A Pause

I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the poor health of a beloved family member. Maybe it's the Kit American Girl books we just read for the mother daughter book club Emma and I are a part of...they're set in the Depression. Maybe it's having just heard about a baby that passed away after a long health struggle. Maybe it's the stake youth fireside we attended last night where a World War II veteran shared his experiences.

I don't know what it is.

But I have to pause for a minute. I have to express my gratitude. I'm grateful for piles of laundry and piles of dishes that indicate healthy active family members. I'm grateful for messes made by my creative robust children. (I'm grateful they're big enough to clean up the messes...with my prodding.)

I'm grateful to be busy. I'm glad I'm needed. I am thankful for a house that needs vacuuming and windows that need washing.

I'm thankful that at the fireside last night, the veteran showed us a Nazi flag so that when he showed us the American flag, the contrast in emotions I felt brought tears to my eyes.

I am appreciative of my van that needs gas because it's been driving us where we need to go.

I'm thankful my kids want to talk to me. Even when I want to hear myself think instead of hear their prattle. Even when my eyes wander away from the Star Wars sticker book and Mark patiently says, "Mom..." until I remember and look again at just what a clone looks like. They want to talk to me. Even when they sense my disinterest, they want to talk to me.

And I'm grateful.

Disparity

We have some things in common. We have the same address, the same birthday and we like watching The Office and British television and movies.

Then there are the differences. Adam reads footnotes and I skim almost everything I read. His hands are always warm (except when he's very nervous) and my hands are always cold (except for in the heart of summer). He likes Chinese food (all kinds of Chinese food) and I like dessert (all kinds of dessert).

Then there's the big difference. The blaring difference. The difference that causes distress.

I'm a planner. Adam is not.

He may or may not go to London next week and he's OK with that. My sisters are coming to visit with their families in September and I have already mapped out a general schedule of our activities.

I feel nervous if I don't have my Christmas list done by October and Adam feels nervous if he doesn't have his Christmas list done by Christmas Eve.

When we went to London, I poured over websites and guide books. Rick Steves guided me to spots like Westminster Abbey for evensong and the place in Kings Cross Station where they have Platform 9 3/4 for photo ops. I plan like that. In London Adam has happened upon things like the BBC Proms and the Good Friday broadcast at St. Paul's cathedral. He's spontaneous like that.

I have benefited more than once from Adam and his impromptu taste for adventure. I would like to think maybe Adam feels like he's benefited from my planning. Maybe?

Because I think most of the time we just aggravate each other.

There are times when we are driving to a hotel and Adam doesn't know where it is. He doesn't think he needs a map or directions, he just figures he'll find it. I can't tell you how shocking this is for me. I keep saying over and over, "You don't know where the hotel is?!" and he says, "We'll find it...I have a general idea." And we eventually do find it.

And I eventually recover from the indignation.

There have been times that I drive Adam crazy with my planning. Like last night. We are going to Disneyland and I have joyfully researched the trip. I have read restaurant reviews, tips and tricks, I have plotted out our days. Last night I told Adam that I had some new information to tell him about our trip. I could tell he was annoyed. Again with the Disneyland talk. So that made me a bit cranky.

He said, "I was not annoyed."

I said, "Yes you were annoyed." (It's not like I don't know the man.)

Mark said, "I'm out of here," and left the room.

I don't think there's a good solution. I think we'll continue to exasperate each other into the eternities.

Unlike Mark though, I'm not out of here. Whether or not Adam and I are at odds, I really like him.

It's Over

I apologize in advance for once again writing a letter to an inanimate object. My brain has become addled from lack of sunlight.

Dear Snow,

It's over. Stick a fork in me because I'm done with you.

In December you were pretty. You were welcome. You brought seasonal charm. Christmas carols sound more merry with you as the backdrop. Even back then you stayed too long though.

Now you are soul robbing. You are like an unwelcome visitor that won't leave. It's March. March! And you are in the Puget Sound. Remember the Puget Sound? Where it rains?



You may think you're winning. Sure you thwarted me in my plan today because my scaredy-cat van wouldn't go up the hill in the snow but only slip and slide. You think it's funny and ironic because I was heading out to buy Emma some sandals. Yes, go ahead and laugh, I was buying sandals.

But I know something you don't know. We're going to Southern California, away from your icy fingers. And we're going soon.

So snow away.

Besides, you prompted Mark to don these before going outside to play.



Guess who got the last laugh?

Something Like That

Tonight Mark had dinner and a movie at his friend Gavin's house.

When he got home he nestled himself between Adam and me to tell us all about it.

"There were two types of pizza. One had Mexican ham on it..."

I thought for a minute. "Do you mean Canadian bacon?"

"Oh, yeah. That's what it was."

Then and Now

My children have favorite times of day: lunch for one, then there's the magic hour when they're done with their work (which varies wildly among children), then there's the magic hour when Gavin comes home on the bus (finally) and Mark can play with him.

I have my favorite time of day: silent reading time. When I first instigated silent reading time, it was during Mark's afternoon nap. Braeden was a reluctant reader and read the same Garfield comic books over and over and over. I thought he'd likely get tired of them and move on to other books. He did. With a vengeance.

We have silent reading time right after lunch at least in theory. Sometimes, unless I'm creative, we don't have time for it at all.

Which to me, is an enormous tragedy.

Mark is always shooed away during silent reading time. Lately I've been logging him onto the computer. It's not a solution I love. I look forward to him being part of our group.

Last night at Costco, I found a collection of beginning reading stories. They came with an audio version of the books on CD.

I was transported back in time. I think for my 6th birthday, I got an Ugly Duckling book with a cassette tape of the story being read. I loved it! Back then entertainment on demand was much less accessible. I had no concept of television channels with children's programming (we didn't even get PBS) and VCRs hadn't been invented yet. My little book on tape was a big deal in my world.

We had a tape player similar to this:

Since we don't have a clunky tape recorder or cassette tapes, I loaded the stories on our ipod. Here's Mark today, joining in on silent reading time. (Ear buds keep the silent in silent reading time.)


It's a different set up than my Ugly Duckling days but I think just as magical. Mark liked being involved.

And I liked having him.

Kindness

I'm sure you've heard the saying kindness begins with me. I've been thinking about it. I think the ticket is being kind to yourself.

Yesterday I was putting some laundry away. Adam was sitting at his desk in our room. I said, "You know, I've had a pretty good day."

Adam spun around and looked at me. "Thank you for telling me," he said. (Thus driving home the point that way too often I have the opposite to report.)

Which is pathetic because I have a pretty good life and should have a lot of pretty good days.

I am a person with few talents but one of them is coming up with schedules. I delight in the whole practice. I love to organize and plan. And I am a dismal failure at carrying all of them out.

My latest greatest plan that I started this week (because I start a new plan about every week...that's how long it takes me to feel guilty that my plan isn't working, accept my plan isn't working then come up with a new plan...the steps of grieving for my plans) was to sleep in.

You read that right. My plan was to sleep in.

There are plenty of ways that home schooling my children makes my life harder. Getting up early is not one of them.

The bus rumbles by our house at approximately the same time every day. Some days my children are all still asleep when the bus passes. Sometimes they're giggling over their cereal, sometimes they're banging on the piano, sometimes they're in the shower.

I decided to revel in this you-don't-have-to-get-up-at-a-certain-time existence (because the magic's over when Braeden starts seminary).

Ironically, I've still been getting up at about the same time. We're even starting school earlier this week than last week when I was feeling guilty about not getting up on time.

And I'm being kind to myself.

My psyche responds well to kindness.

I've had my second good day. I made my kids walk home from their piano lessons. I dropped them off and told them to walk home when they were done. Braeden was offended. He said, "That will take a long time and I have WORK to do so I can go PLAY." I pretended to be sympathetic for 2 seconds then I said, "So? Walk home." This gave me time to get my work done in an uninterrupted and productive fashion.

There's more light in the world with the earth tilting towards summer and that's making me happier too.

Zipping through all my menial daily chores, I was able to tackle a job that's been waiting (patiently) for me to have the time. I cleaned out a drawer in my bathroom and found some bath salts Adam had brought me from London.

Then I did an art project. Like schedules, I love hatching art projects. I scheme awhile then start on the project. Then I feel something like regret that I wasn't more careful with my project because it turns out wonky.

I think there are two types of people in the world, those that should be allowed near mod-podge and those that should not. I think I belong in the latter group.

I hung it on my wall anyway.

And the mod-podge will eventually wear itself off my kitchen table right?

I'm being kind to myself.

So then I went and took a bath with my newly found bath salts (plus I needed to get the mod-podge off of me...I'm telling you that is powerful stuff). My kids were outside in the cloud filtered sunlight. My house was silent.

And I took my book with me to the tub.

And I recommend you be kind to yourself too.

Mark: My Guru

Don't be fooled by his grubby hands and mischievous eyes. My Mark is a wise sage.

Every time I download pictures onto my computer, there are 5-10 pictures like this on the camera:



They're taken by Mark. He's a prolific Lego builder. He knows from sad experience the fleeting existence of his creations and he takes a picture.

Here's the first bit of wisdom I can learn from Mark: document your work.

Don't be surprised if I start taking pictures of my laundry when it's folded, my dishes when they're washed and my floor after it's vacuumed. These are also fleeting. (And I'd include a picture now but none of those things are done...)

Here's the second gem of wisdom Mark bestowed today.

He was waxing long about Star Wars The Clone Wars while we were driving in the van. I've discovered if I let Mark play on the Star Wars website while we're having silent reading time every afternoon, silent reading time will remain...silent.

I'm smart like that.

Mark was telling Emma all about what he'd seen and Emma with all the patience of a self centered 10 year old sighed deeply and told him that she doesn't LIKE Star Wars. It is all about fighting and there is no point.

Mark said, "Emma, you know the best thing to do when Star Wars is bugging you?"

She said, "What?"

"Deal. With. It."