Don't Miss This Opportunity

Yesterday, I found out why I've been experiencing muscle pain and muscle fatigue for the past several months: turns out I have a pretty severe Vitamin D deficiency.  How delightful that my inability to move is not a character flaw!  How delightful is health insurance!  How delightful that, with Vitamin D supplements on board, my children might remember me for something besides collapsing on my pillows!  I am so looking forward to feeling better.

This discovery is a good reminder that we should listen to our bodies.  I've been ignoring my collection of symptoms for a long, long time, assuming that it was just a matter of not getting enough rest, or just because I'm getting older, or just not important enough to pay attention to.  I would never have ignored the ongoing, chronic aches and pains of one of my children; why was I willing to ignore my own?

Think about your own body: are you ignoring anything that you maybe should give a little credence to?  Anything worth asking a doctor about?  Anything worth feeling better for?  Don't miss this opportunity.

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Yesterday, I read a New Yorker essay by Roger Angell* that moved me to tears.  (Updated: The link will take you to full article; The New Yorker posted it in its entirety today.)  So much of my day is occupied by keeping up with my computer and responding to my smart phone that I think some of those tears were due to spending a few minutes with the slick, weighted pages of a good magazine, but most of them were because Angell's writing is exquisite.  His ability to weave back and forth between the personal and the universal is captivating.  I miss reading and I miss writers, and I can't wait to read more and more and more.  Why and how did I ever lose that habit?

Think about your nightstand: does it hold books and magazines you have been meaning to read? Are you making time for Downton and Duck Dynasty but putting off Didion, Diaz or Dos Passos?  Is there anything there worth spending time with?  Don't miss this opportunity.

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Yesterday, while I was ranting on Facebook about mistakenly buying cilantro instead of parsley and being severely disappointed that I couldn't make the dinner I was planning, a family in San Diego was mourning the loss of a 20 year old son, killed while skateboarding by a young drunk driver who fled the scene.  I heard about it, mere moments after my silly FB post, from a friend of mine who knows the family.

There aren't really words for losing a child.  It's too painful to imagine or express.  So many things are unimportant, so many daily annoyances and inconveniences distract us from what really matters.  I read the article about the family: there was a photo of 7 or 8 of them, gathered on the beach facing a makeshift memorial of balloons and flowers.  They stood in a group, shoulder to shoulder, leaning and holding on to each other, keeping each other upright in their grief.  One of them was missing.  One of the people who belonged there was not there, could not help with the holding.

Think about your family and friends: who belongs there?  Are any of them missing?  Can you go grab one and hold him up for awhile?  Can one of them do the same for you?  Do you need to leave aside minor annoyances and tell someone you love them?  Don't miss this opportunity.

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*Thank you Kelly Corrigan, for the Twitter recommendation for Angell's essay.

Bella Gets Her Wish

Transcription:

Once upon a time a princess lived. 

Her name was Bella.  Bella worked hard for what she wanted, which wasn’t very hard because she got whatever whenever she wanted. 

One day Bella saw normal children doing normal things getting dirty in the dirt.  She smiled.  She wished she could get dirty and laugh.  She always had to be clean and dainty.  She thought “Ick!”

“I hate being all dainty and pretty!” said Bella.  The next morning she woke up in a ordinary green house instead of a castle.  She went into her living room and found her parents but they were ordinary parents not dainty parents.  Bella smiled and thought “My wish came true!” For the rest of her life she will be normal and dirty not dainty, not clean, and not a princess, but a soccer player. 

The End.

* * *

Why yes, we do live in a green house, as a matter of fact.  And yes, we are rather ordinary.  I love this kid's stories.  Here's one from several years ago: The Castle.

* * *

Kelly Corrigan Has Great Timing

OK.

15 years into the parenting "adventure" and some of the shine has worn off the rose just a bit.  Because this?  Is hard.  Really, really hard.

We, my husband and I, are trying to raise people.  Human beings who will hopefully one day be happy, successful (in whatever way is important to them), and kind.

I want them to remember childhood fondly.
I want them to be strong and moral.
I want them to help others.

But first, I want them to clean their rooms and do their homework.  And maybe -- as a bonus -- maybe not look for new and creative ways to torture their siblings.

And that's what's so damn hard, that I know there is a connection between doing homework and helping others later in life, I just know there is, but it's not rational, and it's not linear, and it's messy and complicated, and I cannot for the life of me figure out just what kind of parent I am.

On good days, I know that parenting is art, not science.  On bad days, I'm just sure I'm screwing up on a grand scale.

So Kelly Corrigan, this reflection arrived in my in-box at a great time, a time when I needed to know that other people flip the bird to a retreating child's back too.  (Did you see me do that, that one time, Ms. Corrigan??)



Art and adventure.  And well written words to sustain us.  Thank you, from my little corner of the trenches.

* * *

And let's not forget!

I thought of more!  I also nag to make sure:

That you know how to use an ever-loving trash can, for crying out loud, for pete's sake, for the love of that same pete, for all that is holy, for the sake of my sanity, and so that you do not live your days in squalor.
[Related] That you understand in the very marrow of your bones that my car is not a trash can.
That you know how to pray.
That, when I completely lose my cool, you understand it as me offering you a cautionary tale and not as me being a massive hypocrite.
That you know how to cheer for the underdog.

That you kinda sorta get that clean is better than dirty, just because it is.
That you know how to lose graciously.  Why yes, I did watch the NFC Championship this past Sunday, why do you ask?
That you remember to bring the garbage can in after pick up day without being reminded.
That you are grateful for what you have and what other people do for you.
That gaining back a person's trust after you have squandered it takes a long, long time.  And not like a long time waiting for something to download, but an actual, real, long time.
That you know in the very marrow of your bones how much I love you, even while I am making you want to jump out of your own skin.

Between this post and the last one, I think I've effectively written a Parent Job Description.  For which no one on earth is qualified.  A mother's reach should exceed her grasp, or what's a heaven for, besides a good long, uninterrupted, quiet nap?

Come to think of it, that might be enough.

* * *

To Nag or Not To Nag...

…is not even a question.

As your mother, it is my responsibility, along with your father, to ensure:

That you arrive places safely.
That I know who you are with.
That you know how to boil water without burning the house down.
That you can do your own laundry without destroying your precious Arsenal jersey.
That you can do your own laundry without breaking a major appliance and costing us precious dollars.
That you are polite to adults.
That you understand the value of hardwork.
That you have as many doors open to you later in life as possible.
That you don't make really stupid social media decisions.
That you understand why drugs are bad.
That you respect the opposite sex.
That you take care of your body.
That you eat lots of vegetables and drink lots water.
That you learn how to control yourself when you are angry.
That you know the importance of forgiveness and compromise.
That you know and follow The Golden Rule.
That you do chores.
That you do chores without acting like I've asked you to chop off, deep fry, salt, pepper and eat one of your fingers.
That you take care of your dog.
That you do your homework.
That you remember your house key.
That you stop eating in your bedroom.
That you take care of expensive electronic equipment properly.
That you don't eat at McDonalds.
That you listen to music that doesn't make my own ears bleed.
That you know what's going on in the world.
That you don't take the bait.
That you don't let the haters get your down.
That you learn the value of thick skin and the gift of thin skin.
That you don't buy into what the media tells you a girl is.  Or a boy.  Or love.  Or sex.  Or happiness. Or pretty much anything.
That you understand the importance of silence and solitude.
That you understand how badly your mom needs silence and solitude sometimes.
That you learn how much more rewarding it is to give a gift than to receive one.
That you don't leave your belongings on every soccer field between San Jose and Sacramento, and that when you do, you understand why we won't replace whatever it is you left behind.  For the 117th time.
That you learn how to use: an alarm clock, a calendar, and a coffee pot.  I'll admit to selfish reasons for that last one.
That you know why elderly people are so important to our very existence.
That you spend your time wisely.
That you relax in ways that truly refresh and restore you.
That you value IRL more than LOL and PWOMS and ROFLMAO.
That you can do yard work.  Because I had to when I was a kid, that's why.
That you do not feel entitled to anything.
That you keep the smells emanating from your room to a minimum.
That you don't hate your siblings.  Or, at least that you hate them as little as possible and keep it to yourself as much as possible.
That you brush your hair and use deodorant.
That you have good friends, the kind that will help you deal with your parents.
That you don't get in cars with people you shouldn't.
That you always tell me the truth, because I will make your life miserable if you don't.
That you know a good movie from a bad one.
That you laugh at Wait Wait Don't Tell Me.
That you will leave my house at 18 years of age ready for the world.

* * *

When you think about it, isn't it kind of amazing that I ever find time NOT to nag?  That somewhere in between making sure all that stuff is happening, I actually make food for you, and drive you places, and look at silly Vines that make you laugh?

* * *

Don't worry.  You'll understand all of this someday.

* * *

Edited to link to the next post, which continues the nag fest...

Miley, This is One Girl's Opinion

My nine year old daughter is a great observer of life.  She frequently shares little gems of insight based on what she sees around her and the decisions she makes about all of it.

Today, we were in the car, listening to Taylor Swift.  I was thinking about how Ms. Swift writes all her own music, and how her particular combination of talents -- the writing and the singing -- are pretty impressive.  Out of the blue, my daughter piped up from the backseat:

"Mom, you know what I don't like?  I don't like it when a singer has a really great voice, but then sings with it in songs that are, I don't know, kinda, ya' know, dumb."

(Somehow, I knew she wasn't talking about Taylor Swift, but I thought it was interesting that we had been mulling over similar topics…)  

She went on:

"I think it's just sad when a singer with a really great voice uses it in really stupid songs.  Like Miley Cyrus!  I mean, she's got a great voice, but she isn't using it the way she could!  She sings dumb songs!"

And the capper:

"I liked her better with more hair and clothes."

* * *

Sadly, I think Ms. Cyrus would be pleased as punch by this. 

* * *

Not sadly, my daughter rocks.

* * *

A Letter

Dear Child of Mine,

Amidst the Chaos

Just goes to show, if you fast forward everything and add a catchy soundtrack, life looks pretty darn great.

I jest.  Life is pretty darn great.  It's stressful and hard, noisy and (sometimes) scary, and there are lots of tears…

…but it's still great.

* * *

Unprepared and Nostalgic

My daughters are dressed in their Holiday finery, and we are about to leave for the annual St. Jerome Christmas Concert.  

This has been a strange Advent.  More than ever before, it has snuck up on us, and we are unprepared in this season of preparing.  We don't even have our Christmas tree yet.

As the days whiz by, and I wake up each day farther behind than the day before, and I try like hell to hold on to the things that matter and let go of the things that don't, I find myself literally catching my breath.  I find myself confused by how fast time goes by.

For example, four years doesn't seem like a lifetime ago, but four years go, I wrote a reflection upon coming home from the 2009 Christmas Concert.  Reading it now, I almost feel like I'm reading about some other family instead of mine.  So much has happened since then.

One thing remains the same though: I am still finding, daily and in the midst of chaos and confusion, the things that make me call this a happy family.  To remind me of this important fact, and to indulge in a little nostalgia, here is that reflection once more:

* * *

Is my kid the only kindergartner with a big smudge of green ink on her face? 

Is my 2nd grader the only one with a huge clump of hair hanging down in her face? It appears that all those other girls are perfectly coiffed. 

Why does my 4th grader look like he is being choked by his tie, which is pulling strangely up and to the left? 

Is my 5th grader really that bored by the proceedings, or is his arm injured in a such a way that he physically cannot hold his sparkly star any higher than his elbow, rendering it at least 6 inches lower than the stars of all of his classmates? 

Are we the only parents who yelled at their kids in the 15 minutes prior to the festivities? 

Are we the only family to arrive at this Celebration of the Season with more than 50% of us grumpy? 

Is my three-year old really going to throw herself around like a rag doll and shriek like the monkey she wishes she were for the entire program, causing lots of people to toss sympathetic smiles and delighted giggles my way, people who don't have to attempt to keep her from launching off one of the pews, falling off of a kneeler, or crashing into the banister, and can therefore think she is just adorable? Am I the only one who thinks she is a pain in the ass?

You call this a happy family? Why do we have to have all these kids?* 

* * * 

Am I really that neurotic of a mother to notice all of these imperfections? Don't answer that one. 

* * * 

Can there be anything more touching than seeing an emerging young man in his Christmas finery, walking with dignity down the street, hands in pocket, keeping distance from the younger ones, establishing his fledgling maturity? 

Can anything be cuter than a cadre of kindergartners singing and signing "Mary had a baby, oh Lord; Mary had a baby, oh my Lord; Mary had a baby, oh Lord; the people keep a-comin' and the train done gone!" 

Can she look any more heartbreakingly lovely in her brand new glasses, my little Miss 20-20? 

Is anything more important than trying, however imperfectly, to show up for your kids, and battle the stress, and rage against the commercial machine, and offer them the gift of Christmas, the gift of Christ, the gift of loving each other, however imperfectly, so that at the end of the evening, when one of them comes downstairs in tears, unable to describe the sadness, just overwhelmed and confused by the intensity of emotion he is feeling, you can set aside your own exhaustion and your own irritation at the stresses and curveballs that came your way today, and you can hold him and tell him that you know how he feels and that you've felt that way too, and it's because he has such a big, good heart that he feels that way and because the excitement of the holiday season can be just plain overwhelming? Because if you can do that, and then offer him his first taste of egg nog, you'll be able to send him to bed peacefully, and he will thank you and tell you he loves you, and in an instant, you will call this a happy family. 

* * * 

*with gratitude to George Bailey of Bedford Falls, NY

Giving Tuesday is Here!

Today is Giving Tuesday!

Yes, I know you've heard of Black Friday.  Maybe even Small Business Saturday.  Betcha know what Cyber Monday is.

All of those are designed to line the pockets of for profit enterprises.  For profit enterprises are wonderful: without them, I wouldn't have my Racer 5, my nice writing instruments, this computer I'm tapping away one, the hand-knit irish sweater I'm wearing…you get the idea.

But what about a day for non-profit enterprises?  They deserve some love too, right?  RIGHT!

That's what Giving Tuesday is, a new day for giving back and for celebrating our national generosity and good will.  Certainly you can think of a cause or two worth your time and money, yes?

And if not, I've got one for you!  Envision Education -- an amazing organization that transforms the lives of students, especially those who are the first in their families to go to college, by giving them great schools that will prepare them for success in college and in life.  That linky-loo up there will take you to a special Giving Tuesday message and video from Envision, inviting you to make a donation to them.

Your gift will help minority and other underserved students succeed in college and be able to pursue their dreams.  In other words, your gift to them is a gift to our entire national community.

Celebrate Giving Tuesday with your time, talent, and treasures: find a worthy cause and give it some love.

Go forth generously…

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#GivingTuesday

You know have a big family when...

…your daughter comes downstairs sleepy-headed, and the first words out of her mouth are: "Did my lemonade survive the night?"

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