pretty passionate sport, so double that for mothering. I read somewhere that when one sneezes, several thousand brain cells die. So on a really intense mothering day...well, do the math. I'm happy to report that a few brain cells have hung on for dear life in this brain, and I hope that I can convey some sense of encouragement for moms who seek refuge, who seek connection, and who seek a well of fresh water (for you! not the dog or the kids!)

I also believe that God sends us our children with a purpose for them and for us, as their moms. He has loaned them to us, and entrusted to us the co-creation of their bodies, and in a sense, the co-parenting that can take place with Him, as He knows them better than we do. Oh, the many hours I have spent on my knees praying about he-who-shall-not-be-named, just trying to get a handle on how to parent him, and what practical tactics, tips, or enlightened ideas to try. It goes without saying, or does it?, that if you believe in God, and ask Him, He will help you with your mothering. He will help you figure out that child who is the most unlike (or like) you! He will give you that respite which will add water to your well. And He will let you know that He loves you and is pleased with you for this great work you are about, even something as simple as showing your child how to fold a fitted sheet.