Time Marches On

...whether you notice or not. I cannot believe it has been almost exactly three years since I've written here. And so much has changed.

Just looking at the header above...I'm no longer a stay-at-home mom and my kids are full-fledged Michiganders now. Not a hint of California left, really, except memories washed with fondness. And those are just stark facts, not the nuance of which life is mostly composed.

Life has changed. We, each of us, have changed. And I wasn't really that aware of the change until I came back to this blog to find a quote for a new mom, a young unsuspecting woman entering this journey. Revisiting an old life here caused me to sit down. And evaluate. (Just for a minute though, because I have to get back to the taxes.) About the good. The hard. The tears. And the trying. And those shiny moments that I'll hopefully remember in my golden years.

Revisiting has also caused me to re-evaluate. (In this 15 minute interlude between 1099s.) Perhaps a new blog should be birthed. Because it feels like "Golden Smiles" isn't what it's about anymore.

Circle of Life

Ally likes to take showers with me. She especially enjoys two things about showers with Mommy: being held and playing with my wet hair. Today, as I kneeled on the shower floor, soaking in the warm spray, she "styled and shampooed" and flip-flopped my hair back and forth. My mind raced ahead thirteen years to me doing her hair for prom...probably curls and glitter will most certainly play some role. My mind then raced ahead some fifty years to her washing her old mother's hair and taking care of me the way I now take care of her.

I better do a good job...

The Important Stuff

To the Guardians of the Future of this Earth

Introspective and retrospective today, thinking back on the past several years of parenthood. The screw-ups, the golden moments, the yelling, the loving, the laughing and the heartbroken moments. The dance parties, the "I'm not going to make it" moments, the absolute certainties and the hope-crushing doubts. The breath-catching responsibility for these gorgeous lives coupled with the soul-freeing knowledge that all we have to do is follow their lead and provide the lantern to the light the way, the love to sustain them and the net to catch them should they stumble. 

I know I screw this up every day. I'll never win Mother of the Year or have my home featured in Better Homes & Gardens. More often than not, there are hamster droppings outside of the cage, dog hair on the floor and a ring around the toilet. The kids do not get a bath every day...neither do I. Not a day goes by that I don't speak through gritted teeth or let a sharp word slip or raise my voice. I occasionally think, "I am not smart enough for this and I am going to ruin them forever." 

But then again...maybe I don't need to be smart enough. Maybe my brain doesn't have to be big...but my heart does. And that, my friends, is something I can do. I have learned how to listen to my heart and to know when something's not right and when something is. I am learning how to live according to my own integrity and truth and not a teacher's idea, a parenting "technique" or an expert's opinion. And perhaps that's enough. Love them, on their terms, not mine. And until they have the power and means to follow their own heart, hold their heart in mine and listen to them both.

And, with that, I'll cheat and re-post something from three years ago. It's as relative now as it was then...at least for me. Happy Mother's Day.
-------------

Someone sent me the video below in celebration of Mother's Day. I just now viewed it for the first time. Talk about making an impact. It reminds you why you're doing this thing...this parenting thing. It reminds you that there is a spiral effect here.

It's more than scraping the week-old banana off the wall. Instead, it's "I explored a banana today!"

More than washing load after load after load of laundry only to have it sit, clean, in the closet for a week before actually being folded. Instead, it's "I got to help fold all afternoon!"

More than rushing to make preschool drop-off and then rushing, rushing, rushing to make preschool pick-up. Instead, it's "Mommy, mommy, mommy, you're here!"

More than wiping noses, eyes, bottoms and hands. Instead, somewhere down the road, it's the remembrance of being cared for.

Those things we do now; coaxing them through a terrifying night, laughing at the ridiculous, loving them so hard that it hurts (us)...those things are building the Future. Their future. And ours. I forget the bigger picture here. A lot. As the author says, you lose yourself. And then you find yourself. And then you lose yourself. For me, it's a cycle. And I need reminders like this. Because, at least for this afternoon, I can be aware of the incredible importance of Being Here.

Family Life 2

So, a lot has happened since we last spoke.

The gods that control Michigan weather have bestowed upon us 70 degrees! For one day. Followed by snow the next day.

Coffee's gettin' better.

Found my glasses and lost two hamsters. Each at separate times. One was AWOL for 24 hours. And Ally just found the other one after a three-day rampage through our walls and floors. Little suckers have been having quite the adventurous life lately. Ironically, both of their escapes were my fault.

Sascha was diagnosed with pneumonia. Guess he really was sick after all.

Ally got over whatever ailed her, went back to school and then got sick again. She now also has pneumonia...along with a smattering of ear infection and strep. She's on amoxicillin now (the pink medicine, remember that stuff?). Hates it. Was convinced she was going to throw up this morning after taking it. While she was retching into the toilet but only producing saliva, I told her, "You know, Al, if you throw up the pink stuff, you'll just have to take more again." "Oh.....I'm done." she replied and left the bathroom.

The robin has moved on to our neighbors' houses as well. One neighbor remarked that if he has a good breeding season he's going to think he's pretty hot stuff...chasing off all those other male competitors.'

The basement, of which the previous owners said, "We've never noticed any seasonal dampness." started leaking like a sieve on Monday when the heavens opened up and dumped God's bounty on us. Rivers and lakes of water streaming from the cracks and corners. Never noticed any dampness, my ass. This isn't the first time they've lied about shit.

Ari has decided that school a) starts too early, b) claims too many days of his week, and c) is a lot of work. Therefore, school mornings are "Mr. Grouchypants Time". I'm getting real tired of this.

I was supposed to organize my wreck of a kitchen this week while Ally was in school. Guess that project, along with all the others, will have to wait while I dust off my Florence Nightingale hat, again.Turns out Axle has a pretty nice Nightingale hat, too.  

Family Life

A little update on all that is going on here.

It's getting warmer, praise the heavens, though I'd still expect snow to float down any second.

I can't seem to get my coffee right anymore. Regardless of my actions, it still seems to end up too strong or too weak. This is a bad thing in my world.

My glasses have disappeared. For a week now.

Sascha has been sick. For a week now. After proving to him that he does, in fact, have a fever he's decided not to go into work today. This'll be an interesting experiment in which is more restful...a day at work or a day at home while the kids are on spring break.

A large, male robin keeps throwing himself at the garage windows and our front door. There is bird poop and spit everywhere. I papered over the large windows he first started "fighting" so he wouldn't knock himself out and then he moved on to the side windows. Well determined, delusional little bastard, I'm out of paper.

Our 8 year anniversary was yesterday. We had a sitter but had to cancel since Sascha's been so sick.

Was a good thing we canceled because Ally started throwing up after dinner last night. Happy Anniversary, Babe.

Looks to be a lovely day outside. The rest of us will probably be inside...throwing up.

March 28, 2013

The day our crocuses opened.

Practice Resurrection

The sun has peeked through today. Amazing, a cerulean blue sky...who knew Michigan had it in her? The sun's warmth and blessed light pulled me out of that dark, snowy March stupor this morning as the dog and I walked our streets. There are crocuses, snowdrops and bird song. As I dragged Ari from bed this morning, we listened to the...I hesitate to say...cutest bird song. We both agreed it was the best we'd ever heard.

This joy at nature's gifts brought to mind some recently-heard words of Wendell Berry. These words have been rifling through my soul the past three days, adding to and expanding upon the thoughts I've already been experiencing. Almost a full year into our new Michigan life, I'm feeling a shift in...things. It's hard to say exactly how that shift is occurring or what, in fact, is shifting but I am aware that there is a change approaching. Whether that change is in the world, our nation, our town, our family or simply myself, I don't know. But I'll keep you posted.

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion — put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go.

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

~Wendell Berry

Forgotten Words

The past few days in February is always a time of introspection for me. I avoid. Responsibilities. Duty. Those things are put aside. I polish off a novel in two days and ignore the laundry, the dinner, the pet hair piling up in the corners. I resurface for hugs or snuggles or requests for more Cheerios. I take the dog out for a walk in the 30 degree heat wave that's graced us. I share a grin with the fella I live with over something funny our 3 year old declared. But that's it. Only the matter-full emergent things soak through.

Blessedly, the fella gets this. He politely asks if I could switch some laundry or take the dog for a walk but he otherwise leaves me to my world of words, allowing me to absorb the ones I find needful.

My word path, this time, led me to a poem that I had read years ago...and saved because it mattered. I had forgotten about it until today. So I share it with you here...

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him a live.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

Heat

I need heat.

It's like a drug. I'm in withdrawal. I need heat.

Clearly, this girl has not yet hardened off from her years spent in southern California...and this 6 degrees is killing her. Right now in San Diego, it's the best time of year...sunny, 60/70's...easy.

Here, it's 6 degrees.

I don't think I really need  to say anything more. But I will. Come on, it's me.

The circus involved in getting the kids out the door lasts twice as long as usual. The walk to/from school takes twice as long (it took two times longer than it should have before the winter hit) and is riddled with things like...

"Mommy, my sock fell off in my boot. It feels weeeirddd."
"I'm cooooooold!"
"Carry me."
Jumping into snow banks to make snow angels when we're 5 minutes late.
"My mitten's slipping!" Tears and snot streaming down her face.
Sitting down and refusing to get up.
"Hey Mom! Snowball!" Smack.
Plummeting to the sidewalk when an errant boot catches a crack.

Of course, situations like this happened in the height of summer as well...come to think of it...autumn too. Just add your season-specific complaint and you'll see the catastrophe that is our family walking to and from our house. Add the dog to the mix and you get a real show. I try to remain calm and Mary Poppins-like throughout the experience, soaking up all the quirks that I'll miss some day. Often, I achieve that affect but usually all I'm really thinking about is how early is too early to pour myself a glass of red.

But now I'm home, a hot pack on my feet, a snoring hot-box of a dog next to me and a cup of tea in my hand. Warmth has been achieved. Until I have to get up again, anyway.

I'll get that glass of red later.

Questions & Answers

There are years that ask questions and years that answer. 

~Zora Neale Hurston

I wonder if 2013 will ask...or answer. As a year, 2012 answered a lot of questions. A lot. It also asked its fair share. It was a full year.When I think back over everything that happened during the previous 12 months, my head spins a little. Job hunt, house buying and selling, packing, relocation, learning a new place, new pets, losing pets, kindergarten, preschool, new sports, losing family, gaining family.

Before putting away our 2012 calender yesterday, I looked back over the first several months of the year...every square was packed. The middle part of the year? Fallow, a resting and adjusting time. Some fear. Learning how to be together in a new place, without the joyful distraction of friends and neighbors and appointments. Settling in. The ending of the year? Almost every square was packed again. New friends, new appointments.

And so, how will 2013 be? I guess however it is doesn't really matter. It's what you do with what is. And so, what are you going to do with it? Live it? Live the questions? Or simply survive it, searching for answers outside ourselves as we crash through life? Hmmm. Of course, the answer we all yearn for is the former...to live it. But what does that mean and can you really pull it off in this day and age when information, technology, time restraints and wanting to do it all can create a whirl of insanity and exhaustion inside you? This is one of the reasons we both refuse to get a smart phone.

A couple years ago, Sascha and I were talking...or playing a game...or reading something...I can't remember...but the question of How do you define success? arose. Some of the answers presented didn't click for either of us and so I asked Sascha, "Well, how do you define success?" expecting something analytical and left-brained...

He replied, "When everyone in our family is thriving."

Well, then.

I don't think there is a better way to answer that question. He surprises me, that one.

And so...Resolutions be damned. Intentions be damned. Aspirations be damned. However you phrase your "new year new life" commitments, none of that works for me. It never has, though I've tried. Instead, we're going to go with thriving. It's not a goal, it's not an end result. It's a process, a way of being...at least in my mind. It's living your questions, finding the ones that truly need asking and are worth answering. As Rilke wrote, "Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek the answers which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them and the point is to live everything. Live the questions now..."

So, thriving. Not "happiness". Not accomplishment. Not end results. Simply finding that path through yourself to the knowledge of the things that delight you, the darkness that frightens you, the places that sustain you...and how to live that. How to maintain your balance of delight and fear, rest and growth. Knowing that without the one, there cannot be the other. And knowing that you already hold within you all you need to thrive.

The Family Freiwald New Year Newsletter

Happy 2013 Friends & Family!

Home

For the sake of brevity, I just listed out all of the major changes that have happened for our family in the last two years and added a couple fun kid things. If you're truly interested in all of the fantastic details of our magnificent lives (wink, wink), you can read the rest of our blog.

We Had Goodbyes and We Had Hello's

• Our sweet Bella cat passed away November 2011.
• Sascha was laid off from Pfizer December 2011.
• Sascha was hired and started work at NSF International in Ann Arbor, MI February 2012.
• Wendy's Grandma passed away March 2012.
• We said goodbye to San Diego and hello to Ann Arbor April 2012.
• We added some hamsters to the family June 2012
• Our niece, Mattie Jayde, was born August 2012
• Ari started Kindergarten and Ally started Preschool September 2012
• Ari started team soccer and Ally started gymnastics in the fall
• We brought Axle, our new dog, home November 2012
• Our sweet Mo cat passed away December 2012

Our Super Heroes

Sascha and I remain strong contenders for Parent of the Year as our SoCal-raised children continued to burst naked from our house this summer and dash around the yard. Endless entertainment for our  new neighbors, I'm sure.

Ally has developed an affinity for a nice relaxing bath, relieving herself in the great outdoors and her vocabulary and opinions, at age 3, challenge even mine.

Ari, now 6, continues to hone his social skills...exemplified by being nearly taken to the floor of his kindergarten room each morning with hugs and declarations of “Ari F!”. There are two Ari’s in his class and he has full-heartedly embraced the alter ego of “Ari F”.

The adults in the family are really just riding the post-relocation wave for now. We will, perhaps, start saving the world again next year.

A happy and blessed New Year to you all!  

Wendy, Sascha,
Ari and Ally

Story Time

Sweet Moser

...

How does one begin a post like this? What words do you choose? Sometimes there are no words.

I vaguely remember Oklahoma City and my shock. But I was a college student and self absorbed. I was not a mother.

I remember Colombine - I was living there when it happened. I remember that shock, panic, the grief-filled aftermath. But I was not a mother.

I remember 911. I lit candles, I attended services and I mourned with the nation. I felt the anger and lived the questions. But I was not a mother.

I remember the savage losses since. Those graphically reported by our efficient media. I remember the nausea and the gut-punch that came with each. The anger. For some of those, I was already a parent. For some, I had not yet crossed that threshold.

Six years ago, I became a mother. The game changed. And this latest Taking....this Taking of our children and those who have pledged to love and lead them...this one has hit me. As it has millions of others.

Last Friday, I pulled myself together enough for Ally and I to pick Ari up from school. I walked down the sidewalk with a fellow class parent, "that would've been our kids," he said. Standing outside Ari's room, waiting for the bell to ring, I bent down and held Ally. Looking across the sidewalk, I saw a mom I knew from soccer, holding her three year old daughter while she waited for her six year old son. We didn't speak, but we looked at each other over the downy top of our daughters' heads. When the bell rang, her son bounced out of the room. "There's our guy," I heard her say. And she grabbed him tight.

I slept with my own six year old that night.

That's about all you can do. You pull them close, hold them tight. You indulge the questions about puddles and cats and sticks...you let them have a candy cane. You sit down and really listen to their theories on the physics of Beyblades and about how their day went, without parenting or looking for the lesson. Because what else can you do?

Maybe that's all you should do. Leave the protests and the policy-making to those whose children have grown. Give your own small ones love and time while they're still growing. Watch them. Don't waste the time only to have regrets later. Easier said than done, I know...though I've found myself landing on the "easier" side of this equation a lot more over the past week. Perspective.

I TuTu. Do You?

I'm not a sewer...wait...that didn't come out right. Sew-er. I don't sew. In fact, if the health and well-being of my family depended upon my paltry sewing skills, we would all be sickly and starving.

However.

My kid likes tutus. Her friends like tutus. We were invited to a birthday party for two little girls. I got to thinkin', "hey, I wonder if I could make some tutus...". 

So, three days and three "no sew" (ha! I sewed, trust me, I sewed) tutus later, we've got this:

...and I am ridiculously proud of myself.

Actually, it was quite a crafty weekend all around. The kids and Sascha painted chairs for the helluvit and I made tutus. Aren't we bitchin'?

Snarled

Ally once had a snarl in the back of her head. A big one. This one was so dense and uncombable that we dubbed it The Rats Nest. I wasn't paying attention when it first started...busy with moving details and tired of chasing her around with a hairbrush, I got lazy. The next week, it was bigger and more painful to manage. Afraid of the pain, Ally shrieked and ran whenever I mentioned the snarl. Exhausted and tired of confrontation, I let her. After about three weeks, it was permanent. There was no detangler (ethnic or otherwise) on the market that could penetrate this massive entity. Trust me, I tried. So, one fateful morning, I got out the scissors. After that, we were all happy...though Ally's head looked strange for about four months.

As I wrote the first sentence above, it struck me hard and fast that this little anecdote is highly metaphoric. Either you work on that snarl in the early stages or it ends up with a personality of its own and the only way to deal with it is through amputation.

Amputation sucks.

swirl: verb \ˈswər(-ə)l\ to pass in whirling confusion

You know glitter balls? Those bouncy, water and glitter-filled things that swirl around mesmerisingly when you shake them? Well, that's kind of what the past seven months have been like. Only it'd've been nice if the stuff swirling around us was really glittery and pink-colored. Instead, it's sort of been like a low velocity tornado of situations, happenings, choices, research, uprootings, etc. whirling around us. Want to work on something? Cool. Grab an item from the vortex whirling around you...when you believe you're done with it, just stick it right back in the vortex because it'll still be there later...whirling and waiting.

It began in November last year when our cat took a turn for the worse. After almost a year of cleaning cat vomit off the floors each morning, a round of vet visits, dental work, drugs for IBS, etc. etc., I woke up one morning to find her walking downstairs while leaning against the wall. At the vet later that day I found that she kept falling when she tried to jump off a chair. Shit. Diagnosed blind in one eye with limited vision in the other due to a possible stroke or brain tumor, Bella was a trouper. She managed. Two weeks later I walked upstairs and found her unable to walk. Still a trouper, she was rolling to where she wanted to go. Heartbroken, I spent the night with her on the floor, helped the kids say a beautiful goodbye to her the next morning and took her to her final vet appointment. If you've ever had to make the choice to end an animal's life, you know it is not easy...even if it's the obvious choice.

Thus began our swirling and whirling. 

A few weeks later Sascha was notified that the rest of his department would be laid off in December. After four years of survived lay-offs, this shouldn't have been much of a surprise. However, Sascha (being Sascha) had started to seem as if he was untouchable in the workplace...there were times I considered sending him to work with a cape and mask. So, it was a bit of a surprise. 

The inevitable list of discussions ensued: Do we try to stay in San Diego? Do we try to move home? Do we try a new state? How much effort and difficulty do we want to put into this? If we leave, where do we start with relocating with two kids, a house we own and one remaining cat? 

Of course, Sascha (being Sascha) stumbled across an open position in our old hometown at his company of choice, interviewed, was hired and started work in February. Bam, decision made. I stayed behind with the kids for two months, interviewing moving companies and realtors, selling the house, packing, saying goodbyes, shedding tears and shunting back and forth between two toddler beds all night, when the lack of Daddy became too much.

My blessed, amazing mother came to help but then had to leave because her own mother needed to Go. Mom sat with Grandma through her dying, shook hands and talked with visitors through her funeral and packed up her room at the home. If you've ever had to "close a life", you know it is not easy. Two weeks later she then returned to San Diego, exhausted and heart-worn, to help me. Words cannot describe my gratitude or my knowing of how much this took out of her. And yet, she did it. I'm not surprised because I know I'd do the same for Ally...but still.

Our townhouse in San Diego sold in one day. We found our house of choice in Michigan. But it wasn't on the market anymore. Made an offer anyway. The owners said okay. Sascha visited kindergartens here, entered the lottery for the public charter we wanted for Ari (which is two blocks from our house), Ari was chosen in the lottery. Everything slipped into place as if it were supposed to be. And yet, moving cross-country and transitioning to a new town with two kids and a cat was quite difficult. I can't imagine how hard it would have been if all of the above had been loaded with problems.

So now we're Michiganders again. Shucking corn on our front porch. Going "up north" on the weekends through grizzled traffic. Mosquitoes. Humidity. Old friends. Old house. Trees and green everywhere. Home. We're still working out some growing pains (our kids are still California kids, after all) and there's still sadness and missing our friends, the beach, the dolphins and pelicans, San Diego's unique beauty...but I'd say we're happy here. Our quality of life is definitely better in a smaller town with a slower pace, living in a house with a yard and windows all the way around. It's the right choice for us to be near grandparents again. And there's so much to do in Ann Arbor that it's tough to miss things like the zoo or Sea World. 

But still, there is missing and feeling homesick for people and places. Funny how you can detest living somewhere and regret ever moving and then, less than five years later, can miss it and shed tears over your farewell. 

Life. 

It hands you lessons. You learn. You grow. You move ahead with your heart open. 

Leavings

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she is gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming, and there are other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!” And that is dying.

— Henry Van Dyke

The call came.

The vigil has ended.

She has gone on ahead to what most of us can only imagine.

And she is happy.

There are not many words that I can squeeze out around the lump in my throat...so I will need to borrow from the words of others until I can find my own.

Grandma

July 8, 1916 - March 8, 2012

...I write these words to name myself - to name each of us -

worthy of going home, worthy of having our longing met,

worthy of awakening in the arms of the Beloved.

~Oriah Mountain Dreamer, The Dance

Letting Go

"Live so that when your children think of fairness and integrity, they think of you."

~H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

There is a lot going on right now.

It is all swirling and whirling around inside and outside of me.

Sometimes the physical sensation of this weighty presence produces the need for me to hang on to something solid.

Caffeine compounds this sensation.

I need to drink less caffeine.

For the purposes of brevity, I will temporarily set aside all that has happened since November (although that is part of the swirling and whirling) and focus on the very large weight of what is now happening in my extended family.

My Grandma, our family's beautiful matriarch, is completing her journey here on earth.

This has been a long time coming for her. She has been "ready" for a while...Grandpa went on ahead over 13 years ago...and regular living is hard when you're in your 90's. Though I know this is her body's natural progression and her soul's ultimate desire, it's hard to let go. And it's hard to be eloquent when half of my own soul is hunkering down in rural Iowa with my mom while she arranges hospice care with her brothers and tries to tell Grandma that it's okay to let go...that we'll all be okay.

However, I smiled through my tears last night as I bathed my children. They are a physical part of her. And they are part of the legacy that she and the rest of my grandparents have passed down. A legacy for which I am eternally grateful. Family. Faith. Integrity. Strength. Honor. Humor. Love. Acceptance. And not taking yourself too seriously. Rather than write an early eulogy, I'll simply thank her and the rest of my ancestors for producing a family that respects and deeply cares for each other and all the others who share this journey. I will strive with all my power to pass this legacy on to my own children as well.

I love you, Grandma. Because of you, we'll all be okay.

Infinite Voices

A friend posted this article on Facebook. It instantly grabbed me. In this time of more change for our family combined with December's introspection and retrospection for me, it feels as if I need a touchstone to ground myself and remind my heart of the things that really matter. So, thanks B, for sending a reminder.

Top Five Regrets of The Dying

For a long time, it's felt as if we've been living in reaction to everything. There's been very little pro action. Choice. Pro active choice. Where did that go? Did I ever really practice that? Perhaps it's time.

To choose the direction in which we desire our life to travel.

To set our priorities and goals for our family and make our choices accordingly.

To remember that this time here is finite. It will end. And when we look back, will it be with a satisfied nod, holding the hand of someone we love?

I set that intention.

And now it's time to wake the kids.

Our Cardboard Arsenal

Introducing Ari Hood.

He will rob from anyone and check it off his Christmas List.

About a year ago, it proved challenging to meet Ari's ever-changing weaponry needs. His imagination traveled much faster and was much richer than our bank account. That's when we began our "Found Objects" creations. It began with a cardboard pirate sword and construction paper binoculars and moved on to cardboard battle ax heads attached to a toy golf club. Then we made a street hockey stick for Ally out of a plastic saw and a stick (a la Death's Sickle). There were some bat-shaped throwing stars, which now adorn his bedroom walls. Various tries on a bow and arrow...which brings us to today's pictures. We'd been fairly disappointed with the end results of our archery ambitions until Ari found a bow someone had made on the hill by our house. It'd clearly been lying there for a while so I said, "Woo hoo, let's take it home!" A new piece of elastic and several cardboard arrows later and we have Ari Hood.

Those arrows are sharp.

We'll frequently get some looks as we're playing in the neighborhood or heading to the park and I always wonder why...since cardboard weapons, painted faces and superhero costumes are part of our daily round here, I forget that it could be a source of amusement for "normal" people.

And because I'm not feeling witty and segue-ish today, I'm just going to cheaply tack on the below photos.

Ally sporting her new second hand outfit.

Super Ally, Super Max, Green Lantern