Dad

I hope you'll tolerate this little diversion from my project for a minute as I think about my dad. What I love about him most: empathy, time, and example.  He did the little things: fixed my knick-knacks, taught me how to ride a bike (I promptly rode straight into a thorn bush), read stories, showed me flowers peeking out of chocolate dirt in the spring, played Atari with me :), played kick-the-can with the cousins on a warm summer night; inspired me with his devotion and his words; showed me how to be gentle with living things; treated me as if I were worth it all.  I never felt like a burden to him, but I felt his belief in me, his fierce pride and devotion.  I lived to be like my dad.  The worst I ever felt was when I let him down.  In a day when men are taught and teach to be tough, don't cry-- I could always cry to my dad. 

Some day when the records are shown and all has been weighed and measured, the greatest deeds will not be the ones done in a stadium, or at a podium, or be celebrated in a trophy case.  Some day those with earthly monuments and medals and glory will honor the courage of the dad who quietly sung night-time songs, soothed nightmares, and cheered for little girls.

If you have any suggestions for improvements on my poems, they are welcome. :)  Thanks for reading!  (Note: I must make a nod to Robert Frost, who wrote one of my favorite poems, The Road Not Taken.  The final line in this poem is very nearly an exact quote of the final line in his poem. ) (Note #2: the roads I'm referring to in this post are near where my parents live, and a little sentimental to me since I've visited my parents there with my dear little ones for years, but my parents will be moving soon.  I've had many happy moments there...esp. since at home I get to plod along on my treadmill :))


The High Road

I used to run on the

Black road

Toward the high school

As cars whooshed by.

Then my dad

Showed me

His favorite road,

High above the valley,

An overgrown path

Next to a canal

With trees bending down

To drink the water.

I had to climb to get there,

But I loved

Its tawny-honey-yellow leaves in fall,

Its swirls,

The way specks of sun

Glint off the water.

In lazy summer,

A mother duck splashed out of the grass

And her babies followed: pop, pop, pop, pop.

I went there in the spring,

Carpet fluorescing with green

And new insect life.

And in winter,

Crunching white snow

As bare-boned branches

Scratched the sky.

Now I've been there in all the seasons,

Ran with sister, laughing and talking,

Walked there with husband,

New life inside me, (threw up in the grass)

Traipsed with little legs till the

Bend in the path.

But mostly alone,

Thinking, sorting, becoming.

And last,

Meadows of grass skirting

Wooded mountains,

And a little hollow,
Where I felt so much

The nearness of

God,

And awareness of my need for His help,

I knelt down (twice)

And prayed

In the middle of my run.

My dad showed me a higher

Way,

And it has made all the

Difference.

Good Day, Bad Day

We had so much fun the last time we went to the Planetarium, and we had a few free tickets I wanted to use before the summer was up, so we met Grandma there and enjoyed the IMAX movie "Born to be Wild" (probably my favorite IMAX of all time...the women are so inspiring, and such a great example of empathy, kindness, and a life of compassion...the animals are also very fun to watch...great cinematography and music...overall, very beautifully done).  Then we went back for a little hike, shorter than the one we did on this day, in the same place.  (It's been so nice to be more active together this month, though that wasn't one of my goals, it just sort of happened)   Then we went on to see my grandma and my dad (my dad lives with her during the week for work, then returns home on the weekends).  What a great day.

(Love those legs!  His shorts were dirty)

The next day was not a great day.  It was super busy, as we've re-started some activities, like scouts and soccer, and we're out of the habit of having these things on the schedule, so it was wild.  Also, baby was fussy and had lower-end GI issues all day.  :)  You know what I mean.  And I've discovered that eating healthily on busy days or on the fly is hard.  This is something I'm going to need to figure out, so all our hard work isn't undermined when school starts.

At the end of my bad day, I was ready to pull my hair out.  I even chucked all of my positive words work when I acted like a three year-old!  My three said something like "you're mean."  And I surprised myself when I said "you're mean!" right back. (I never talk like this to my kids, even before my work on 'positive words!')  It totally caught her off guard for a minute, then we went back and forth hurling insults at each other while my other kids' mouths dropped open in awe at their crazy mother.  While it felt great for about 20 seconds, I felt pretty awful afterward. :)

Then two things happened.  The first was I got an email from my dad.  It read:

Hi,

It was good to see you yesterday. I love and admire you and how hard you work to be a good person and mother. And you do a great job.

...Thanks again for everything and please know how deeply I love you.

Dad

  

I needed that! I'm not sure he knows it, but my dad was inspired.  Sometimes it's good to hear that, no matter how imperfect I am, I am trying my best!  I want to be a good mother!  I want my kids to be happy!

I am also copying some of my poems onto my new computer, and I found one I'd tucked away from about 6 years ago.   Made me remember all the things I love about being a mother.  About being their mother. About how life-changing and perspective changing it has been for me.  And maybe when I'm in the thick of it, in the trenches, I don't always see the big picture, but they are the highlight of my life so far!  Even on bad days.

 

What I'm Learning, Month 5: Use Acts of Service with Care

For some quick background, in The Five Love Languages books, Gary Chapman (and in the one for kids, Ross Campbell), describe how people give and receive love in different ways. Their theory is that we each have a "love language" that speaks loudest to us. And we tend to speak to others in our own love language. So, for example, I know my primary love language is "quality time." When I want someone to feel loved, I show it by spending time with them! But maybe their love language is "acts of service," so it's kind of like speaking Portuguese to someone who really speaks French-- it may not communicate what we want it to. The key to communicating love is finding and speaking in the other person's primary love language. Now, kids need all five, until they are old enough to have exhibited a preference, and we all need all five in varying degrees throughout our life. But the bottom line is, some speak more loudly to certain individuals than others. The love languages are: acts of service, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and gifts.

I've been thinking a lot about how to help my kids feel loved through "acts of service" (and I'm pretty sure this is my husband's language too). As a mother, we do so many acts of service throughout the day and night. As the mother to five, let me tell you, I feel my day is a continual round of acts of service, from changing sheets to fixing meals to cleaning up throw up. Because this isn't my own primary love language, sometimes it seems less important to me than some of the other love languages. And it is so easy to get lost in the continuous round of tasks and forget that those tasks are ultimately about people.

Thinking back on my own life, I remember little acts of service that different people did for me. One that stands out right this minute is that my dad used to repair my cassette tapes that had somehow gotten all tangled, unraveled, or broken (cassettes-- this harks back to dinosaurs, huh?). I'm sure fixing my tapes wasn't high on his list, but as a teenager, music was a huge part of my life. He would also fix my necklaces that got tangled beyond human ability to unravel, yet somehow, with patience and time, he would magically fix them and I'd find them all fixed and neat sitting on my dresser. I can't tell you how much these little acts of service helped me feel my dad's love and that I was important to him.

Going out of my way to do something nice for my kids is nice, but I can show love through ordinary everyday tasks, too. One of the things I love about going home is how homey it is-- my mom keeps the house so clean and inviting and warm and nice-smelling and comfortable. And she always has fresh sheets on the bed. Ahhh..... Now I notice those little invisible things my mom did all those years. And I love it and sure appreciate all those hidden acts of service.

What is it that differentiates an act of service from a household task or something on the to-do list?

1. How the service was performed. Giving a smile, a hug, or a happy word to someone as I go about daily tasks such as combing hair, fixing breakfast. (let's just say I need to work on this some of the time!) Actions that show "you are important to me." "You are not a burden." "I am so lucky to have you." These speak even louder than words.

2. Who it was done for-- my cassette tapes were probably of no importance to my dad, who probably saw them as an immature teenage phase. But they were important to me.

3. Timing. Doing something when it is needed by my child instead of waiting until it is convenient for myself.

4. Time. Taking extra time or effort to do something for someone is a powerful way to communicate love.

As I look back to all the people that have made a difference in my life, those little, meaningful, thoughtful acts of service made a much bigger impact than I thought they did.

One word of caution in the realm of acts of service. I have to be careful when I do for them something they could do for themselves: sometimes this actually communicates "I don't trust you. You are incapable. You need to be rescued." (remember healthy balance from month 3 of teaching kids work) I heard a radio program the other day. An expert was telling how much more involved parents are than they used to be in kid's day-to-day lives, even to the point of intervening with a professor in college or a boss at work (he backed this up with research dating from the present back to the sixties). And that kids today have way more anxiety about navigating today's world. Whoa. We have to be careful not to cripple our kids by doing too much for them or by communicating to them they are inadequate by stepping in when they should be learning how to handle things themselves. Link to a NY Times article on this subject.

Is there an act of service someone did for you that has made a difference in your life? Have a wonderful holiday weekend!

Sorry for the picture glut.  I took these yesterday and I just couldn't resist.  So fun to capture their childlike expressions and play.  Right down to kicking in the fountain (I wasn't sure if that was ok?).  When we went to leave, I turned around and this little girl was in the fountain thigh-deep.  :)  Oops.

Long and Lost

I have been away so long, dearest ones!  Way longer than I meant to.  I started writing a novel during nap time, which is normally my blogging time, and I didn't have time for both because I didn't want to take time away from my kids!   I found writing to be really thrilling and fun, as the writing took me in directions all on its own, time melting by way too quickly!  Maybe the novel is truly terrible, but it was very fun to write, and a first draft is done.  As per my normal, I always talk too much, so it is a little long.

Here are a few other things I was able to do.

A local college rivalry football game with my husband and my oldest son. We lost, but we got to spend some fun time together cheering at the game, as well as enjoying memories of my beloved alma mater, including dinner at the track where I used to spend many hours running with the track team (kind of ironic, eating there, because I think I lost my lunch there a few times).

I went to a Gordon Lightfoot concert with my dad.  Amazing.  The man's voice was a little shaky but it transported me back to my old river guiding days, his voice is so organic sounding and beautiful.  And his prose is so beautiful.  I found out that he has been named by some as Canada's greatest songwriter of all time, a title I think he deserves.  And I so enjoyed being with my dad!  Speaking of music goals (remember when I made the goal to introduce my kids to good music?)-- I realized that my taste in music, which leans toward folksy-guitar music of the type played by the likes of James Taylor, John Denver, and Jim Croce was probably inspired by my dad, who used to listen to them on an 8 track player in a little work room of our old house when I was a little girl.  I loved to visit him there and look at the little intricate carvings he did as a hobby.

  (to listen to the gorgeous lyrics he wrote about Canada in his Canadian Railroad Trilogy see here....He was quite entertaining, putting a lot of energy into his songs even though his voice was weak with age at times...and he wore a velvet jacket, what's not to love about that?)

I went to a scrapbook retreat with friends from Colorado.  I have gone once before, but it has been five years!  I have missed them so much, they have been such kind and caring friends over the years, even when we have lived away.  We ate junk food and deliciously prepared meals, watched TV in our pajamas, and our church's annual conference.  We chatted, cried, and laughed and generally had a great time!  I missed my kids nearly the whole time, worrying a bit about the littlest, who I've never left, even though I had such a great time.  But I do think it is important enough to maintain those friendships and get a little time-- and I enjoyed seeing the kids so much when I got back.

So, it was a lazy-ish month, I guess, and I will be back to posting at least twice a week around here from now on.  I need you to keep me honest as I try to get back on track with my goals!

This month I'm going to work on some goals we set as a family at the start of the school year.  We decided to continue making home lunches throughout the year and decided to make sure all electronics are turned off on school nights, replacing some of that time with more consistent reading.

Clear as mud!  I sure missed you and hope you are well, and sorry to be gone for so long!

I Didn't Plan to be a....(Fill in the Blank)

I got a big kick out of this, as shared by a friend on Facebook.

Today I've been thinking about my ideals pre-motherhood and how they have translated into real life, as inspired by Linda Eyre's book I Didn't Plan to Be a Witch.  Lets just say they can be summed up in four people, when you dive down deep enough: my mom, my dad, Maria vonTrapp, and the sort of fuzzy soft idealized mother handed down by our culture as represented in Peter Pan.  And lets face it, my church had a lot to do with inspiring me, both with words and actual examples of real life amazing mothers (one biggie for me was seeing the inside of some incredible women's homes in Dallas as a missionary...they really inspired me).  But that is another post.

How did I arrive at these four pillars of ideal mothering?  I suppose I picked little ideas like flowers as a child and stored them away for later.  Speaking of flowers.  One early memory that inspired me involves my dad.  I remember on a walk home from church he showed me the little green shoots of new flowers peeping up through soft piles of wet brown dirt.   Right then and there I cemented an idea in my head, about the kind of parent I wanted to be.  As a mom I was going to go on nature walks with my kids and point out all the little things that normally go unnoticed when whizzing by in a car.  On a different occasion, on a warm summer night, we played kick-the-can with all the cousins.  I have to tell you, I thought that was the coolest thing ever, that a grown-up would stoop to the level of acting like a kid and having fun at it!  I promised myself I'd play with my kids.

My mom taught me how to read from a young age.  She helped me through all those things I didn't realize I'd need later in life. ("B flat!")  She was sort of the backbone in our family, keeping things together, structured, and organized.  She was the engine, too.  The one that kept things running.  And the one who made our home so inviting and sweet-smelling and home-like.  And for being my cheerleader.  Now that I'm a mother, I appreciate my mother a thousand fold as I recognize all those unheralded invisible things she did for me that have become such a big part of who I am. Again I secretly decided I'd like to to teach my kids to read at a young age and I'd like to wrap garlands around the banisters at holiday time and go to all my kids games.  (Trying to be my mother and my father has been kind of a problem for me at times, that is another post!)

Then Julie Andrews, ahh, Julie Andrews.  When you sang "Raindrops on Roses" and washed Liesel's dress without telling and made play clothes out of your old drapes and played your guitar in the wagon and swung from trees and sang Doe a Deer, I knew exactly what kind of mother I wanted to be.  Loving, fun, kind.  Someone who made kids happy and made them feel like a million bucks.  And yes, I kind of idealized that big, happy family and secretly wished for one just like it some day. 

Being a mother, and a really good one, became an unspoken passion for me.  Even a couple of months ago, for example, at a family dinner, some teenagers sort of lightheartedly asked what we'd all like to be when we grow up.  And, honestly, I've been down this motherhood road now for a while, there are no more delusions, but as I searched deep in my soul I realized I still see motherhood as my ideal career.  After that, I think I would be an oceanographer.  Or a kindergarten teacher.  Or a war correspondent.  Things I wouldn't have chosen way back when.

Sorry I talk so much.

So, when I envisioned this beautiful (thanks Julie and mom), sing-songy, playful, patient, kind, smart, empathetic mother that I wanted to be, I did not in fact envision a few things.  Here is my short (ha!) list:

1)  Wiping little booger-y noses on the underside of my shirt.  Lets just say this happens frequently.
2)  So much exposure to bodily fluids you must might say I have a minor in HASMAT bodily fluid clean-up, at least a merit badge, from cleaning vomit from all sorts of surfaces, puddles big and small, poop from the carpet and other assorted places, and blood.  I never saw how some of these things would be so commonplace that I would barely flinch while dealing with them (and others would stare me down, willing me to go ahead and clean them up, no matter how experienced I'd become).  Like the time my son impaled his head on a jutting rock while we were shopping and I didn't even think, I grabbed a soft pink baby blanket and stuck it right on his profusely bleeding head, held it on there while holding a baby on the other hip with others following behind, a crowd of onlookers staring at us as we trailed into the bathroom to handle our little emergency (he ran into a rock pillar while he was looking backward watching for a fountain to go shoot off; my husband called him "geyser"-- which is what my son said he was craning his neck to see-- so cute-- in jest for a little while after this incident) .
3)  Speaking of number 2, I never thought I would show so much interest in the contents of my baby's diapers.  Never thought I'd examine that stuff like a biologist studying a foreign specimen.
4)  Never pictured myself frumpy or overweight.  Not only being out of style, but actually being unaware of what the current styles even are (or figuring them out too late!  hey, on a positive note, I just learned yesterday that my bushy eyebrows, which I sort of secretly agonize over, are now in fashion!  Thank you, world!  For saving me some time and pain and anguish!).  Or putting in a ponytail for the 7th day in a row because it is most functional.
5)  I never figured, as a twenty-something movie goer, I that some day I wouldn't have a clue as to what the latest movies are.
6)  On the flip side, I never pictured myself telling someone enthusiastically about the latest Disney movie or Little Einstein or Diamond Castle movie.  Ditto on books like "Children Make Terrible Pets."  (and wondering why grown adults weren't acting as excited as I felt!)
7)  Having a mental list of all the pros and cons of local parks or museums.  Or knowing which locales are stroller friendly or toddler friendly.
8)  Never saw myself eating whole pans of brownies, or for that matter, all my kids leftovers, even, gross, ones that have been in their mouth (not often, but it does happen!). 
9)  Never pictured myself giving up sleep to get a little alone time.
10)  Never pictured myself giving up alone time to get some sleep.
11)  I never saw myself as "that mom" with the weeds, the dirty house, and the stinky car.  Probably the one thing on this list that truly distresses me some days. (Should I add to the list-- fantasizing about sleep or a clean house!  Or even just fantasizing about being alone for five minutes, even if it is just to go to the bathroom or shower)
12)  I never in a million years would have figured that trips to the dentist would become a secret get-away time that felt, lets just admit it right now-- luxurious-- because all I have to do is lie there!
12)  My inability to properly discipline my children (remember those days when you vowed "that will never be my child!" hmmmmm).   Or all the times I would "conveniently" look away because now is just not a convenient time.
13)  The martyr-me who cannot ask for help and who eventually retreats into a good book or sugar or some good old fashioned celebrity gossip when times get tough.
14)  The beautiful vision of getting up in the night in my flowing white nightgown to comfort my frightened or sick children gives way to a blurry, disheveled, one-eye-open-harsh-croaking voice chortling "get back to bed!"
15)  Choosing clothes based on function rather than fashion.  Like a good pair of tennis shoes.
16)  The depths to which you lower your pride when having a baby.  (how about after my second child, throwing up twice, losing a ton of blood and being so weak that the nurses had to dress and undress me, and later give me a bath.  Does it get much worse than that?)  All pride goes out the window.  And all modesty (like, how about learning how to nurse for the first time?  people act like your "girls" are just an artifact to be passed around as they try to figure out how to make those things work.)
17)  Never thought I'd say "because I said so."  This is a parental hand-me-down for a reason.
18)  Never pictured what I was missing in my life before wet wipes.  Or how casual I'd be about some germs because I had that good old standby ready.
19) Never pictured myself using "that" voice-- you know, the non-Julie Andrews one, the one that says, "I'm about two seconds away from strangling you and I am doing all I can to restrain myself."
20)  The whisper shout.  Or the death stare. Or snapping at someone, literally or verbally.
21)  Calling my husband "dad."  (I swore I'd never do this one!)
22) The disgusting car seat.  Enough said.

(Love this video, called "Dad Life"-- makes me laugh)

While some of these things are just funny, and others would have distressed me 20 years ago, I feel I have a more mature perspective now.  I realize not knowing who is the hottest actor in Hollywood or wearing tennis shoes or taking a shower at 5pm doesn't really matter all that much  (though some truly are a little distressing, or a lot distressing, like the stinky thing or the overweight thing, no matter what I tell myself about beauty being on the inside).

(Yes those beauties over there are my legs, while pregnant this last time around.  Never in a million years pictured that, or how much it would hurt!)

So how do you handle the little disconnects from reality in your life?  I loved Linda Eyre's perspective in her book I Didn't Plan to Be a Witch, where she humorously recounts the differences between her preconceived notions about motherhood and real-life reality, laced with practical, down-to-earth parenting advice.  I loved seeing her life from the outside.  The times when she lost her patience, I was quite amazed she hadn't lost it bigger and sooner (this blessed woman had nine children!  And the days she quote, unquote "lost her patience" she was so busy trying to be a good mother!)!  And seeing that her kids turned out so wonderfully, in spite of times that must have felt crazy and un-idealistic to her, and in spite of all the areas she felt she had fallen short.

It's okay to stand face-to-face with that demon reality and look him square in the eye.  It's okay to come face-to-face with our preconceptions as well, to see just how funny they really are sometimes! I'm sorry Julie Andrews, you are just not realistic 24/7.  But that doesn't mean that I need to give up on that ideal.  Or that I need to quit dreaming about the mother I want to be when I grow up.  I just need to see that this world is an imperfect place, my kids are imperfect, accidents happen, so does crazy weather or no sleep or grumpy days.   And then I pick myself up and have a good laugh and try harder tomorrow.

And lastly, for me, seeing the good things I do and the good things that have come to me that I similarly never pictured pre-parenthood.

That moment, when my first child was being born, the nurses had asked me if I wanted to reach down and touch his head (so sorry if this is TMI, you are learning things about me you never wanted to know).  Just a few weeks before this, my husband and I were watching a video in our birthing class (lets just say one father-to-be was so shocked he let out a very memorable expletive).  I was mortified when the nurse in the video asked the laboring mother if she wanted to touch her baby's head as it crowned.  I thought I would never be that woman, ick.  Keep the mirrors and cameras and bystanders away and don't ask me to touch my baby's head.  But there in that hospital room, surrounded by a loving doctor and nurse and my dear spouse (and even a bystander!  I never cease to surprise myself) in a situation I thought I would find horrifically embarrassing, I surprised myself by saying "yes."  That moment, which had really started months before when I heard that little galloping heart that mirrored my own, pulled the most powerful emotion I'd feel in this life to the surface.  He was almost here!  My child! (also thinking-- after all the nausea and growing belly for nine months, he is not a figment of my imagination! lol)  Whom I'd already learned to love and protect and sacrifice for.  Almost here to meet me.   I was overwhelmed and started to cry!  And so did everyone else in the room.  No weird, no ick, my little boy, after nine long months, was here and he was worth it.

How do you describe that to your your twenty something self?  You will hurt worse than you ever have in your life, you will waddle around like a duck and not be able to go more than 20 minutes without going to the bathroom, later you'll be up in the middle of the night changing a onesie covered from head to toe in golden brown deliciousness, and yet it is the most magical experience of your life.  All those little pains and inconveniences and not knowing who Robert Pattinson is (or thinking whoop-de-doo, if you are me, sorry Twilight fans), these burdens suddenly become as light as a feather when you have that little child who trusts you and loves you no matter what.  To whom you are now that Peter Pan mother.  That golden aura mother who they will learn to love more than anyone else, no matter how famous or powerful or rich.  That moment when everything switches from your own needs to choosing to put someone else's needs first.  Because you actually want to.

(LOVE those first smiles meant just for me!)

That little person will capture your heart and you will never get it back. You'll see past boogers into a little soul that needs you and loves you unconditionally and makes your heart feel something you never knew you'd feel.  Someone you're willing to go to the moon and back for, slip out of bed at night even though sleep is so precious, just to watch their chest rise and fall softly in the dark; worrying about them while they are in school or at a friends or in someone else's car, reaching through the air with your thoughts as if you can somehow distantly wrap protective arms around them; going without something for yourself in order to give them that special birthday present, learning opportunity, or cute pair of jeans; feeling as if your heart were walking around outside your body; going to great lengths to hear them laugh or make them smile; taking time away from something for yourself in order to do something for them; save little scrawled drawings in piles in your basement; smell those little onesies just to drink in that baby smell while baby is napping; try to still your heart as I fold tiny ruffled shirts, tied to so many memories, and close them into a large box forever; cry when I put away the little bassinet, even though I hated that darn thing (my babies never slept well in it); or have an ever-lovin' breakdown when my husband suggested recently that we get rid of some of the baby things we no longer need.

They are worth it.  Every bit.  Maybe it doesn't look so great on the outside, but there is nothing that beats it on the inside.

So while I am not always singing Doe a Deer in a beautiful dress in the Alps every day to my adoring, smiling, well-dressed children, there are things I do that I never pictured myself doing that are good.  I love them with a fierce love I could never express.  I have sacrificed for them and hurt for them and wiped their boogers on my shirt.  And it was worth every stinkin' minute.

(never pictured some of the stuff I'd save or take pictures of, either!)

Cup Half Full and a Maserati

We went on a long road trip yesterday, winding between and over pine mountains in the waning light. We successfully completed a 60 second piano recital on our way to Grandpa's house. Stopped for food with 2 hours to go. Hubby got some waters with our order; probably because he asked for no less than seven waters :) (we're used to it, but its still embarrassing to ask sometimes), they gave them to us in little tiny ice cream sundae cups. I was wondering how it was going to go with everyone having about two sips of water on the long drive. :)

Gearing up to talk positively to and about the kids :), I thought I could start with the water. So, instead of grumbling about the size of the waters (I understand, after all...that is a lot of waters), I opened our dusty van door and said "look how lucky we are! We get to drink out of these cute tiny cups!" The kids acted really excited. I tossed some crinkly wrapped burgers around like an underhanded basketball while I overheard them saying "When I'm done, I'm saving my cup. I want to keep it!"

Hubby anxious to pass slow slow trailer after 20 mins, gassed it so hard when his time came and then he just kept on going. It felt fast? Felt like he suddenly thought our minivan was a Maserati. I looked warily at the speedometer and he was only going 50-- five over the speed limit. Even the kids started asking "why is Dad going so fast?" After that, he slowed down and we laughed. Today my six year old said "Dad, go 50!" Now that is what she thinks of as fast.

Winding through more canyons, hub-bub of chatter in the car, we spotted a moose and her calf knee deep in a stream, lots of deer, and, at the top of a mountain, a crystal sky-blue lake. I had my feet up on the dashboard, enjoying my new fuchsia colored toenails and (am I dreaming it?) thinner legs (morning exercising paying off, got a long way to go still). Marks on dashboard reminded me how thankful I am for my pain-free legs (story here). Lots of bad jokes about deer, but I was happy to hear the kids laughing-- "oh dear, I missed the deer." Later I sat in back with the girls for a sleepy chat to Grandpa's house.  Dusk settled as we raced the night train, just a sleepy little family and some sagebrush.

Olympus Still Producing Heroes: the Percy Jackson Series Gives Hope to Sufferers from ADHD and Dyslexia

Percy Jackson isn't your typical teen.  He has ADHD and dyslexia and has been kicked out of more schools that you can imagine.  He often blurts things out, though he doesn't mean to.  To top it off, his mom lives with a real jerk, "smelly" Gabe, while Percy pines for the dad he never knew.  In spite of all this, one of his teachers, Mr. Brunner, still believes that Percy has real potential, though Percy can't figure out why.  When was the last time "D's" showed that someone had potential?  It isn't until Percy's math teacher, Mrs. Dodds, turns into a fanged, leathery black winged creature and tries to kill him on a school field trip that he finds out he isn't normal.  Percy makes it to Camp Halfblood with his friend Grover, an awkward, limping teen who happens to be a satyr sent to protect him.  There he finds the world of Greek myths he'd learned in school were no myth--  instead very real and dangerous, especially for all halfbloods, many of whom make the camp home for all or part of each year.  The Gods and monsters of legend are very much alive, many of them living in New York.   The kids at camp are in "hero" training, all of them demigods, children of mortal parents and one godly parent.  Most of them are children of lesser gods, since the big three-- Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades-- made a pact after World War II that they wouldn't sire any more children with mortal women.

At Camp Halfblood, Percy discovers that he has many hidden powers as a rare son of the sea God, Poseidon.  There he trains to fight monsters, meets new and unusual friends, consults a withered mummy-like oracle, and discovers that he possesses a destiny that will mean the destruction or salvation of the gods, gods whose fate is closely intertwined with that of Western Civilization.  He must go on a dangerous quest, his first of many, to restore the stolen lightening bolt of Zeus himself.  Percy proves himself a true hero, showing that he will stop at nothing to thwart evil and protect his friends.  His dyslexia is really a manifestation that he was hardwired to read ancient Greek.  And it is his ADHD that gives him his incredible battle reflexes, traits he shares with the other demigods, most of whom are dyslexic and ADHD themselves.

His friend, Annabeth, daughter of Athena, and the main female protagonist in the series, explains to him: "The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hard-wired for ancient Greek....And the A.D.H.D. - you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's."

This is an easy-to read series written for tweens, with likable protagonists and despicable villains.  The action is exciting and "perfectly paced," as described in a New York Times review by Polly Shulman (here): "with electrifying moments chasing each other like heartbeats." It is sprinkled with generous loads of humor, woven throughout with Greek stories and myths, along with some mild cursing on the River Styx.  Riordan weaves the worlds of old and new in a fun and believable style-- in which one can say the words ADHD and Manhattan and Minotaur without breaking a sweat.  (The war god Ares wears black leather and rides a Harley, for example, while Poseidon often appears wearing Bermuda shorts)  These books may even may make you want to break out your old Greek mythology books; both of my Percy readers showed an increased interest in mythology after reading the series.

My oldest two children have read all of Riordan's books, and for months they begged me to give The Lightning Thief a try.  The catalyst, for me, was driving in the car one day with the kids.  I was agonizing over how to test the waters in regards to the possibility that one or more of my five children may have ADHD (two have since been diagnosed).  When I finally broached the subject, my ten year-old surprised me by getting an excited gleam in her eye.  It was obvious that she was flattered by the idea that she might have ADHD, which left me feeling a bit baffled.  A few days later, when she casually mentioned Percy Jackson's ADD, a light bulb went off in my head.   The Percy Jackson and the Olympians series had made her feel that ADHD was "cool."  Whew!  I wanted to go out and give Rick Riordan a big bear hug right then and there.

Riordan treats the pros and cons of ADHD like a pro himself-- ultimately giving the reader a respect for the untapped powers and hidden hero within each ADD child, as well as giving an accurate and compassionate glimpse into his or her struggles.

***

Fun Fact:  Riordan invented the Percy Jackson stories in an effort to help his son, who suffered from ADHD and dyslexia, get into reading.  You can read more about that here, including Riordan's suggestions for inspiring kids with ADHD challenges to become avid readers.  My own daughter, mentioned above, was so inspired by heroes like Percy Jackson and Harry Potter (or Hermoine and Annabeth, really) and meeting author Shannon Hale, that she started writing her own book.  So far, I think it is one of her own hidden gifts.  Sounds like Riordan's son just completed a 600 page manuscript of his own.  I think I have some new heroes, and they don't live over the Empire State Building, erm, Olympus.

For fans, Rick Riordan's blog is here.  And his newest book in the Heroes of Olympus series, House of Hades, will be available on October 8 of this year.

Happy Baby, Happy Mom

It was six am, and I was in the rocking chair, holding my soft baby and rocking click-shh, click-shhh.  He'd been awake for two hours.   I enjoyed his little elbow dimples, his soft, creamy skin, chubby cheeks, wispy hair, and his squishy curled-up body next to mine, his head on my chest, as I watched some cotton-ball clouds turn from white to pink to yellow as the day brightened.  While I was sitting there, I thought about the times when I'm positive about babies, even in the hard moments, and what it is that helps me be positive while I am the mother to one  (I have definitely had moments that aren't so positive, trust me).   Here are some things that have helped me be positive when I've had a baby:

1)  Keep expectations low about how much I can do, and how quickly.  (part of the point of this project is to remind myself that I'll have 50 years to do things I want to do, but now is the season my kiddos need me) 

2) Spend time together every day, even if its just a little.  Rolling a ball to chubby hands, looking at a bug, singing, pointing out the moon-- these are the times to remember, not the times I spent cleaning my refrigerator.  And these are the times that bond us to each other.

3)  Try to look at night time wakings as an opportunity to bond with the baby.   

4)  Be patient with my body.  It took nine months to have my baby, I need to give myself at least that much time for it to become more normal (I think 18 months is more like it, for me).  Try to look at my body as the miracle it is-- that it went through the amazing feat of growing and nurturing and giving birth to one of my new favorite people in the world, instead of seeing the saggy baggy elephant.  :)  (my body does eventually come back, sometimes even better than before, even though there are times when it feels like it never will)

5)  Talk positive to feel positive.  :)

6)  Expect the unexpected-- try to laugh about blow-outs on the subway and sleepless nights and ear infections and messes, even if I have to laugh about them later.  Much later.

7)  Focus on development-- when I emphasize wanting to help him/her learn and grow, many experiences become a joy rather than an inconvenience. 

I learned a lot from my own mother, who was a preschool teacher, about this.  My mom was always emphasizing the importance of curiosity and tactile experiences in order for babies, toddlers, and children to learn.  My mother let her babies touch their food (within reason), play with the pots/pans/Tupperware, and have water time in the bath and the backyard.  My dad was good, too, and to this day, if a baby is getting into something, he'll say he "just needs input!"  I'm trying to remember it now with my own baby.  Look how pleased he is with himself for climbing on this chair:

8)  In light of the last fact, don't try to beat 'em, join 'em (by providing the experiences they crave in a safe environment).   

At the moment, Emerson wants to climb on everything, and empty everything, and touch everything; these are actually developmental cues that indicate he just needs more opportunities for these things.   Today I gave him containers and some dry spaghetti, and he had a blast taking it out of one container and putting it in another.  It was actually a really easy mess to clean up.  I have also let the kiddos do this outside with rice, water, and cups that they can pour to their heart's content.

Emerson has been climbing on the table, so instead I let him climb in these tubs I got for laundry (got them cheap at our local grocery store of all places):

He wanted to grab the wrapping paper when Isa was wrapping a present, so we gave him some of his own and he had a blast crawling across it and walking across it-- I think he loved the texture and the crinkly sound it made.

I'm loving the warm weather and the opportunities it has provided to play and explore and climb outside, where messes aren't such an issue. Yesterday I put out the pool, and he promptly went somewhere else to climb (second picture below):  it was actually quite cute. I just washed him off with the hose when he was done. Its just good for me to remember, especially in this super busy time, that he isn't being naughty, he's just learning. Maybe when I'm most frustrated is when I most need to give the kind of opportunities for him to do these things.

9) Streamline routine activities-- for me, this means I only buy wrinkle-free clothes right now. Then there is more time for baby. I can iron later, but I can't go back and snuggle him or read one more story.

10) Don't let have-to's get you down.  In Good Families Don't Just Happen, Garcia-Prats parents of ten boys explain that they just accept things like 6 loads of laundry per day as part of life.

11) Don't wish it away.  A new phase will come soon enough, and something special will go with it and a new challenge will arise in its place.  Just enjoy the phase I'm in.

12) It's so short. Enjoy it.

Babyhood is so short.  We were preparing for a yard sale yesterday, going through our toys and books and trying to find things to sell.  I made the mistake of going to Emerson's room.  I opened his closet and immediately found each item was so attached to memories of each of our five babies that I was suddenly so emotional that I could hardly contain it.  Having them has been the best adventure of my life so far.

Sitting in his room today, surrounded by picture books and diapers and pastel bears and tiny footprints stamped on a birth certificate, I wanted to memorize this moment: Emerson snuggled on my chest, the evidence of the innocence of childhood all around me.  When we turn around, it will be gone.  I hope that the little sacrifices I make for him now will give him the best start in life possible.  That's why I want to make the most of these little moments, for his next 50 years and forever.