Day 14: Write about Food

First, allow me to submit a footnote. There are people who don't have enough food. I've worked with them. There are people who don't have a choice about when and what they eat. I've met them. There are people for whom eating is an intensely painful, psychologically wrought effort. I know them. So, I would never want to complain about my picky eater. It feels very first-world problem-ish. But actually, the journey I've taken with a picky eater (she prefers "selective eater," by the way) over the past nine years has helped me more acutely appreciate the many layers of physical, emotional, cultural and psychological significance wrapped up in the food we eat.

When my 9-year-old was a baby, she vomited constantly. She wasn't in pain or discomfort, thank God, but she vomited ALL. THE. TIME. There is not a single picture from her infancy in which she's not wearing a bib. In fact, the day we baptized her, I had a scroungy old bib covering the gown her grandmother made for her until the absolute last possible second, when I whipped it off and stuck it in my husband's coat pocket, probably. I prefer not to think of the amount of vomit that infiltrated the fibers of the glider rocker where I fed her. Ick.

She was never much of a "healthy" eater, although that has become a bigger and bigger focus for me in these past few years. Currently, I spend hours every week researching food, recipes, grocery shopping and cooking -- only to have her, in response, somehow perfect the ability to feel and taste the tiniest piece of green cilantro (or anything of the hated World of Green, which she shuns), extricate it from a mouthful of food, and place it with utter disdain on the Siberian side of her plate.

She has always dealt with stomachaches, random vomiting, headaches, digestive back-ups and the ever-popular gag at the smell or sight of certain "healthy" foods. (God forbid you actually force her to take a bite of one of them). When we've spent time with people who try to "encourage" her to eat food she doesn't want to eat, she's asked us later if she's a "bad child" because she refuses. In restaurants and social situations that include food, she's asked to sit by me so she'll be shielded from the comments of others about what she's eating. (I guess the Evil Eye of Mama does still work in the world). Holidays and vacations (which always seem to revolve around food!) were sometimes torturous, as it was like being "outed" over and over again for her pickiness. She's cried in my arms because the cramping her tummy is so painful. She's told me flat out, "I can't take this anymore."

We've tried all of the above: Explaining why it's important to eat healthy foods, withholding dessert, making her "take one bite" of everything on her plate, cutting her carb and sugar intake (what's left?), making a game out of eating, tricking her sneaky-chef style (she was very offended when she saw that cookbook, let me tell you), arranging her food in "funny faces" and heart shapes, sending her to culinary camp, allowing her to plant her own vegetable garden, asking her to help with the grocery-buying and cooking, giving her probiotics, peppermint tea and herbal remedies. I drew the line at making her sit at the table until she cleaned her plate, although my husband told her pointed tales of how he was made to do that as a kid. We've had vials of blood drawn out of her little arm to test for food allergies (all negative). The nurse had to stick her three times, and she didn't even cry.

I have always known in my heart that her issues had to be food-related, but I couldn't, for the life of me, figure it out. Finally, last fall, I was prompted by two good friends and the Lord to take her to a specialist, who said confidently, "I know exactly what's wrong, and you can feel better right away by removing ONE little item from your diet." Gluten. The very same day, we went to Whole Foods and bought up every gluten-free item in which she showed an interest. The bill was $89. (I have since learned much more economical and easy methods to keep her diet gluten-free! But it was exciting for us both to think there may be light at the end of the tunnel). I didn't know a thing about the diet, but the words "gluten intolerance" were something to cling to.... Hope. She'd just come off a two-day diarrhea binge after eating the universal kid favorite fast-food hamburger and French fries.

We went back to the specialist one month later. I had to restrain myself from jumping over the desk and kissing her on the lips. Copious tears threatened to spill out as I answered her simple question... How's she doing? Fine. Really good. Really, really good.

That little girl has taken control of her diet and her health. She orders in a restaurant now with confidence. She politely declines any food she's not sure about. She's become (a bit) more open to the healthy foods I put on her plate. She feels consistently well, physically and emotionally. The black shadows under her eyes have disappeared. She doesn't worry that she's a bad child because she doesn't eat the same things that other people do. She started her own web site called "Gluten Free Lifestyle." She's been the catalyst for her whole family to become more mindful of the food we eat. Our family and friends have rallied around her and supported her in the sweetest of ways. Oh, and by the way, she's NINE. I'm so darn proud of her.

So, writing about food. Not as easy as it sounds. Food is an integral, necessary part of every person's daily life and yet it can carry so much weight and burden. It can represent comfort and joy, deprivation and shame. One person's "What's the big deal?" is another's person's Jericho.

So grateful she's been given a victory.

Word of the Year

A word for the year. That is so my speed. I read it somewhere (there are so many smart people on the internet). Instead of a long list of resolutions at year's start, select just one word. A word that represents what you will strive for, search for, attempt to infuse into your life over the coming 365 days. I'm easily carried away with grandiose goals, resolutions and lists of things to do, things to be done. Which isn't bad in itself, but there is so much I want to do, see, accomplish, become. Overwhelming, that's what all that mess is. And so the idea of a word soothes me and appeals to me at the most basic level of my heart.

In 2010, the word was Gratitude. I posted a whiteboard on the refrigerator and vowed to find one thing every day for which I could be grateful. Sometimes I was grateful for the most simple of things: Hot coffee with cream. A warm bed. A clean kitchen. The abundance of tap water. Sometimes my gratitude went deeper: Healthy children. Knowing my grandparents. Our jobs. Sometimes, without my prompting, the children would express their thankfulness on the board: Mommy and Daddy. Our house. My cat.

I skipped a couple of years. Worries were rather abundant at that time, as I recall. Maslow's pyramid kicked in perhaps? But as we began to emerge from the Anxious Time, I selected a new word for 2013: Joy. Joy is an interesting word. Different from happiness with its pesky dependence upon circumstances. Joy is something you have in spite of circumstances. How in the world can I get me some of that? After a couple of years of head-down, survival-mode seriousness, I wanted to know. Needed to know. Strangely, I could feel it coming. It was coming because the Lord was teaching me that to experience Joy, I had to divorce my heart from Circumstances. In other words, I had to let go of everything to get the one thing that I really wanted. I had to redefine Security. That darn Security was elusive! It was not in any bank. I couldn't find it inside the walls of my pretty house, on the beautiful street on which we live or in the faces of my beloved neighbors. I couldn't even find it in any earthly relationship, no matter how lovely and wonderful that relationship was. My Security was someplace else altogether, and when I finally found it...well, what do you know? There was Joy as well.

This year my word is an exciting one. I came to it the first day I opened the Word in 2014. January 6. "I am able to do far beyond all that you ask or imagine." Or as it appears in Ephesians 3:20: "Now glory be to God who by his mighty power at work within us is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even Dream of -- infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts or hopes."  Wow, now there's a promise! A great word to start the year. It's got it all: hope, excitement, energy, promise, courage and boldness.

I'm looking forward to see what Dreams He has for us in 2014.

5 Minute Friday: Broken

Go.

My dad fixes things that are broken. So does my husband. Evidence: Two hours spent trying to fix my outgoing email last night. What a man! Me? I'm far more likely to throw it out and buy a new one. Why? Because I like new things? Yes, that is true. Because there is something a little magical about new things? Remember when you'd get gifts for your birthday, and it would lead to an entire bedroom clean-out because your beautiful new doll just couldn't lay in a big heap with all the one-eyed, frizzy haired uglies with the torn dresses. Which leads to cleaning out the toybox, which leads to cleaning out the closet etc. etc.

But my children are different. They treasure the things they already have and often have trouble with my logic of throw-it-away-and-get-a-new-one. That 10-cent Polly Pocket who lost her arm is simply too valuable to toss in the trash. And that's where my dad, the hero, comes in. He will fix anything, even a teeny Polly Pocket doll who has seen better days. For the love of his granddaughters, he will do it. And it will probably be better than before. He may even add a teeny necklace made out of rice or have my mom sew a pink satin pillow for her to lay her puny head.

Broken is beautiful around these parts because it reveals the love of a man for two little girls.

Joining the writers over here today for five minutes of unedited free writing in five minutes, based on the prompt: Broken. Fun!

That Was Fun. Let's Do it Again.

The black old lady stretched and yawned, rolling her neck from side to side and blinking her wide, green eyes rapidly to chase the sleep out of them. Her bed was a nest, soft and cozy, positioned inches from the radiator. This should be a good day, she thought to herself. A cheshire grin crept on to her cheeks. As usual, her mind turned to murder.

That nasty little girl, the one they brought here--to her HOME, mind you--the Interloper...certainly that childish little brat was gone by now. Surely! There were traps set all over the house, and she grinned as she imagined the Brat falling into any one of them while the rest of the world slept peacefully. Drowning, electrocution, hanging, poisoned food...any one of those would do. All of them were too good for that kid.

She ambled to the door, stretching again for good measure. She asked to be let in, softly at first, then more insistently. Finally, the door opened, and she darted in. Ugh. What was that smell? Why wasn't everyone crying and wailing over the death of the kid? What was going on anyway?

From behind the door, the kitten jumped onto her back and they rolled, all hiss, teeth and claws, across the kitchen floor. Curses! She was still here! And alive. Another day begins.


The prompt, from Write Starts by Hal Zina Bennett: Find Your Inner Cat.

5 Minute Friday: Remember

Remember when you were her whole world? Just the two of you, all day long. Anyone who wanted to be in her life had to go through you. If there was a kid who didn't play nicely, they were cut out of the picture. Just like that. No mercy. You didn't care a whit about that poor mom's insecurities, the problems she was facing or that child's socializing deficits. Chop. And you didn't have to do no 'splainin' to nobody.

Now? You don't get to chop. You send her out into the world for seven hours and forty-five minutes, give or take. Not to mention weekends, sleepovers, trips to the mall. If someone's mean to her, you have to stand back and "guide" her, in all your flawed and insufficient wisdom. You grasp for that just-right piece of talk-show advice, that encouraging nugget from that parenting book you read so long ago...What was it? What was it? "You teach people how to treat you."

And then you bite your tongue until it bleeds.

It would be so much easier to chop.

Joining the writers at over here today for five minutes of unedited free writing in five minutes, based on the prompt: Remember. Fun!

Merry Christmas Ya'll!

Stationery card

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What did you do today, mom?

So I'm reading a post today about blogging written by my new favorite writer crush. The post is entitled "Focus." I am laughing all the way through the post. Not because it was a comedic piece. Mainly because I'm reading it like a 5-year-old reading about the birth of the universe. I know such a thing exists, this mysterious focus (woooooo), but I really can't grasp the concept. Take today, for instance. I had the whole school day to do anything I wanted. No obligations, per se, no appointments. I thought, YEAH BABY. I'm going to sit down at that computer as soon as I finish my breakfast, & I'm going to WRITE. Nothing will stop me. Here's what happened instead:

1. Clean kitchen from last night. (I had to watch The Voice.)
2. Re-do sour laundry that didn't get dry because of Adam Levine obession.
3. Make beds, pick up upstairs
4. More laundry
5. Change clothes four times. Who invented shorts?
6. Resolve to lose weight & get in shape.
7. Situps after remembering I can't work out today due to sprained muscle resulting from yesterday's resolution to lose weight & get in shape.
8. Start a new food journal.
9. Sit down at desk, finally!
10. Make a snack because I can't concentrate over my stomach growling. 10 almonds and half an apple, see #6.
11. Clean up papers and mail obscuring my laptop from view. Grumble about thieving children who steal my office supplies. Wonder if this would make a good blog post.
12. Obsessively open and read all new email. Possibly open a virus.
13. Panicked calls to Cutie Pie for help. Must wait for him to get out of a meeting.
14. Run virus scan and install updates.
15. Read about celebrity deaths, DUIs, Beyonce's butt and other uplifting & inspirational news while running virus scan.
16. Lunchtime!
17. Back at my desk, finally.
18. Run upstairs to find Tums to counteract lunch.
19. Open a document and start writing. Hooray!
20. Hear the cat throwing up in the next room. Shoo her outside to avert disaster.
21. More laundry.
22. Sit down at desk, finally!
23. Hear the bus. Sigh loudly.

So what were we talking about? Oh yeah, focus. To heck with it. I'm going to Starbucks.

Deep

I was reading something about love today. Deep-heart love. A funny way to describe the indescribable. I had a vision of a body, stumbling off a cliff head over heels into the abyss. As she hits the water with a piercing crash, it envelops her and closes over her head, filling her ears with its great silence. She swims down, down, down, like the Little Mermaid...no need to know what is ahead or even to draw a breath. The deep, dark unknown.

My picture of Deep is the ocean, so much of its vastness never seen by the human eye, nor touched by a ray of light and yet life is present there. Life happens, whether we know it or not, whether we've seen it with our own eyes or not.

True love is down deep also. We may think it's up on the surface, on the bright pink raft, with the fruity adult beverage in our hand, the sun on our faces. But it's really under the surface, way under, where everything is not so apparent. The deeper you go, the more pressure is applied. It's not easy to go deep, but most things worth having are not...

There is always something new to discover in the Deep. The reward of going there is being the first to see what there is to see. You may get eaten by a shark. Or you may fall down the rabbit hole into a new country, the delights of which you have never known. Either way, the deep holds secrets that I want to know.

The Don't Wannas

Sometimes we don't want to go to school. It's fun there, most of the time. But sometimes it's scary. There are people there who rub us wrong, and there is food we don't like to eat, and there are problems we don't know how to solve. It's also frequently loud and and sometimes unfair. People don't do what they are supposed to do. People ask us to do things we don't want to do. Sometimes we're mean to each other. Sometimes we say things we didn't intend to say.

Come to think of it, school is just like home. Or the office. Or church. Or anyplace a bunch of people cluster and rub up against each other.

I'm going out of town soon. Because going to school is ruining our lives, I told Small Fry I'd come to her school lunch, but she had to make me a promise. If I came, no crying when I had to leave. Because it would make me cry, too. You know how that goes.

She promised.

After we ate our saltines and turkey slices and drank all the juice and sweet tea, it was time to say good-bye. And do you know what that turkey did? She lets out a big wail - Nooooooooo - and throws herself onto my lap. Great, I'm thinking. How am I going to get out of this?

Suddenly she pops up, one finger in the air and a smile on her face.

"But I'm not crying," she said. "I'm just shrieking."

Love that kid.

Taking Love

I really enjoyed this beautiful post about falling in love, all over again:

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/01/the-4-minute-marriage-habit-how-to-make-2012-the-year-you-fall-madly-in-love-all-over-again/

It reminds me of taking love.

Sometimes Cutie Pie gets claustrophobic when we cuddle up. I know, right? This is a source of great entertainment to me, especially when he tries so gentlemanly-like to scoot out of my hot embrace. I can always make him laugh by clinging on for dear life and breathing hotly on his neck, refusing to let him escape. We call this "taking love." Sometimes he does it to me, when I'm in a give-me-my-space-I'm-trying-to-read frame of mind. He does it to the pets sometimes, when they try to climb out of his lap or jump out of his arms. He holds them ever tighter and pets them over-enthusiastically, exhorting them to take love.

He does it to our kids too, when one is crabby and sulky. He scoops the offender up into his arms, gangly legs and arms shooting out at all angles, and tries to rock them as he did when they were babies, shaping them into the little footballs they refuse to become again. Back and forth, tighter and tighter, telling them to take love.

It's just a silly thing that makes us laugh, but there is something profound even in the silly things. Aren't we grateful for those people in our lives willing to reach out to us in our prickliest times, when we are all Push Away and Grumble? Those who determine to remind us: We are loved. We are loveable. Even when we don't act like it. Even when we don't feel like it.

I know well that God puts those kind of people in our lives for a reason - to give us a glimpse of Himself. And because He delights in giving us good gifts.

Take love, He insists. Will I?

Stuffed

Here we are...mid-vacation, and I have just plumb stuffed myself.

I stuffed myself into a minivan with three other people for 650 miles (and counting).

I stuffed myself into childhood bedrooms, beautifully appointed guest rooms and cramped hotel rooms.

I stuffed myself with beautiful, rich, homemade food as well as poorly cooked, oversalted and overpriced restaurant food. I've scaled the heights of my mother's delicious baked turkey, and I've plumbed the depths of IHOP. I've eaten a lot of chocolate. I've downed countless cups of coffee and glasses of wine.

I've crisscrossed the state, taking in the glorious Atlantic Ocean, the manicured, blue-sky middle, the moss-laden oak trees, the swaying palms and the lakes and rivers that have formed the backdrop of my life.

I've stuffed stockings, suitcases, and gift boxes under the tree. I've stuffed Christmas traditions and child happy-making experiences into every minute of every day.

I've stuffed as much meaningful conversation and lingering hugs and expressions of love as possible into brief, once-a-year encounters with far flung loved ones and friends. I've stuffed 365 days of life into two hours. They call it "catching up."

I've grieved...we've lost people this year. I've been elated...we've gained new people this year. I could cry just thinking about it all.

Today, we're quiet. The four of us stumbled into my parents' house and pretty much passed out. We are veggie-like, lying low in our birth soil, breathing in the nutrients all around us. Recharging. I think my children have watched about 6 hours of Sponge Bob, Square Pants. This will scare me, tomorrow. Right now, I'm so grateful for the quiet.

I'm stuffed full of life and all its messy, beautiful, overwhelming bits. Or to say it more eloquently...my cup runneth over.

I hope yours does as well.

Are you ready?

"Are you ready for Christmas?"

These late December days inevitably lead to that question. And the inevitable answer...nah, still have this to do, that to do... And the sometimes spoken (sometimes not) feeling of, ugh, I just can't wait for all this craziness to be over.

But I think we are ready. In fact, I think we are desperately ready. Today, I declare myself DONE (love those Target commercials) and ready to receive the gift of Christmas. Ponder my incarnation, my devotion read this morning, but not intellectually. Instead, do as the wise men did...follow the leading of the star and fall down in humble worship when you find me.

It's time to get quiet and get out of the stores. I'm pondering my blessings, the grace that God has shown me and all of us. He still performs miracles in our midst! Just look at the two He performed for me. Walking, talking, funny little miracles. Even as He offered the grace of His Son, He still cares about our little happinesses and our everyday joys. This is a mystery that I cannot ponder intellectually, but humbly and with my whole heart.

Merry Christmas.

Taking Sides

"Why can't you see my side?"

These are the words I was faced with tonight at the moment, the very moment, when I was so tired I didn't want to see ANY sides except maybe my backside glued to the couch with a glass of eggnog on one side and a quiet, loving husband on the other.

The trouble is...I do! I see both sides of every pancake but it doesn't make it any easier to resolve the trouble. I just don't know the right answer. Do we just enjoy the argument, the spiraling down...("What's a debate team, mom?" Lord, help us.) Or do we truly hope for a bit of wisdom, some nugget that will make everything OK again? Don't I long to make everything OK again for them? God knows I do.

When I run to Him with my list of grievances, isn't that what I desire? Make it all OK again! Ride in on your white horse and smite these bothersome enemies who have unfairly bothered me. TAKE THEM OUT. It's all I want. Didn't David beg for the same thing? And when it doesn't happen, don't I feel slighted, petulant, gloomy and unloved? But how does a mother (or Father) choose between two beloved children? I envy God His perfect justice.

There's something there, something profound, that I'm still trying to grasp. Justice, fairness and dealing in Reality, all wrapped up in unending, unstoppable, Ain't No Mountain High Enough kind of Love. And there is Christmas in a nutshell. Nothing could keep Him from me. Nothing could stop Him from delivering Perfect Justice wrapped in Perfect Love. The ultimate gift.

My shortcomings will continue to pain me. But I just keep hoping that wrapping them up in Love will make everything OK again.

Linking up with Chatting at the Sky for Tuesdays Unwrapped here:

http://www.chattingatthesky.com/2011/12/20/tuesdays-unwrapped-the-last-one/

Words with Friends

We were discussing Words at supper the other night. I didn't bring it up, I swear. But I do so love a Word discussion.( Reminds me that they are really mine.) We were talking about how certain Words give a sentence extra meaning just because they are awesome words. Small Fry says - Yeah, it's like if you were trying to say you really, really want something...a good word to use would be yearn. Oh yeah, she's 7 (you can't see me, but I'm doing the cabbage patch dance whilst biting my bottom lip).

Yearn is a really good word. Because yearn is different from want, isn't it? It sounds different. It feels different. Want is utilitarian. It's salt and pepper, it's the bathroom sink. Yearn, however, is full of intensity. It spills over with desire. It sounds like you are grasping for that one shining thing that is just out of reach. What do you yearn for?

I yearn for plenty of shallow things. Plenty. Like winning a tennis match (so far out of reach). A full-time housekeeper and personal grocery shopper. A dog that doesn't need to go out at 4 a.m. every morning, yes every. An annual trip to Italy. No, no here is the yearning: a second home in Italy. With my own vineyard and wine press and a cheese market next door and the smell of the sea pouring into my open windows.

Also, I yearn for time to stand still. I yearn for more connection with small people who are always one step ahead of me. I yearn for that intangible sense of stopping.

These yearnings seem just beyond my grasp. But I try to remember past yearnings that indeed panned out, even though at times they seemed outlandish and impossible.

I yearned to fall in love. I yearned to have babies. I yearned to see the world.

I've done some serious rose-smelling, but I yearn for more.

Looking Up

The pace of life can be frustrating. With so many options, how do we select the right path? With so many ways to bear fruit, how do we dig through the abundant piles to find the perfect seed to plant? I'm so easily discouraged when my attention is diverted from Heaven to the imperfect earth. I'm like the 2-year-old boy I held on Sunday...he was crying and unable to focus on anything except his grief at being separated from his daddy. I held him and tried all my tricks -- rocking, patting, reasoning, reassurance. He allowed Big Stuff to dab at his tears, but they continued to fall unabated. Nothing worked until I remembered that oh-so-effective 2-year-old tactic: Distraction!! As I held him close, I directed his eyes up, to the shapes on the wall...friendly squares and smiling circles, hearts that held up their hands as if to say "What's up, little dude?" His eyes traveled away from all the unfamiliar not-daddy faces to the fascinating information that he was learning, step by tiny step. Looking up mitigated his grief and helped him look forward. It's so hard to look up sometimes. Our heads and gazes gravitate to the ground, our necks pressed hard and bent by trials and suffering. Sometimes we can only see a few inches around our own feet. That is when we must ask to be carried, patted, reassured and shown the way to look up.

2 Corinthians 1:3-7: Love that.

A Severe Case of ADD

I think I may be a victim of focus deficit or information overload. ADD? Who DOESN'T have it in this world we live in? I may have said yes one too many times. I'm usually so good about that. No tends roll easily off my tongue, and (I'm sure you're shocked) I almost never feel guilty about it! I can say no to other people but I think, lately, I've been saying yes to ME too much!

It goes something like this: Yes, I will get utterly organized and on top of everything in my life. Because I never again want to lose an important document or piece of paper that costs me 45 minutes to find. Yes, I will eat healthy. I will reduce my portions and eat mostly fruits and vegetables. Except for cantaloupe. Because apparently you can't even eat a dadgum piece of fruit anymore without sending it through a biohazard removal machine. I will scrub my fruit and vegetables. That reminds me...Yes, I need to plant and grow my own food. Yes, I will play tennis because that is good exercise and a great mind-clearer. Except for when you lose five matches straight, and it starts becoming one more reason to feel inadequate. Yes, I will show up more at my kids' activities and at their schools. I'll be more involved. I will know their friends. I'll monitor their texts and filter everything they see and hear. I'll protect their hearts. Yes, I will declutter, I will wash the dog, I will reorganize my closets, I will start dusting and washing more often so it won't pile up, causing me to cry when I consider the sheer enormity of the pile. Yes, I will hunt down and remove allergens so my kid can sleep at night without a Breathe Right strip on her little freckled nose. Yes, I will make dinner because it is cheaper and more nutritious and when kids have dinner with their parents more than five times a week, they are unlikely to get involved in sex, drugs or rock n roll (who has the time to do these studies is what I would like to know). Yes, I will track down every last stinking coupon I can find for toothpaste, even if it's not the kind I like, saving me vast amounts of nickels and dimes, and I will stock up, make room for massive hoarding and as God is my witness, never run out of toliet paper again. Yes, I will watch the news and be informed, and I will read quality fiction, and I will not be distracted by Facebook and interesting blogs that make me feel like an unproductive slug who lacks ambition and I will WRITE and I will get published (hooray!) and I will help children learn long division and math facts (blech!). And yes, I will make time for myself, and I will pray and I won't forget about Cutie Pie and I will check in and make dates and take the dry cleaning that has been piled in my closet for who knows how long. Yes, I will give generously to well researched causes. Yes, I will make my kids do chores so they can learn responsibility and how to handle money and one day they will be financial geniuses who can afford to take care of their decrepit parents in the style to which they have become accustomed (beachfront, that is). Yes, I will drive myself into an early stint at the institution.

It should go like this: STOP IT! One thing at a time.

What do you HAVE to do today? Breathe in and breathe out. That's it. Let's all take a moment.

Fall

Image: Pixomar / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I love Fall in my town. Yesterday we had our first cool day, after several brutal weeks of 90+ degree heat. It takes me back to the autumn when we first moved here, away for the first time from the state of our births where the seasons are not exactly prominent. It also reminds me of when we moved to the house where we now live...also a cool week in autumn five years ago, one week before Halloween. I knew we had found the right place when I saw all the kids in our neighborhood and their parents out trick or treating on that festive night. I don't know what it is. The warm colors, the fine quality of the air, the excitement of a new school year and college football... The taste of apples, pumpkin bread, chili and cinnamon on our tongues.. Fires in the fireplace and blankets on our bed...

Funny how a simple drop in temperature and a smell in the air can bring back such strong memories.

Reminiscing...aka a good way to avoid the gym

First Days

What promise they hold....

1st day of preschool 2006

What excitement....

1st day of kindergarten 2006

Maybe even a tear or two? (for mamas alone)

First day of school 2011

First days remind me of how far we've come, and how fast. Is it actually possible to grow a whole inch in a single month? (Yes, yes it is!) Is it really true that baby teeth drop away and young lady smiles come into their own? It is possible that miraculous, super hero brains add new pathways and connections every day? Is it accurate that little beings who were once woven into my very DNA could be becoming people with their own opinions, perspectives and lives? Could it be that these girls are growing up? Say it ain't so!! But at the same time, Thank You, God, for letting it be. Healthy, happy, lovely girls that I haven't screwed up too much. Yet.

We are blessed beyond measure.

What do First Days make you think about?

Happy Times

I just returned from a week at the beach with friends. It was a repeat of a trip we took together in 2007…same people, same house (aptly dubbed Happy Times), same beautiful views. We looked at pictures of our 2007 trip and noticed: We are four years older… which, to the adults, seems like no time at all. (Some of us even recognized hats and bathing suits that made encore appearances at the beach). However, 2-year-olds have transformed into 6-year-olds and those who were merely 6 have suddenly become 10. The youngest will be starting kindergarten, while three will be ending their elementary school days in a few short months. Our list of Things to Bring in 2007 included strollers, play-doh and highchairs. This year we had to discuss ahead of time whether we’d be allowing iTouches, texting, DS games or the Wii. (We decided, with the kids’ leadership, that none were needed at the beach). Last time, we had to consider diapers, water wings and naptimes. This time, we could watch from afar as six children moved as a herd between riding the waves, digging holes, building sprawling fantasy forts in the sand, throwing their lines into the creek and pulling back fish after tiny fish, digging for clams, making tie dye and chocolate moustaches, playing board games and foosball, preparing their own snacks and trekking back to the waves to do it all over again.

They were a sight to behold.

Sometimes we joined them in their adventures. Sometimes we buried ourselves in those rarefied times called Reading for Pleasure. Sometimes we reconnected with spouses and treasured friends with whom we never have enough time to converse. We took naps, we slept until we woke naturally in the morning, sans alarm clocks or rushes to feed rapidly melting children. (They made their own breakfasts!) We took long walks. It was an entirely different experience from 2007, so much better in some ways, but one that tugged on the old heartstrings too. We understood with each memory shared, each tradition relived, that we are moving ever farther away from those little kid days we used to know. It is such a rich season though. It’s a wonder to experience their independence – which brings us greater independence as well – while still enjoying their need for us. We loved the glimpses of who they are becoming. Who will be the entertainer, who will be the leader, who will be the mother hen, who will be the outdoorsman, who will be the creative one? They reveled in the freedoms afforded to them. They smiled big smiles. They gave us beautiful views.

Indeed.

Happy Birthday, Big Stuff

"If there is a tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember... you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think...but the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you."
-- Winnie the Pooh






10 years ago today, I fell in love....