So said the sweet voice of our youngest, sitting in the chair, “reading” Are You My Mother? to a doll.

The night before, a storm rolled in, and I declared electronics off.  (Lightning is as good an excuse as any, right?)  With a desire to read of my own, I also declared it family reading night.  Within a few minutes, kids ready for bed brought their books, blankets, and reading logs into the living room.  A 12-year-old with a temper got the consequence of reading aloud to her non-reading, four-year-old sister.

We sat together for an hour, reading on our own.  Granted, it wasn’t necessarily quiet.  The soon-to-be first grader could be heard reading aloud for a bit, and the oldest decided to stay in the living room with the rest of us.  Heaven forbid she go alone with her little sister to the dark bedroom while the thunder rumbled!  Childhood fears are fears nonetheless, so I let them stay without saying anything.

And it was lovely.

At the end of the hour, it was time for bed.  I wasn’t finished reading, but kids were drifting to sleep or yawning loudly.  We tucked them in and kept the house quiet.  The storm had already passed.

While washing dishes the next morning, I heard the young one “reading” to her doll, turning through the pages as knowingly as her big sister.  I smiled.

What do we call positive consequences?  Rewards.  I love how that works.

In my childhood bedroom, my twin bed was directly across the east-facing window.  The early morning sun would creep through the blinds, and I couldn’t help but smile — mainly on those lazy days when I didn’t have to go to school or rush off somewhere.

I am not a morning person usually.  I long to be.  I consider it a character flaw that I can sleep until 9:00, even with four kids.  I can stay up all night when duty calls, but I’ll sleep much of the next day.  I love a nice nap.  I love my sleep.

But some days, I wake up before everyone else.  I move in the still silence of early morn, write, make a cup of coffee, and abide in the freshness of the day.

That didn’t happen today, but I did make myself get out of bed before 9:00, get my shower and go outside to water the thirsty plants.  These hot ruthless days and teasing thunderstorms that don’t wet much aren’t doing the plants — or me — any favors.  I bless my day with at least a bit of productivity.  I tend to the living things (you know, the plants and flowers, cat, dog, kids, etc.) to make sure we’ll all be okay.  I get rewarded with growth, purrs, smiles over mouthfuls of homemade granola cereal, and the kiss of sunshine glistening off the green foliage.  Or was that a hint of aura I saw?

And I smile again remembering how my mom in her sleepy morning voice would come beaming into my room, “Good morning, Sunshine!”  On occasion, I get to pass along that morning delight to my daughters, to whom I’ve also passed along my character flaw.

Maybe if I focus on these morning delights, I’ll get out of bed a little earlier.  Here’s to hoping!

photo: everystockphoto.com by Randy Son of Robert; my garden roses are much more, well, not as elegant as this. 

This life is most definitely not a game.  However, I am slightly amused when listening to the kids playing the familiar game with the three-dimensional gameboard (that I’ve always loved).

“Alexander didn’t have any kids!”

“I’m an artist!”

“I make $160,000!”

The game is fun, introduces mortgages, taxes, insurance, etc.  There are elements of life in the game.  But not everything.

Where are the homeless?  Where’s the “gotta-have-two-jobs” card?  Where’s the NSF spot and can’t-spend-a-dime-till-payday spot?  Where’s the family barbecue and the birthday parties?  Where’s the comfort, sorrow, and extreme joy?  Where’s church services and dinner parties?  Where’s all the stuff that makes life LIFE?

That’s why it’s only a game.  Our lives, in contrast, are not determined with a clicking spin of the wheel.  We make choices, meet consequences, revel in surprises and learn at every bend in the road.  Fortunately, we’re not stuck in a plastic car (at least not all the time!), and there are oh-so-many paths to choose from and to discover.

Even when it seems like the chips are down, there is entirely too much in this life to radiate light and joy.  There is too much to love.  This is good to remember this summer vacation, and if I let the kids push me to the edge, maybe I’ll get the game out to remind me that my life is so much better than I think it is.

For real.

* I was looking for a stock photo of the board game to insert in this post since it’s been a while since any photos.  I found one — a perfect one.  It’s too perfect for me even to borrow.  I want you to take the time to go look at it.  Context clues tell me that it’s a child who just received a gift from an Angel Tree program or a similar goodwill charity (just saw that the title says it IS Angel Tree, at an Episcopal church neighboring our diocese).  But to me, the eyes of the child and the happy-go-lucky box contrast vividly.  The depth of my reality just increased; the compassion in my heart expanded further than I anticipated this morning.  My thanks to this child.  May gratitude fill my day, my life, and may all blessings be his.

I knew I should have brought out my camera on Friday, capturing the images of the shining daffodils and the amazing blossoms on a neighbor’s tulip tree.  Everything, including all the people I saw, seemed to follow the sun, soaking up the warmth and energy.  That night after all the kids were in bed, I sat by the outdoor fire that had toasted hot dogs and marshmallows so dutifully, feeling the wind and watching the moon and stars slowly disappear behind the clouds.  The forecast had promised snow the next day.  Could it be?

The next morning, the cinders had been extinguished by the rain that came.  I left for my Quiet Day in the continued drizzle and slightly above freezing temperatures — only 35 degrees below yesterday’s.  On my way home, after spending my day amidst lovely souls and the glowing of Spirit made manifest, the wintry mix began, then the snow.  Big flakes for this our Spring Equinox.

But the warmth of our busy kitchen and fireplace that night prevented any chill.  Homemade manicotti and at least an attempt at a new tiramisu recipe (I called it tirami-soup and wasn’t a fan). Our tummies were full, indeed!  And then we settled in for our snow day and the beginning of the kids’ Spring Break.

This week will be full of its own challenges.  After my already askew morning routine, I get to take the kids grocery shopping.  At least three eating times a day for six that feels like 10.  I’m getting a preview for this summer.  I read something last night that rang in my ears — several something’s in fact.  Excerpts from Cynthia Bourgeault’s The Wisdom Way of Knowing . . .

“We stand midway between the purely material and the purely energetic, with a full range of versatility in both.” (p. 54)

“. . . where we are is exactly where we belong and that our real purpose in the cosmos is fulfilled in the way that we move back and forth between these two planes of existence.” (p.54)

“Working within the raw materials of the physical world, we are to give ‘birthing’ and ‘body’ to the names of God so that the invisible becomes visible. We are midwives of the Spirit.” (p.55)

The book continues on, giving voice to so many of my thoughts and experiences.  Yes!  Someone else gets the same messages as me and has already traced routes through other traditions, found links and lineages.  I read on about surrender, letting go.

I rest assured that I am where I am supposed to be.  Mothers are surely a mirror through which God sees God’s self.  In other aspects, too, I have a responsibility to the energy I project, reflect, and participate in.

The sun is now melting the snow outside, leaving the ground a muddy mess, fertile, and full of possibilities.

“Presence is the straight and narrow gate through which one passes to Wisdom.”

Cynthia Bourgeault, The Wisdom Way of Knowing

When being present is as easy as enjoying a morning cup of coffee while listening to the doves cooing outside or retiring to bed after finishing a good read, life is light.  Sign me up for living life in the present moment!  This is the easy part.

It takes far more effort to be present when the kids plead for us to come play outside with them.  How could any decent parent deny a request for “tickle tag,” especially when the little boy is positively giddy with excitement?  Somehow we compromised and ended up outside in the garden while the kids played.  Promise of a weekend bonfire guaranteed more time together outdoors.

The effort to be present when the kids are screaming and arguing all around, when cleaning up all their garbage from the past weeks in the van (including leftover pancake and peanut butter — how long ago was that?!?), when at the end of the day no one has really done their chores or wants to do anything else, is supremely difficult for me.  I want the moment to be over.  I want to get to the moment that will be more enjoyable.

See.  That’s my laziness.  I don’t mind being present, mindful, what-have-you, so long as it doesn’t take too much energy on my part.  Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?  But I realize there’s no growth in that.  I have consciously boosted my awareness to include the more difficult moments.

Now, what might seem incredibly difficult for you probably isn’t for me.  I’m a doula; some of my greatest gifts for calm and comfort come in what can be highly stressful situations.  I’m not easily grossed out or afraid of the truly tragic. (Now, if someone beside me smells bad in the checkout line, I will likely make my “stinky face.”)  My most difficult lessons surround an appreciation and respect for myself and for those nearest and dearest to me, namely, my children.

I love being a student, though.  Regarding my children as the best teachers I’ve ever had increases my appreciation and respect for them.  One day they will understand this because I’m quite certain that right now they don’t!

So for now I’ll enjoy the present, realizing that time truly flies.  I led the La Leche League meeting yesterday without any children in tow.  I shared that my three-year-old had stayed the night with a friend, much to some shock, I’m sure.  But a fourth child brings a new level of letting go into the process of parenting.  I’m fully aware, though, that enjoying the present moment also means letting go of attachments.  I don’t have a baby anymore.  My oldest is a pre-teen.  The children are growing and changing every day.  I do myself and them a favor by savoring the time we share, the lessons we learn.

Wisdom is all around us.

Letting go of things I’m attached to is becoming a life lesson I’m getting used to, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel something when letting go.  Imagine an invisible umbilical cord to all the things you love and want to hang on to.  Favorite necklaces, earrings, dishes, relatives . . . at any point something can happen to sever an attached relationship.  Snip, and it’s gone.

Snip.  Snip.  Snip.

I suppose I was getting attached to my daughter’s long hair.  My son had long hair, but I wasn’t as attached to it.  I thought I was, but it was easy to let go and cut it when he was ready two weeks ago.  I wasn’t prepared to look around the corner and find my daughter standing amidst her locks, her friend holding the kid-scissors, smilingly proudly.  “Now Autumn has short hair, too!” she exclaimed.

I couldn’t help but laugh.  Indeed she did.  In that moment I could laugh or cry.  I could be angry or deal with it.  I opted for laughter and sent the girls to the bath.  I wasn’t planning on being stylist this night of pizza-making, but it had to be done.  Now Autumn’s hair is short, in a little bit of a choppy style, not incredibly unlike her older sister’s.  I’m not a trained stylist, after all.  While at it, I also trimmed the little friend’s hair.

It’s only hair.  They’re just kids.  It’s only life.  Why not experience every moment and choose life and love?  The practice keeps coming, the lessons growing stronger.

Life is sweet, and little girls with short hair can be so darn cute!

p.s. Uta, Autumn reminds us of Sonja! 

Among the many choices we have in this life, we get to choose what we eat.  We have options.  I’m sure animals in the wild have options, too.  They show preferences toward certain plants; some edibles are probably tastier than others.  They could eat the poisonous ones, but survival instincts tell them to steer clear.  Undoubtedly the human race would be better off if our survival instincts were so strong that we would opt not to put poison into our bodies.  I digress . . .

Our two older children have decided to become vegetarian, and so has one of their friends.  Lately, out of necessity, most of our meals have been vegetarian anyway, but now it’s becoming part of the meal planning.  Actually, we need to do more meal planning, incorporating intentional vegetarianism into the diet, making sure the nutritional value is there.

Being responsible parents, we did ask for their motives.  It may seem hard to believe, but “going vegetarian” can still be a fad.  We wanted to make sure their intentions were clear, good, and stable.  While we cannot be 100% sure, their dedication in the past week or two has shown stamina and dedication.  We even asked if they would prefer we only purchased local meat, where we could go see how the animals were treated.  The kids have said they’re not opposed to eating occasional fish, but otherwise, no meat.  I’ll have to learn how to cook fish (and stand the smell of it — ugh).  We move forward.

Fortunately, there are many resources to be had, both online and in print.  We also have friends who have wonderful recipes and are willing to share their experiential knowledge.  And my experience shows me that if you raise conscientious, free-thinking children, you have to be willing to work a little harder, go the extra mile, and support them in their endeavors and choices.  Nurture them; that’s another choice we have.

There’s something about those moments when you find yourself teaching your kids life lessons.  Not the lectures about how they know what’s right and wrong when you know they aren’t listening to you.  I’m talking about the times when they are open, particularly when they’re really young, particularly when they want to learn.

Our three-year-old has taken to counting the feet of our pets.  “Bodhi has four feet!” she exclaims excitedly.  “Cosmo has four feet, too!”  After breakfast this morning, while she was petting the cat, I asked how many ears he had.  She looked at me, and we entered the teachable moment.  What ensued was an exchange of information, imitation, question and response. I learned that she wanted to match holding up fingers to the amount of numbers.  I also learned that she holds up two fingers like a Vulcan or like a scout.  She’s learning about math, and I’m learning about her.

But teachable moments aren’t just happening for my kids.  I’m getting them, too. I have teachers guiding me, teaching me, nudging me into new and unchartered territory.  There’s nothing like jumping into something familiar and experiencing it as new.  There’s nothing like humility to keep you grounded and appreciative.  There’s nothing like raw experience, beautiful and awful as it may be, to keep you in the present moment.  I’m learning, too, and my teachers are learning about me with their own mother’s patience.

The underlying truth behind all this is that every moment is teachable.  We just may not know whether we are the teacher or the student.  The fact may be that we are both, and the lesson therein being that we have much to learn from both sides.

Again, thank you for teaching me and allowing me to teach you.

A busy day all around, and driving home in the dark, I realize I’ve missed my kids.  Lots of good work done during the day, lots of love and laughter shared, but I miss those waiting for me at home.  Knowing that a taste of chaos awaits me, with all of one hour to have the kids fed and in bed, I also know I don’t have time to make dinner.

At least it’s half-price burger night at Sonic.  Four burgers + two fries = 5 hungry bodies fed for under $15.  Plus, I don’t have to cook and can make the conference call.  I know.  We cringe at the thought of what the “beef” might include, but we don’t do this terribly often.  Well, maybe more often than I’d like to admit . . .

Sitting at the table, realizing this is the first glass of water I’ve had all day, I notice our icon in the middle of the table.  A family-size bottle of ORGANIC ketchup.  Yep.  Sonic on our plates, served with a side of organic ketchup.

I let the kids excitedly talk to me all at once.  I feel too much caffeine pulsing through my system.  Somehow I manage to get three of four kids in bed while participating in the conference call.  I love my family.

It’s the effort that counts, right? 

A friend of ours has neighbors who just opened a skating rink here in town, and would we like to join him for a skating and pizza party?  It’s one of those things that didn’t fit in our schedule, but I made it work.  Yes, we would love to.

While husband took the older kids to piano, I took the younger two to Starlight Skatorium.  After visiting with our dear friend, I spent what seemed like 20 minutes getting skates on the two restless ones and then crammed my feet into skates, too.

Oh.  My.  Goodness.

My six-year-old took off onto the rink, straight out into the flow of traffic, and then turned to move against the flow!  It was painful to watch, and I gave thanks that the place wasn’t busy, being a Wednesday night.  I couldn’t yell at him over the loud music — not that he would have listened to me anyway. He crawled part of the way to the middle of the rink.  I just had to wish him luck as I turned my attention to my three-year-old whom I was holding up on skates.  We made it a sixth of the way around the rink (basically to the next exit opportunity) before she was done.  I have to admit I was grateful because I wasn’t sure my core and arms could have made it all the way, either!  While taking off her skates, my 6yo reappeared and informed me he was done, too.

Are you sure?

Yes!

Skates off, it was time for Sprite and pizza, a double treat.  I had yet to make it around the rink myself.  Would I even be able to do it, or would I end up busting my butt?  The older kids arrived after lessons, ready to don their skates.  Of course now the younger two were ready again.  Another 20 minute venture.  Fortunately, I had just kept my skates on.

I suppose I fully embraced the craziness of it all.  Now I had four kids on skates. I let them drink soda and have carry-out pizza for dinner.  Hubby had another appointment, so I was skating solo.  Could I have done this even with one child eight years ago?  Probably not.

I realize that to some, I probably seemed like the 6yo jumping out into the middle of the rink, full of adventure, a devil-may-care attitude . . . sheer audacity. With the two older kids warming up to making it all the way around the rink and the other two using the skate-helpers to roll down an entrance ramp, I finally got to make a couple of rounds myself, totally recalling memories of my younger days.  Skating to loud music, disco lights, hokey-pokey, and 50s dress-up contests.  Good times (even though one time cost me a front tooth!).  Sometimes we just have to let go and enjoy the moment for what it is, trusting that all is well.

I hope our audacity continues to enrich our lives.