I cannot remember the last time we truly took a holiday weekend, or, rather, that I took a holiday.  There is something seemingly appropriate about a mom taking Labor Day as an excuse to kick back.

Truthfully, it started Friday when my daughter and I played our pajama day card.  The fact that I’m reading the Twilight series might have something to do with that, too (future post to comment on that one).  I was supposed to have a meeting with my spiritual director, but a change of plans led to a cancellation.  During our brief phone conversation, I mentioned my p.j. day with novel in tow, and she said it sounded like I was pretty well-balanced.  Would I be her spiritual director? she asked me.  That resulted in a good laugh, but I was glad she approved of my unkemptness.    I did manage to get dressed, pick up kids from school, and make it that night to a delightful cookout at my cousin’s house with her family.  My day felt rich and full.

Saturday we slept in.  Then I went out and purchased a bike trailer.  I haven’t truly ridden my bike, even a bike, in almost eleven years (the age of my eldest daughter), if not longer.  But I felt a sense of determination.  This is something I was going to do, not only for myself but for the family as well.  Home from that, I left with my girls to meet a friend and her daughter to go on a bike ride along the trails in our city.  I hadn’t been on them before, even to walk, and I loved it — sore derriere aside.  I don’t know how many miles it was, but it was beautiful outside, overcast, the rain holding off for the late evening/early morning hours.  I truly felt the beginner’s mind on our trip, being very much in the moment.  You never forget how to ride a bike, but I got reacquainted with my gears.  I went on faith that the girls were okay behind me in the trailer.  At one point, they were sprayed with mud slung from my tire; a little while later they were almost asleep.  We got back an hour late, but we came home to a clean house, thanks to my dearest, and immediately submerged ourselves into a small dinner party.  The yummy dessert wine that concluded our feast was a testament to sweet enjoyment all around (I hope!).  I slept so well.

As if that weren’t enough to wrap up a most lovely weekend, we topped even that.

After church Sunday morning, we came home and prepared for another day outdoors.  We planned on rock climbing, but why not take the canoe on her maiden voyage (for our family, anyway).  My husband and I realized we can load the canoe on the van by ourselves (and get it off).  We also discovered what fun it is, even just on a lake, taking turns with the children.  But most fun for me was the time I got to take by myself.  Not only am I reading Twilight, but I am also premenstrual; truthfully, I could have been a recluse all weekend and have been just as content, though not nearly so healthy.  My dear girlfriends suggested I take my book out on the canoe and read in peace, not worrying about the children.  I wasn’t climbing anyway due, I supposed, to PMS lack of energy.  I took the canoe out.

“Where are you going, Mom?!” my 5-year-old shouted after me from the bank.

“I’m running away!” I shouted back with a laugh.  “Be back soon!”

I thought the “lake” seemed small, but it was enough to float in nicely in the late afternoon sun, reading a few more chapters.  The loudness of our children beckoned me back, their voices along with others along the wooded trail, reminding me of my responsibilities.  Come to find out, the lake is bigger; I just didn’t go around the bend.  There’s always next time.

Back home, we enjoyed yet another dinner together with our friends, finishing off the leftover soup, replenishing the sides.  Sleep found us quickly.

Labor Day, I did actually make myself do some work on the house that was showing signs of neglect, even after having been clean on Saturday.  Sunday night I even dreamed of mounds of laundry that were just a little to close to the real thing.  By the end of the day, the house looked and felt better, and I could settle in to read some more with good conscience.

The weather was beautiful all weekend, especially with the evening storms.  I appreciated feeling the muscles in my body.  I appreciated the rests I took.  I enjoyed the time spent away in books.

Mostly, though, I am grateful for the awareness, the time, the being, the relationships nurtured.  We should spend more weekends like this with even more of our family and friends.  Many thanks to all.

All that’s left of last night’s magical family dinner is a heaping bit of ashes in our backyard make-shift fire pit.  Reheated leftovers and fresh canteloupe might not sound magical, but a quick meal for mom is.  Partner that with fading light, newly-mowed yard and crackling fire; you can almost hear the twinkle in the children’s eyes above their giddy laughter and chatter.  To top it all off, we had s’mores.  Yes, even on a school night, and I pretended not to notice how many marshmallows the kids were really eating, though I did close up the bag and keep everything right beside me.  It was a perfect dinner together.

Right now I’m reading a book called The Great Emergence by Phyllis Tickle.  This “Emergent Christianity” talk has a way of getting people talking for sure.  Where I am in the book at the moment, she’s talking about the different points in history that change our perception and understandings of our reality.  At this point, she’s talking about women’s rights, on up to the point now where both parents in the family are working.  Family dinners together are no longer the sacred time they once were.  The family works to pay for the house.  Both parents work to have a sense of personal, social and financial freedom.  The house is a resting place for both parents and the children who are exhausted from a full day at school and/or day care.

I’m not further than that right now, but if, like my kids do in their reading classes, I were to make a prediction, I would say that she’s going to say our next shift has to be from working to the point of exhaustion to working at that which brings us energy, fills us up.  If we work solely to pay the bills, it seems we do sell ourselves out.  We’re draining that which invigorates us, and not only from ourselves but from our families as well.  Our children sense it.  We sensed it from our parents, right?  Precious few of us, and maybe there are actually more than I realize, got to witness our elders doing what they loved.  The work ethic from the Depression to the Consumerism of the 80′s led to the workaholics we know only too well.  But now there’s an employment crisis, partnered with this seeking, this longing.  People wonder what they’re “supposed” to be doing.  Yes, pay the bills, but what’s my “purpose”?

Michele Odent, a renowned OB-GYN, was quoted in The Business of Being Born as saying that, like a traveler who realizes he/she is lost, you have to go back to where you were on the path before you took a wrong turn.  He was talking about midwifery care being the right path, and the alienation of them being the wrong turn.  The analogy works for us, though, too.  Families striving to accumulate material wealth doesn’t cut it anymore.  Yes, both parents or both partners need to work at something.  Both need to feel appreciation, accomplishment, success and a sense of service to others, but it doesn’t always have to be outside the home.  It doesn’t have to be white collar.  It would seem that we are on the brink of realizing that the place of judgement isn’t ours.  We have to work to help each other.  We need to realize that we all have gifts and help each other live into those gifts as fully as possible.  How do we do that?  I haven’t the foggiest, but I’m sure my children will be part of a generation that learns to live that way.  I do hope so.

I’m curious to see what Tickle says about our current era, where she sees us going and how.  I know it seems like my husband and I have a rather traditional relationship; it works for us for him to work and me do what I consider my work from home or through church.  But now he’s out of the corporate realm.  We share home tasks.  We’re showing our kids what a partnership is like.  We also revel in the blessing of extended family.  Hopefully we’ve been able to keep the right things on our path as we’re moving forward and find that which keeps us invigorated.

The only thing that would have made last night even more perfect would have been if dearest and I had had enough energy after getting the kids to bed to go back out by the fire and watch the coals burn down, just the two of us on the quilt, wrapped up together in my shawl.  Maybe next time.

There’s “spring cleaning,” and I figure what I’m going through now is “fall clearing” — when it’s time to clear the clutter, make some organizational shifts, and make sure my priorities are in line before the long nights of winter set in. (It only seems far off; we know how time gets away from us.)  Honestly, the coming fall fills me with as much excitement as spring, just in a different way.

The days have just been hot enough to make you sweat, and many nights have been cool enough to cut the a/c and open the windows.  I sense a pull to what is natural, intuitive.  I’m making decisions based on a gut feeling, and great things are happening, however seemingly small they might be.

All this is related in that by clearing out some of the stuff that’s filling my days, my house, my mind, I am making room for quiet, for creativity, for Divine energy to move about and through me.  I love being aware of the synchronicities as they unfold, and I love having time to participate in them.  I offer unbounded thanks to those who are able and willing to participate with me.

This morning, after daddy took the older children to school, I was clearing the breakfast table (from a yummy feast of omelets and potato cakes).  Table clear, dog having eaten the leftovers, I gathered up the compost.  The youngest had been going in and out the back door, revelling in her ability to open and close the sliding glass door, talking in her suddenly realized vocabulary about the cat and dog being in and out, out and in.  I watched her through the window when she was outside making a barricade of her body so the cat couldn’t go any further.  Of course, the cat just walked around her.  Suddenly, she ran inside to get a “tiny bowl.” “Mommy come?” she asked.  I slipped on my shoes and grabbed the compost.  It was time again to get a little raspberry snack.  I dumped my bowl of scraps and grounds and then searched with childlike enthusiasm for the dark red treats, wondering why I had ever worried about the birds and the bugs getting them all.  We have to share.  With our snack-sized bounty, we turned to the house.  Behind the glass door, I saw my husband smiling, coffee in hand, and I relished the moment when our little one realized her daddy was back home.

It truly is the little moments that make life rich, even if we tend only to remember the big events.  As I continue my late summer and early fall clearing, I hope to continue to embrace the time given to do what need be done but also be who and where I need to be.  I wish no less for you, with love.

The anticipation in my oldest child leading up to the first day of school nearly pushed me over the edge.  I was ready to trash the school supplies and send her to school with a piece of paper and a pencil.

The second child got stung by a wasp the night before school started and still has residual swimmer’s ear (which will probably lead to a doctor’s appointment soon).  This probably attributed toward his emotional instability before and after his first day at school.

Our third and wild child who started kindegarten this year seems to be doing the best of all — at least outside the classroom.  Could it be that our seemingly most troublesome child is actually the healthiest?  He has consistent behavior and seems to be going with the flow.

Our fourth child informed me she wanted to go to school, too, yesterday.   However, this morning, after being awakened at 7am, she’s not so keen on the early morning school thing.  She’s still in her jammies after 9.

I share all this not only to document my children’s first day of school but also to comment on the different perspectives we take in life.  I remember the excitement, the anxiety, the anticipation not only of first days but of first kisses, first love, first home, first birth.  I hope to experience many more firsts.

Onward now in my spiritual journey and life in general, I realize that part of living life to the fullest is to experience every moment as a first, to bring the childlike enthusiasm to the moment — a beginner’s mind.  I am so quick to make things routine, anxious to make it a habit so that I don’t have to think about it.  There’s nothing wrong with making something healthy a habit, but only if I can do so with awareness and an open mind.

So now I get to practice.  Bring the enthusiasm of the first day of school (that helped me get up at 5:40 am) into every morning.  To make breakfast and help prepare lunches with a happy heart, blessing the food that it might nourish my beautiful, brilliant children.  And then I can move onto practicing in other moments, as if they were the first or might be the last.

“Today is the first rainy day” at my new school, my daughter told us this morning.  Oh, that I might appreciate this day as such.

photo: everystockphoto.com by bies — no, not my child because the only picture i took was on my phone!

Is it mere coincidence that when I water the garden and plants with water from the rain barrel, it rains?  Yesterday we were blessed with a delightful summer storm . . . delightful if you don’t think too badly of the hail accompanying it.  When I think that my barrel will surely dry up, it gets refilled.

In our household, we’re in the last two weeks of summer vacation.  Tension is high, and add to that a full moon this weekend.  My best intentions for this summer, as ever, remain just that — intentions.  But I don’t think the children have been too deprived.  Their white bottoms and tanned appendages affirm plenty of time in the water.  There’s been a summer camp for the older kids and plenty of playdates for the younger ones.  A couple of hikes and plenty of late nights (and more movies than I care to admit, though I will admit to the drive-in!).  Now, however, it’s time to start transitioning to earlier bed times, morning risings and a tighter budget.

With so many expectations past and present, we need a good dose of assurance that our time has been and is well-spent.  The coming consistencies and seeming restraints are welcome, however hard they may seem.  It’s nice to know that when we least expect it yet when we need it most, we’ll be blessed with what we need and probably even more, as is usually the case.  And it never fails that when I think surely I can’t make it through another day with an ounce of sanity left, I get a respite and/or find the calm in the storm.  I must remember, too, that sometimes it is my responsibility to fill the well of  patience, to feed the creativity.  (Hence, the current knitting/felting project.)

May we all remember to keep our barrels full but not stagnant, to keep the stream of Light and Love ever-flowing through our lives.

There is a charm in planning out a week, having a shopping day, a wash day, cleaning day, etc.  Somehow, though, it seems like that system would just not work at all for my family.  Do many still have such a method?  How, I wonder, could it work for this family of six?

Then I realize, of course, that it depends upon simplicity.  When you have closets and drawers full of clothes, it takes more effort to keep them washed and put away.  With so much stuff, it takes more effort to keep it tidy and dusted.  With one person trying to keep up after herself and five others, the work becomes insurmountable.  I’d like to say I have a system, but my “system” barely keeps me afloat.  At least three loads of laundry per day.  At least one dishwasher full and some time for the hand-washable dishes.  Run-throughs at least twice a day to tidy.  A good day will see some sweeping and a quick vacuum.  (Did I mention a cat and a dog, too?)

But those are just daily chores.  What about the bouts of creativity?  Daughter would like a cover for her DS.  Sewing projects abound to be finished.  Christmas gifts?  Pottery bowls?  Twenty-four hours per day.

A couple of fellow moms lately have called me a super-mom.  Don’t be fooled, I warn them.  I may do much, but never all at the same time.

And today I have a home day . . . at least for the first half.  I have to balance what must be done with what I feel needs to be done to maintain that mysterious balance.  It does involve enlisting the help of minors in the cleaning department.

We can only do so much, but all must be done with a happy heart.

Some weeks are just going to be hectic.  A big project, a big event, any reason for excitement and borderline anxiety will do it for this family.  Not only is this upcoming weekend the retreat I love so much (and for which I am also the speaker), but this week is also the week I wanted to start monitoring my son’s diet, eliminating gluten and dairy (reasons are for another post).

Amidst all the busy-ness, I do what I can for the kids.  Sometimes, they will eat cake for lunch (after a healthy, hearty, late-morning snack, of course).  This won’t be the day we eliminate gluten.  Cake sounds good to me, too.

During my phone call with my friend, my youngest — nonverbal — child comes to me smelling like mint, more precisely like toothpaste, showing me her white-covered hands.  It looks like it could be icing.  After all, her mouth is still blue and green.  No, she smells like toothpaste.  A bathroom check and hand-washing confirms that she has, indeed, squirted out quite a bit, smearing it into the sink.  The good news is that her toothbrush is out, too.  Bless her heart!  She wanted to brush her teeth after all that sugary cake!  This is the comfort I give myself.  Naturally, I’m hoping she didn’t eat it.  I’ve made that poison control call before.

A deep breath.  There’s no real harm done, even after she takes the cake server and mutilates the rest of the cake.  I can’t be everywhere at once.  She has reason for angst.  I have reason for cake (though it doesn’t look nearly as appetizing anymore!).  We’ll just have to see each other through this, and I’ll have to remember that a mother’s sense of calm is sometimes her best coping mechanism.

My
mom is a neverending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and
being.  I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the
tune. 

Recently on my FaceBook profile, I wrote in my status that I wished we could talk about that which we most feared.  I wrote this because lately I have wanted to talk to people about death, even their own, but haven’t felt that it is socially acceptable.  Who am I even to feel I have the right to ask them about what might very well be their greatest fear?

We do not know the number of our days.  We may not know until the very end when our work here is done.  In that simple knowledge, we live our lives.  In that knowledge, we trust that every moment we share is significant, that we have work to do, even if it’s just offering a smile of maternal love, an assurance to a friend, or accepting that we do not know but surrendering ourselves to that which is Good.

May Wendy‘s soul rest in peace, her love surround her husband and boys, friends and family.

The best conversations with mothers always take place in silence, when only the heart speaks. 

I *love* Scrabble (which is trademark protected and copyrighted, I’m sure).  Though the temperature rose well over freezing, the kids are not excited about going out in the mud and falling icicles.  So, indoors it is, and with a parent-enforced t.v. ban in effect, the board games make a comeback.

A great one for us Scrabble lovers and pre- to early reading level kids is, of course, Scrabble Junior.  Ours happens to be a Disney version (all due trademarks there, too!).  I think it would be fantastic to make your own version, but we’ll wait until the next snow days to try that one.

And, a little letter fun (for mature audiences) came into play when we were telling our 8-year-old the difference between an “M” and a “W.”  The “M” for man is naturally boxy, and it has a little thing hanging down between its legs.  The “W” for woman, according to my husband, is curvy (at least slanted but definitely when in cursive) and has two things hanging down as in the breasts or butt cheeks.  My son was trying not to burst out laughing, chuckling the whole time, contributing to the conversation with his own artistic observations.

I’m sure he’ll never forget the differences again, and I’ll savor the humor and joy at laughing with him.

There are lots of reasons to be happy today, not the least of which being because today holds monumental significance.  One of the reasons for us happens to be because of the fifth birthday of my third child.  We no longer have any babies in the house, though the youngest will claim the role any day.

We didn’t go all out and make all the materials from scratch; it’s a box cake mix and pre-made icing.  It’s the love you mix in with it all that counts!

So, wherever your creative bliss finds you today, whether it’s sending a birthday card to a loved one, stitching something hopeful or figuring out how to watch t.v. while keeping up with Facebook all at once, may your day be as sweet as ours.