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.

This Sounds a Bit Fishy

I'm having a busy week for some odd reason :), highlights of today including a very dramatic fish story. 

I went to pick up my six year old from a birthday party last night; I wandered into the backyard, which was lit by tall mini-torches in the late afternoon sun and decorated with the sounds of little girls.  There was a large blue plastic pool painted with bright tropical fish, and, to my surprise, it was full of tiny goldfish.   My six year old stood ankle deep in the water looking for just the right fish to take home.  My friend handed me ~surprise~ a clear plastic bag filtered by the sun...inside was a little fish that peered at me through the bag with small black eyes and a silvery gulping mouth. 

When we got home, everyone crowded around to peer into our makeshift fish bowl  (I caught one child trying to put her fish in a cornflake bowl and another who grabbed a dark green cider bottle from his bottle collection before we pulled out a flower vase).  Everyone was eager to feed the fish all sorts of goodies before we could go buy some fish food.  Someone even placed her special "shells" from this day in the tank for the fish to look at.

At one point, I found a little brown nugget floating on top of our "fish bowl" that looked suspiciously like a piece of animal poop.  When I quizzed my cute little six, she said "I just found it where we found the rocks!  It's not poop, I promise!"  It was, incidentally, a piece of deer feces that she didn't know the identity of and that she had collected and saved with her rocks on the aforementioned day several weeks ago, unbeknownst to me.

This morning, she was up bright and early to feed her fish large chunks of soon-to-be soggy bread and her fish were soon-to-be-dead.  Poor little thing cried and cried.  She sat in her bright blue polka dot dress and sang to the one remaining fish (we started with four) a sweet little song while making fish movements with her two hands pressed together.  Later we had a little fish burial in the gravelly dirt of the backyard.  Sang an irreverent version of a child's song (I Am a Fishy of God-- luckily I'm not struck down yet) and said a little prayer, since we had exactly three minutes to have our little funeral and get my older daughter somewhere.

Later in the day, we traipsed to the pet store with uncombed hair and purchased a little round bowl, some food, and some new friends for our lone fish.  There are now chairs pulled up in our kitchen around the island where peering, delighted eyes watch little fish glub-glubbing in a clear bowl.  There have been some happy sighs, some "It's been so long since I've had a pet," and even one "where are we going to keep the fish bowl?"  A boy, last to bed, longingly looking at flitting fish, a little girl, first to rise, sitting on the counter, gazing with wide green eyes at them.  Hmmmm.... who knew in 24 hours and we'd gain four surprise pets, lose three, gain two more.  A good lesson in math and pets we never knew we wanted.

 Today I found two nightgown-clad girls at the computer, compiling a list of names for their fish from a baby naming website.  :)

Funny video of my six year old singing to her fish here.

Ode to an Unfinished Batch of Laundry

Busy week--- I have a really funny story for tomorrow.  For today, in the spirit of babies, here is a poem I wrote about one of my girls.

Ode to an Unfinished Batch of Laundry

A patchwork of pinks

Lies disheveled on the tiled

Laundry floor,

The washer door

Half open,

Waiting patiently

Like Cinderella’s gloved footman

At her carriage.

A splash of sunlight reaches across the floor to

Warm us

On this wintry day,

As I cradle baby’s

Down-soft head in my hands--

Breathing in her sweet smell,

Soaking in her smiles,

And pressing her

Milk-soft cheek to

Mine;

Letting the day melt away

As lullabies

Coo the

Half-finished laundry

Away into dreamland.



Here is a link to my favorite poem in this same vein.  Do you have a poem or story that inspires you?

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.

You Color My World

I woke up Saturday morning to a fussy baby.  Which wouldn't normally be too bad, except that he was so miserable for two months and he had just gotten better.  And I still hadn't recovered from our backyard tent expedition-- I had seven loads of laundry to do and a large pile of dishes.  I spent the morning holding him and holding him some more, trying to be patient but dying inside thinking of all I needed to get done.  I was hoping to take the kids to an island not far from our house and explore.  I thought it would make for a great Saturday outing. 

Then, while I was in the midst of crazy messy loud house and neutralized by baby power (I just can't sit and listen to my babies cry, usually), one of my kids said "Mom, Ava painted on the carpet!" Yes indeed, there was red and black and white paint in swaths and scribbles and dabs and blobs all over the basement carpet.  More than anything, I felt like I did not have time to clean this out of the carpet.  I actually did bite my tongue, then I did lecture a little, and I did sigh a lot.  I didn't smile, either.  And I felt like crying, but I didn't do that, either.  She seemed penitent, standing there with cute small hands folded together in front of her cotton-pink-flower dress, be-smirched and be-smudged with stripes of red paint on her cheeks, arms, and cute toddler legs.  Little brown eyes solemn with pause, waiting carefully to see what I would do. 

I realized, then, too, that I'm a big part of the equation, too, having left paints within reach of children and not supervising my child.  So, there we were, this time I felt I had to let the baby cry, and cling to me, and crawl through the paint and watery mess as I tried to clean it up.  But, I kept my cool.  After I had internally calmed down a little, I hugged her, genuinely hugged her, and told her I loved her and that I knew she was sorry.  It was a real bonding moment-- I actually felt a huge surge of love for her in that moment, when just a few minutes before what I had been feeling was not exactly so warm and fuzzy.  I did make her stay with me until it was cleaned up (I said she could sit in time-out or help me, she did a little of both), just to drive the lesson home so she will (I hope) remember next time not to do that.  (me, too, great lesson: an ounce of prevention --in form of putting things out of reach and a little supervision-- is truly worth a pound of cure-- in this case two hours of clean up that still didn't totally remove the stain --these paints were not washable). 

In the end, after some space from the moment, I realized that, even though I care about my carpet, it is just carpet.  Just a thing, something I can't take with me.  My little girl-- her little self esteem needs to last her a long time-- through dating and backbiting friends and rejection and failure and disappointment and loss.  I thought of one of my favorite books-- Les Miserables-- and how when Jean Val jean stole one of the bishop's (of Digne) few remaining possessions-- his silver-- the bishop then gave him his candlesticks too.  When his housekeeper sighed over the loss, branding valJean a "swine," he replied calmly: "To start with, was the silver really ours?"  I need to remember that-- possessions, temporary, not really mine.  Child-- this is forever.  And often the greatest things we can teach are the things we don't say with our mouth.  (Easy to say this now that I'm not on my knees scrubbing red and black paint anymore)  And I am learning just as much, if not more, about being a better person from my little people and our challenges than I will ever teach them.

We didn't get to go out like we wanted to, trying to be flexible like I learned last month. 

This quote from Les Miserbles by Victor Hugo:  Don't forget, don't ever forget, that you promised me to use this silver to make an honest man of yourself.... Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil but to good. It is your soul that I am buying for you; I am taking it away from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I am giving it to God.  (from the translation by Julie Rose)

Growing Up

We went to the library with football commands:  10 minutes, two books, everybody go!  After a little scramble for spots in aisles, pretty soon each child was immersed in something.  I searched the dark, musty stacks for Fahrenheit 451 while everyone was occupied for a minute.  The baby was wearing his blue shorts and a tight shirt with little brown monkeys on it.   After a few minutes of patience with his perusing mama, he wanted down.  I let him down, and he was gleeful-- toddling around on little stubby legs with the happiest of expressions and squeals  (sorry patrons!).  I had a twinge moment-- my baby is growing up!  He has been walking a few steps here and there, but this is the first time he teetered around without crawling at all.  Baby walking.  His face so happy.  I wanted to laugh and cry all at once.

More Notes on Positive Words

Some more things I'm learning about using positive language with children:

1) Use words to communicate unconditional love - my children must feel my love for them has nothing to do with their behavior, but for who they are..this may be hard when child is "acting up" but is even more necessary in these moments.

2) Yet...Praise effort. If my kids are only praised for results, especially if results are average, they will be afraid to try for more because they are afraid to lose their "spot."

3) Show empathy when a child is experiencing a consequence. This is hard because the child in us wants to say "I told you so," lecture him/her about choices, etc. But this only alienates the child and keeps them from drawing their own conclusions, cutting out a growing opportunity and closing off communication with parents later, because the child feels he/she will be lectured by the parent.

4) For me personally, lack of consistent rules hurts my positivity because my kids never know when I'm serious or not, and when I am serious, it takes extra verbal/mental effort to motivate them, which leads to frustration, which makes it hard to keep cool and use kind words (I'm going to work on discipline a different month)

Some parts of this resolution have been much harder for me than I anticipated. We had another night of sleeping in the tent before we put it away, and it was really sweet, snuggling and reading stories and singing songs before there wasn't any more light (my husband chose a good night's rest in lieu of the tent). (my three asked me to sing "Rainbow Dash In My Sight"-- I guess she made that up? ha ha.)

In the morning, with books to read still in the tent, it was hard motivating some kiddos to get up and help clean up. I caught myself about to say "No reading until we're picked up," (which of course isn't bad, it could just be phrased better!) and instead said "You can read when we're all picked up." For every time I remember and adjust my speech to be more positive, there are a few failures, especially in times of duress.