Dangerous Beauty

We’re in our car, the whole family plus our two dogs, on the freeway headed North out of the city towards Flagstaff. And we’re at a complete standstill. No cars are moving. Snow is falling furiously all around us, blanketing the road in soft white. Daylight is fading. It’s cold. Our immediate situation is slightly alarming, but a simple glance out the frosted window reveals a breathtakingly stunning world of snowflakes, almost too pretty to be real. The trees and hills give the impression of absolute peace, quieted by the snow. It is beauty and danger in one. My family is stuck right in the middle.

Our day began like any other Saturday. We rushed to the soccer fields where we spent an exciting morning of play. Afterwards we came home, ate lunch and packed up. Our plan was to spend the long weekend up at the cabin, a favorite family getaway. Shortly before we left our home the skies broke open and let loose a downpour of rain on the Valley. Big, fat drops of steady rain. It rained continuously and impressively on our journey through Gilbert, Scottsdale, Phoenix and well beyond the city limits as we crept North to our destination.

Roughly 40 miles before our exit the rain abruptly turned to snow. Thick, full snowflakes fluttered down from the sky and buried the road at an extraordinary rate. We proceeded on undeterred in our efforts, eager to reach the warmth of the cabin. Little by little, however, the roads worsened, until all traffic lurched along at a stop and go crawl. Several cars stopped altogether, unable to handle the thickening snow-filled street. Other cars, better prepared ones, pulled over and hurriedly strapped chains on their tires. Most of us continued to swerve around on the increasingly icy conditions, hoping and praying to make it.

At 20 miles South of our exit all cars did indeed come to a full halt. I have no idea what caused the total obstruction but it was definite. We sat here for what seemed a very long time. In actuality it was probably close 20 minutes. All we could do was sit and wait and watch. We watched the intimidating clouds loom above us. We marveled at the sheer amount of snow falling, hiding the road we were supposed to travel on. We worried at the speedily fading daylight. We hoped for the best but quietly, mentally made plans in case we came face to face with the worst. Yet, we also enjoyed the exquisite white wonderland growing and expanding before our very eyes. Dangerous beauty indeed.

Miraculously the cars in front of us began to move again. Well, at least some of them did. Other cars remained firmly in place, stuck despite heroic efforts to break free from the icy, snowy cage they found themselves in. All of these stranded drivers were on their cell phones, calling for assistance. Those of us who were able to get our wheels moving eased our way at a snail’s pace, weaving in and out of our fellow travelers forced to remain behind. After initially swerving and skidding without actually producing any forward movement, our tires caught hold of some traction and pulled us out. Whew!!! A BIG sigh of relief was audible from everyone. We joined the train of creeping vehicles and inched our way out of the mess.

The rest of the drive continued at this pace, never exceeding 20 miles per hour. The roads were entirely white, no concrete visible at all. It was slippery, it was scary, it was a tense drive to say the least. But we did finally make it to our treasured cabin, safe, sound and whole. I couldn’t have asked for anything more and I’ll tell you, that little cabin never looked so good as we rounded the corner and pulled in the driveway. Blessed refuge!

The rest of the weekend turned out to be full of unexpected adventure as well. Craziness sprung at us right and left, keeping us on our toes, but also adding to the experience. There is way too much detail to include in this blog entry. I guess you’ll just have to wait for the book! (Yes, I really am writing a book and the happenings of this weekend will be included in its pages).

Chocolate Hog

I pick up a few items from the store for my oldest son’s Crazy Hair Day at school the next day. The plan is to spike it all up using hair glue then color it blue with colored hair spray. Driving home from school I tell him about this which of course makes him want to inspect the products as soon as we get back. Upon arrival we all stumble out of the car and make our way in. The boys both run straight upstairs to see who can catch the first glimpse. My daughter (21 mos), who takes much longer to make her way up two flights of stairs, holds back at the bottom, hoping for me to carry her. “Come on”, I say “You can do it, follow us up.” Then I bound, up eager to witness my son’s excitement.

I enter the room in time to hear exclamations of “Oh this is so cool!” and “I want to color my hair blue too!” and “I can’t wait, let’s put it on now!”. “Whoa boys” I reply, “All this is for tomorrow, not right now. You’ll have all day long to wear it, don’t worry.” We continue conversing about exactly how we should spike the hair and what it will look like. A few minutes later we’re done and head back downstairs. I never even realize that my daughter has failed to make an appearance.

As I walk down the stairs I spot her. She is all the way across the room, on the far side of the kitchen where our table rests. She has pulled a chair back and climbed up. Her face is crammed so full she is unable to close if fully and she is laboriously chewing as fast as she can. When she looks and sees me she chews even faster.

It is just a few days after Valentine’s Day and our sons both returned from their prospective schools with huge boxes full of candy. These boxes have been temporarily stored at one end of our kitchen table. This is where my daughter is now. I see candy wrappers, at least five, strewn about the table in front of her. She has a chocolate trickle running down her face and onto her shirt and she is in the middle of unwrapping yet another chocolate heart.

“Stop!” I yell. “No more candy! Do not put that piece in your mouth!” She eyes me and ever so slowly begins to move her hand, which is desperately clutching the candy, upward toward her mouth. “I said no more.” I say in a low, even tone. I am not messing around. “Put it down”. She continues her slow movement, intent on snabbing just one more bite of yummy. What, does she think if she moves slowly I won’t see her? “Put it down now. That’s enough.” This whole time I am approaching her as I descend the stairs and cross the kitchen. I reach her just in time to snatch the chocolate piece out of her hand as she is about to jam it into her already over-crowded mouth.

My question is, how long did it take her to hatch this plan? Did she make a run for it as soon as I bolted up the stairs? Or did she sit and ponder for a second. “I don’t want to climb the stairs. It takes me forever. By the time I reach the top they’ll all be coming back down again. It happens every day. What should I do? Wait here or begin my climb? Aha! I know! The candy! They left all the precious candy at the table. If I hurry….”

Well regardless of the thought process, hurry she did. We were only away from her for about five minutes, max. Her mouth was so full it was comical. I wanted to burst out laughing. She looked like a cute, blonde chipmunk! I can’t blame her though. Anyone who knows me can surely attest to the fact that she is indeed my daughter. I would have done the same, I think. Chocolate is my great weakness.

Vomit In My Hair

My back aches, my legs are cramped, the house is a mess and I have a small amount of vomit in my hair… And yet, my heart is full and I feel great.

A nasty virus has been making its way through our community. So far our family has steered clear of the bug, until this morning that is, when my baby daughter (21 mos) woke up and promptly vomited. The rest of us are still healthy (fingers crossed!).

Initially I was bummin’ pretty hard upon learning of my daughter’s illness. Firstly for the most obvious reason, a sick child is distressing and difficult to care for. I’ve heard horror stories of this flu bug from others. It’s violent and completely miserable. Enduring such agony yourself is hard enough. Watching your child suffer through it, knowing they don’t understand what is wrong, is heartbreaking. As a mother, I hate feeling helpless as my son or daughter is struggling.

Another reason I was bummed out this morning is because I had to stay home and miss out on soccer. Both my boys have soccer games Saturday mornings and I am even the coach for one of them. I love these mornings. They’ve turned into a fun-filled family tradition for us over the years. Missing out on cheering for my kids and coaching my team is a big disappointment. (My husband did not have the option of remaining at home with our daughter because not only is he also a soccer coach, but he’s the Site Coordinator for the league, making his presence kinda necessary. )

However, I pick up my sick daughter and clean her up. We make our way downstairs and head directly for the couch. She is clearly miserable and wants nothing more than to crumple into my arms. I oblige. I then survey the area. I cringe. The house is a mess. Friday nights are late for us as my husband and I play our own soccer games. Then we’re up and at ‘em again first thing in the morning for the boys’ games. This means that the house is usually left in disarray until I clean it up properly after returning later in the day. Last night the dishwasher was full of clean dishes and due to our tiredness, instead of clearing it out and re-filling it, we just piled up all the dirty ones in the sink. Some got left on the surrounding countertops as well. Yuck. A few toys are scattered about the floor that the kids failed to tidy appropriately and a pile of clean, folded laundry is patiently sitting on the couch just waiting to be put away.

I sigh audibly. I hate messes. I spend a good portion of every day cleaning up after everyone in order to keep a clutter-free house. In reality I fail miserably at this task, having three young, active children plus a husband. But I try, nonetheless. So I’m sitting here holding my precious little girl, getting a good look at my littered house, and every fiber in my being is yearning to break free and clean it all up. I literally have to force myself to remain seated. I know I need to be a good mom and be with my daughter, but I am dying to rescue my house. As I’m contemplating my mental conflict my daughter begins to throw up again. We race to the sink and I hold her frail body over the side as she empties the contents of her stomach. Poor thing.

I spend the next three hours repeating this procedure. I hold her for about 15-20 minutes, then we rush to the sink just in time for her to hurl. I wipe her face off, give her a sip of water, then sit back down. About thirty minutes into the routine I begin to let go of my cleaning obsession and relax. I realize, quite suddenly how fortunate I am at this precise moment. I get to spend uninterrupted hours alone with my baby. This never happens! I never just sit with any of my kids. They are way too active to sit. Not only are we sitting, but I am holding her closely. Her body molds into mine as she lays back against me, completely trusting her being to me. It’s a heartwarming feeling.

Now, instead of feeling anxious about my unkempt house and disappointed at missing out on the soccer games, I feel exhilarated that I have this special time with my child. She needs me and I am here for her, completely and wholly here for her. No distractions, no other obligations, nothing. Right now she is my only concern. I release everything else and relish this bonding. My boys are with their father, I secured another coach to sub for me, and the dirty dishes will still be there later. There truly is nothing hindering me from giving my all to my daughter. So I do.

Three hours later I am still holding her, in basically the same position, thus the aches and pains in my body. We have made numerous trips to the sink (the poor girl is definitely not well) but she has dozed off and been blissfully snoozing for a half hour. I’m so glad she’s asleep. She can finally get a break from the horrendous vomiting. I slowly stand up and carry her upstairs to bed. My heart is full. And I will be here still when she wakes up. In the meantime I’m just going to quickly wash her vomit out of my hair…

Be A Player

Today’s entry is an invitation for you to participate in some type of physical activity, be it a regular class at the gym, a community sponsored class, or an organized sport. Take your pick: volleyball, softball, soccer, basketball, zumba, tennis, roller derby, lacrosse, boot camp, anything.

I think everybody should play a sport or participate in some type of organized physical activity. The reason stems from my own experience. I play on a soccer team and I have a blast even though I am horrible and have no idea what I’m doing. It’s true. I joined a recreational coed soccer team a few months after my daughter was born. I’ve played three seasons and just began my fourth. However, I have never had a real practice, nor have I ever been taught how to play by a coach. My skills (which are nothing to brag about) have been entirely acquired on the field. I learn as I go. But the important part, and the entire reason for this blog entry, is that it is FUN!

My very first soccer game I was so nervous I couldn’t even see, I was blinded by black spots that invaded my vision. I wasn’t even informed of the rules. I had a general understanding of the basics: no hands, kick the ball towards the goal but I harbored no strategy and I could not get my feet to do what my brain was telling them to do, they just never had to perform in this manner before and were completely unaccustomed to these new moves.

I have slowly gained knowledge of the sport over the months although I’m still very rookie-like in my performance. But for me that’s not the point. You see I know I suck, I know I look goofy, I know I make many mistakes. That’s why I only play recreationally. For me, even though I am super competitive and absolutely love to win, I don’t make soccer about winning. I can’t. I’m not trained and I have minimal experience. I have no foundation to compete from. Instead I have fun. I choose to simply enjoy the game, the exercise, the interaction, the company.

Engaging on a weekly basis with people I would otherwise never see, and some who I would never otherwise meet, does marvels for my well being. There is no pressure to be awesome on my team. We just play. If we win, fabulous, if we lose, no biggie. We’re not there purely for competitive points, we’re there to enjoy, really enjoy, the experience. Win or lose, good game or bad, I always walk away feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, happy and fulfilled. Obviously I would rather win and I strive to play well, but if it doesn’t happen, it’s ok. I still have fun.

Being involved in this type of team effort boosts my morale. I cheer for my teammates, I get excited for the challenge, I burn a lot of calories, I laugh, and heck, I even improve my game and learn a little bit more each time. Plus, as a stay at home mom, the adult interaction is wonderful, an added bonus .

As human beings we crave physical stimulation. We are created as physical beings, built for activity. Our bodies, minds and spirits all respond well to action. Energy is allowed to move freely and abundantly, releasing endorphins and producing health and vitality.

Playing organized sports is more than “just a game”. It’s exercise, bonding, learning, challenging, engaging, rewarding, interactive. It’s emotional, technical and physical thereby involving all parts of your person. Therefore, even if you suck like I do (or think you suck), even if you’ve never played before, even if you don’t know anyone on the team, I encourage you to at least try. You may just find a new love. 

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The Time Of My Life

We celebrated my husband’s birthday over the weekend. It was a fantastic evening. The house was overflowing with people, kids were running around everywhere, the food was delicious, the conversation was upbeat and fun, and an overall sense of excitement filled the air. It was one of those nights thoroughly enjoyed by all.

My husband and I are experiencing a stage of life where our friends are almost all couple friends, meaning he and I are friends with both spouses of the other couple. For many years I had my group of girlfriends and he had his group of guy friends. On occasion we would get together with the other person’s friends, but for the most part our outings were separate. They were mainly Gils Night and Guys Night.

Over the course of the years a string of occurrences have taken place which have resulted in us losing contact with most of our separate groupings of friends and instead forming friendships with other couples. This is not a bad thing, in fact, it’s been a very natural progression as our life continues to change and evolve. Right now is actually a great time in our lives because most of our activities involve either our entire family or my husband and I together. Our couple friends have children as well so family activities are frequent. We host or attend pool parties, BBQs, birthday parties, sporting events, park days, game nights and the like on a regular basis. These gatherings are chaotic and crowded to be sure but they are also some treasured memory makers.

Engaging in such activities with my husband and children as well as with friends makes them all extra special. This means that a typical soccer game for my sons on Saturday has now also become a morning spent with friends, complete with conversation, playful banter and fun times.

I am blessed to count my parents and siblings in this group as well. All my siblings are married and all have kids, excepting one. My family is a consistent part of my life and we routinely all gather together.

Every phase of my life has been an important one. Every stage has held meaning and has prepared me for the one to follow. I am overjoyed as I embrace this particular time in my life, the young family stage. I feel so lucky to be where I am, to know such wonderful people, to engage with other families, to watch my kids grow and form friendships, to laugh with and be with my husband and our friends together, to share in life so fully with my entire family. It is such a treat.

Looking around the room the other night at our house full of people, all there to celebrate my husband’s life, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with gratitude and happiness. I am blessed with an amazing family and superb friends. This is a good phase in life, one of my favorites. May it continue for years to come. 

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The Keeper of my Children..... And Everybody Else's.....

As I write these words all I can hear are shrieks of laughter behind me, shrieks so loud they entirely drown out any other sounds competing to be heard in the vicinity. But they are indeed shrieks of laughter. I’ll take them. Even if it means barely being able to concentrate as I write.

My children and a neighborhood friend are the sources of these shrieks. They are engaged in some sort of game, I think this one might involve tickling. Today is a holiday and my children have been playing like today is the last day of play forever since about noon. It is now 7pm. We just finished dinner, our neighbor friend stayed to join us. But besides this break for dinner they have been going at it full-steam-ahead for nearly seven straight hours.

We are blessed to live in a neighborhood full of children close in age to my own. My boys think a day without play is akin to pure torture. Unless we have soccer practice they can usually squeeze in an hour or two with their friends most week days, in between homework and dinner (we always eat together as a family), on the weekends it’s usually much longer. I am with them for a great majority of this time. For starters my 20 month old daughter longs to be a part of the group. She (obviously) needs constant parental supervision so I need to be wherever she is. We have fabulous weather this time of year so the kids are outside 90% of the time, my daughter included, and by default, myself included. My daughter, bless her, tries her best to keep up with the “big” kids (they range in age from 4 to 7). She’s usually at least 20 paces behind. By the time she finally reaches the group they’re off to the next activity. No problem, she just follows along, and yes, so do I.

My boys are allowed to be semi-independent on occasion. The moments where it is impossible for me to be with them I give them a walkie-talkie to use. They are well trained in answering me when I call and informing me of their location every single time they move. It’s not the same as me being there in person, but it’s much better than permitting them to roam free (as a few of the other kids their age do). And by our neighborhood, I mean one street. We live on the back end of the development so there are zero through streets. Ours is the last stop, it’s a pretty safe area with very low traffic and all the kids know not to leave our street. Most of them comply.

Back to the shrieks. These kids operate under one volume: loud. This is normal for kids playing together, but there is a difference between happy shrieks and unhappy shrieks. Happy shrieks, though loud and somewhat interfering, I can handle, in fact I enjoy them. Unhappy shrieks on the other hand are unbearable. Fighting, whining, complaining….. Ugh! I either ignore it and let them duke it out on their own, which works quite well much of the time, or I intervene and appear as Evil Mama. Trust me, you do not want to cross Evil Mama! She does not mess around. (When you are the only parent supervising a group of at least 5 kids you can’t give an inch… or else you lose.)

Most of the time spent with our neighborhood kids is wonderful. The kids get tons of activity (bikes are a big hit) and use their imagination (army games seem to be “the” game at the moment, they’re always on some secret mission or other). And a few other parents are usually out there watching over their kids so the adults can congregate and converse as well. Yes, there are squabbles. Yes, feelings get hurt. And on occasion, yes, someone does get pummeled. But isn’t this part of growing up? Isn’t this where each personal character begins to take shape and is molded? Isn’t this how it’s supposed to be? All in all it’s a very safe place to grow up, not only physically but mentally and emotionally as well. Most of the kids come from loving families that do their best to instill values and raise healthy, well-adjusted children.

Unfortunately, there are a few parents who are rarely seen, some never seen. Nevertheless their kids are free to run the streets. For a while I was angry, and quite frankly, concerned by this lack of supervision. Like I said, the oldest of our group is only 7. I thought it unfair that only a couple of us care for and watch over all the children. I was upset that I was constantly out there alone (or accompanied by only one other parent), or their kids were constantly in my home, while they were doing who knows what (I honestly have no idea what some parents do while their children are gone for hours on end).

After a time of entertaining these thoughts I realized they were doing nothing but causing unnecessary negativity within my being. The situation wasn’t any different but I was becoming increasingly annoyed and irritated. I finally realized how dumb I was being and told myself to get over it already! I came to realize that I was actually being given a precious and important gift. I was (I am) able to be with my children, as their guardian, instructor and support all the time. I am involved with each of my three children almost every hour of the day. I am also very involved with their friends nearly every day. How great is this?! I am laying a foundation of trust and involvement that will stand firm (hopefully!) for the years to come. My kids are used to my presence and my involvement in their lives, without being overbearing. I give them independence... while keeping a watchful eye. 

My desire is for this closeness to take a firm hold within my children and flourish so that in the years to come I will be “let in” as they grow, change and mature, as they dive in to new phases and stages of life, as they experience new things and feelings (some good, some challenging). There won’t be a need to prove myself worthy of their trust, I’ll have gained it already through my years of consistent and constant “being there”. Who knows, I may even be honored with “being there” for some of their friends as well.

I no longer resent my position as one of the only supervising parents. I now acknowledge it for the privilege that it is. I strive to be a positive influence for them all, watching over them, helping fix their bikes or boo-boos, offering snacks or water, laughing at jokes, watching them perform a “cool move”, calming a dispute and every once in a while, when necessary, unleashing Evil Mama.

I am truly blessed and truly grateful.

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Chimpanzee/Kangaroo

I hate to admit this and yet I must face the facts. My 21 month old daughter has me (the mother!) very well trained. I feel like her pet animal that she has carefully and painstakingly groomed and trained over months of deliberate, yet secretive work. How in the world did this happen? Boy is she good! I am supposed to be the one doing the training, not her. She’s so sneaky…

I didn’t even realize this fact until just the other day. I was explaining to my neighbor what my daughter does and it hit me like a lightning bolt, she has me trained. She’s managed to teach me how to hold her for about 80% of the time she’s up and awake.

I lovingly (ok, sometimes after a long day not so lovingly) call her my little monkey because she literally clings to me like a monkey, a cute little baby chimpanzee. You can’t help but love one even if it destroys the house and throws poo at you. No, my daughter doesn’t engage in this behavior, thank God. But she clings! It’s surprising the amount of strength these little ones possess. Maybe she’s closer related to a baby kangaroo, always tucked safely and securely away in her mother’s pouch. If only I actually had a pouch to tuck her into so I could be hands free! (As a side note, tried the sling, she hates it).

My daughter, the chimpanzee/kangaroo, wants to be held by none other than her precious mama all the live-long day. I love her, I love her dearly, but man can she be exhausting. It’s to the point now where I almost feel naked if she’s not in my arms (ok, slight exaggeration). But you get the point, she’s in my arms way more often than not.

Here’s the part where she has me trained: if I dare to allow her dainty toes to touch the floor (heaven forbid!) she screams. And screams and screams and screams. Oh, and then just in case I didn’t quite get the message, she screams and screams again. If I fail to respond to this rational and polite request she will either 1. stomp her feet in place, crying and carrying on, 2. wrap her arms and one leg around my leg and latch on with a death grip, or 3. run over to the carpet and dramatically through herself down in complete and utter despair. Ay currumba! God save the poor lass. Woe to her and her pitiful state. If, after one of these episodes fails to get my attention, she will take turns and try each of them out, alternately.

She is my third child. I have experienced tantrums, belligerence and noncompliance many times before. This is nothing new. I’m a pro at ignoring, re-directing or disciplining unwanted behavior. I even wrote a book that touches on the subject. However, this particular issue is difficult. Re-directing, forget it, doesn’t work at all with this one. Ignoring, well I have, unfortunately to no avail. She’ll keep going. Disciplining, yes, she’s now at the age where she understands she is being naughty. I’ll have to explore this option further and see if it helps. I haven’t technically disciplined her yet because here’s the main dilemma. This is how I’m the trained mama: After removing her vice grip from my body and succeeding in setting her down, before I know it, she’s right back in my dang arms again! She’s like a reverse escape artist! She gets back in without me even realizing it. I tell ya, the girl has some skills. So many times I’ve been holding her and only after a few minutes realize that she’s right back up here after I set her down and said no more, mama needs a break. What the heck?

I think what happens is that in the madness of the moment I forget what’s going on and just pick her up again automatically, without consciously being aware of my actions. I usually go through my day at a hectic pace, constantly juggling all the differing directions I’m being pulled in. Within the chaos that is my brain I notice that there is a crying child at my feet and stoop to pick her up and soothe her. And viola! She’s back in my arms. Trained mama.

Of course the kicker is that all of the above scenario is completely null and void if she decides she’d like to get down and do something else on her own, such as ride her bike or play with the other kids. If this should be the case, then I better back off or suffer the wrath because she can do it by herself mama, thank you very much. Every so often Miss Independent decides to make an appearance and I get a break, well at least my arms do, the rest of me has to watch her like a hawk and make sure she doesn’t run down the street in the middle of the road chasing after her long gone brothers (yes, she’s done this), or climb on top of the freezer in the garage in order to reach the button that opens and closes the garage door (she’s done this as well, very nearly missing a nasty fall to the floor, got there just in time!) or rummage through the pantry in search of more fruit snacks (she would be one giant fruit snack if I let her eat all she wanted).

I know this is a phase. I know she’ll grow out of it. I know I’ll miss holding her later on down the road. I try to remind myself of this and manage without too much complaint, yet when you’re in the midst of hardship it can be a challenge to take such an objective stance, to remember this is temporary and in the grand scheme of things not even a big deal. In the meantime I’ll do my best to adequately care for my little chimpanzee/kangaroo.

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