Moments of Grace

“It is the tenderness that breaks our hearts. The loveliness that leaves us stranded on the shore, watching the boats sail away. It is the sweetness that makes us want to reach out and touch the soft skin of another person. And it is the grace that comes to us, undeserving though we may be.”
― Robert Goolrick

I was up this morning before dawn, bustling around in my cozy kitchen, feeding the animals, making coffee and stirring up a batch of fresh chocolate chips cookies so that a little bit of mama love can go into the boys' lunches today.  As I watched the butter and sugar cream together in the Bright Red Kitchen Aid Artisan Stand Mixer, I found myself grinning.  I was just standing there, smiling like a fool, into the beginnings of my batter.   And then I began to pray a small, completely insufficient prayer of thanks while enumerating all the reasons I have to be joyful. And then I thought to myself, "Why not write all these down?  That way, in the inevitable moments of darkness, you can reach back to this list and remember why life is so beautiful."

Done.

Reasons to be Joyful

• Two sleeping boys upstairs are healthy, mostly happy, and, most important to me, safe.  They sleep peacefully every night without ever fearing.  They have lived their lives in love without shouting and violence. 
• The flowers on my kitchen table that represent the man who loves me in spite of the fact that I am often unlovable.  I am thankful that he can see past my grumpy mood swings, my inability to logically consider almost any question, my insistence on being unreasonably happy about holiday cups at Starbucks and my utter lack of concern over the filthiness of my home or car.   I am grateful that he always remembers and acts on the little things that make me happy.
• My furry creatures give me far more joy than many people find reasonable. 
• I am a different woman than I was 10 years ago, 5 years ago, even 6 months ago.  I am so thankful for the ability to change my mind, my thoughts, my life.
• I can stir chocolate chops into my cookie dough with a beautiful, smooth wooden spoon.  
• My limbs are all still working.  My knees are creaky and my body aches more than it probably should on a winter morning, but I am healthy.  
• I have electric lights to illuminate my pre-dawn hours.
• My heat is working and more than sufficient to keep us warm and safe from the coming winter.
• I have work that I enjoy and that pays me enough to do the things I need to do for my family and to have a little bit of fun every now and again.
• I live in an area where it's a little cold in the winter, a little hot in the summer and a whole lot of fabulous in the spring and fall.  
• I live in a country where I can benefit from education, where I have the freedom to speak my mind,  and where I can rest assured that, even though it will never be perfect, there will always be people striving to change lives for the better.
• I love, and am loved by, far more people than one person deserves to have.  I am grateful for the many people who weave in and out of my life, creating a bright tapestry of friendship and love to keep me believing that people, at their core, are usually kind, generous and loving.
• There will always be more reasons to be joyful.

The list went on and on, all the way down to things like really great water pressure, drawers that slide smoothly in and out, and the fruit on the beautiful handmade pottery platter (a little plug for Stephen Dean) on my kitchen table where the cat is currently nestled (I promise I will clean the table before we eat).

I know that your list of joyful things may be different...but I also know you have one.  I hope you can take a few moments today and appreciate those little things that make it all worth it.

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Total Mom Guilt

"Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time."   -Veronica Roth, Divergent

They have fun, right?

Before I left on this most recent business trip, my youngest said to me (jokingly, I hope), “If you leave baked goods for us, we’ll remember that you love us.”

I left for California early on Sunday morning, a time when many families are having breakfast and preparing for worship together.  My broken-homed kids were at their dad’s house.  The day before, I had spent in a whirlwind.  I cleaned my house, dropped bake sale items off at the high school, ran errands, took my visiting mother to breakfast, attempted to assemble a bookcase, baked two loves of pumpkin bread and Halloween cupcakes (complete with spider and gruesome hand toppers because deep down, I kind of believed what Thing 2 said about the baked goods) and volunteered at the band competition until 9:30 pm.  When I came home, I cleaned a little more, stuffed money into an envelope for my pet-sitter, started packing my bags and crossed a couple of last-minute work items off my list.  When I finally fell into bed, exhausted, at midnight, I set my alarm for 4 a.m. so I could get up and finish my packing before my early flight. 

I then set off across the country, worked in the airport and on the flight (on a Sunday, no less) and tried to remember what I had forgotten to leave for the window contractors who were coming to my house in my absence.   I raced from the airport directly to a trade show.  Then back to my hotel room to finish a presentation my boss needed for Monday morning.   I fell asleep sitting up in my hotel room with my laptop open after what amounted to a 16-hour workday.

I forgot to put money in my kids’ lunch account so I got an abbreviated text from my eldest.  “Put money on my lunch account.”  OK.  Done.  I tried to ignore the guilt for missing picking him up from band practice and my youngest son’s double and stolen home base at the baseball game.  Mondays are MY days, after all.  I should have been there.

It seems as if my life is often a series of  “I should have” or “I have to” or “I’m going to” or “I need to” phrases.  I spend much of my time feeling guilty for not working enough, not paying enough attention to my kids, not cleaning my house well enough, not weeding my garden, not cleaning my car, not taking my dogs on walks, not making the decision to put my poor elderly cat to sleep…the list goes on and on and on.

So I bake.  I clean.  I shuffle.  I run.  I cajole. I volunteer when I can.  I work hard to keep the guilt at bay.  And I do a little bit here and a little bit there but I never do anything really well. I often think that we women REALLY SHOWED THEM when we started working outside the home.  We managed to get the full time jobs outside the house while maintaining a full load in the house.  We juggle marriage (well, not me so much anymore), kids, jobs, household duties and extracurricular activities while lamenting (bragging?) to each other about how busy we are. 

I am overloaded with the stress.  I don’t even do half of what many of my friends do.  And still I am burdened by all the guilt above compounded by the fact that I am not giving my kids what they really need:  me.  Because what they need, when it comes down to it, isn’t baked goods.   What they need, more than anything, is their parents.

Meanwhile, I’m 30,00 feet over Memphis.  For now, the cupcakes will have to do the trick.   I am on my way, boys.  I am on my way.

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The Lunatic Baker (Or, Why I Woke Up at 2:30 A.M. To Bake a Pound Cake)

“The measuring and mixing always smoothed out her thinking processes - nothing was as calming as creaming butter - and when the kitchen was warm from the oven overheating and the smell of baking chocolate, she took final stock of where she'd been and where she was going. Everything was fine.”
― Jennifer Crusie

I received an unexpected gift yesterday.  It wasn't my birthday.  I hadn't done anything particularly deserving.  But when my Guy had me close my eyes and he opened up the back of his Man Station Wagon (it's a sport model), I had no idea that he had purchased a Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.  For me.

The Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer has always been a dream of mine.  (I know, you're probably reading this thinking, "I've had a stand mixer for years.  Pfft.  No biggie.")  But it IS a biggie.  A VBD (Very Big Deal), if you will.  See, the Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer represents more than just a mixer for me.  It's my Someday tool.

I love to bake.  It calms me after a stressful day.  I love the way the house smells when I'm crafting up something yummy in the kitchen.  And olfactory memories are strong ones...I want my boys to remember growing up in a house that smells of cookies and cakes and...well...love.  For many, many years (19, to be exact), I have used the hand mixer my mother gave me as a wedding present.  I've loved that hand mixer.  It has seen me through stiff meringues, chunky chocolate chip cookies, thick butter cookies for my new cookie press and the beginning (and end) of my marriage.  It's been a great mixer.  It does the trick.  So much so that spending a Veritable Fortune for a Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer just never made sense.

So, I told myself this:  "Someday.  Someday you will buy yourself the Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer as a special present JUST FOR YOU.  Maybe it will be because you do something extraordinary like not forgetting to shut and lock the back door before bed.  Maybe it will be because you finally finished writing that book.  Maybe it will be because you're just SO DAMN AWESOME.  But, someday, you will buy that ridiculously extravagant Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.   And you will BAKE."  

Someday hasn't arrived yet. I just have never been able to justify the expense.

But, yesterday, due to...I don't know what it was...maybe the cool fall weather?  I looked especially fetching last week with my runny nose?  Just because?...my Guy purchased the Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.

I am going to have to remember to be extra special nice to that Guy because a) he loves me enough to buy me the RIGHT COLOR (red is really the only color that matters to me) b) he knows me enough to know that this gift would send me over the moon and c) he didn't even wait for a holiday.  [Disclaimer:  I get equally excited over the Atomic Fireballs he hands over in church on Sunday mornings, so he knows that he doesn't have to be Ridiculously Extravagant to win any affection from me.]

So, yesterday I rushed home, excited to use my Brand New Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.

And life got in the way.  I was busy picking up kids, getting groceries, supervising homework, printing Thing 2's school project that, before I knew it, 10 p.m. had rolled around.  I was EXHAUSTED.  And a little cranky.  And I didn't want my Very First Baking Experience with my lovingly purchased Dream Machine to be rushed or stressful. 

I rested my hand carefully on top of the Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer and said, "I'm going to take a little nap.  But I'll be back."

So, I set my alarm for 2:30 a.m.  And, at 2:30 a.m., I woke up like I was 6 years old again and Christmas morning had arrived.  I raced downstairs and made a cup of coffee (hello, I still have SOME sanity left...I know what's important).  And then I carefully washed the parts of my new mixer.  And I read the operating instructions.  And I assembled the butter, the sugar, the eggs, the flour.  I juiced some lemons.  I installed the splash shield.  I finally figured out how to install the mixing paddle.

And I mixed.

I oohed and aahed over the blending.  I walked away from it while it creamed butter and sugar.  I listened to the whirring of the motor.

It was everything I dreamed it would be.

I'm sitting here now smelling deliciously baked lemony goodness.  And I know my boys are upstairs in their sleep smelling the good smell of love wafting from the kitchen.  I have my coffee and my dogs.  That Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer is a part of the living dream.

Go out there and bake something today.

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Backpacking is for Girls

“It had nothing to do with gear or footwear or the backpacking fads or philosophies of any particular era or even with getting from point A to point B.

It had to do with how it felt to be in the wild. With what it was like to walk for miles with no reason other than to witness the accumulation of trees and meadows, mountains and deserts, streams and rocks, rivers and grasses, sunrises and sunsets. The experience was powerful and fundamental. It seemed to me that it had always felt like this to be a human in the wild, and as long as the wild existed it would always feel this way.”
― Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail

On Saturday, we hiked.  My Guy and I strapped all that we would need for 24 hours on our backs and we ventured with Sparky and Mr. McDougal in to the wilderness.

The great majority of my friends do not understand my propensity to head for the trees.  There are no creature comforts out in the woods except for a warm fire, a cozy sleeping bag and a dry tent.  My friends prefer climate control, real mattresses and wine in a glass instead of in an aluminum trail mug. And, overall, I wouldn't want to live that way EVERY DAY but I find that going to the woods every now and again brings me back to my center.

I am fascinated by trail hiking, especially long-distance hikers who wax nostalgically about "finding themselves" over many body-crushing miles on the Appalachian Trail or the Pacific Crest Trail.  They write about mutilated feet, scorching heat, unbearable cold and the kindness of strangers on the trail.  They recite scores of stories about long days hiking with only the thought of how much physical pain they were in.  They remember being scared, lonely, worried, tired, and sick of themselves.  I immerse myself in their stories, walking alongside them in my mind.

How I long to be one of them.

Odds are, I'll never be a thru-hiker.  As it is, we take some pretty short trips because my knees simply can't take the load in their current state.  But I suck up the pain of my arthritis-riddled joints because I cannot bear to not do it.  There is something so satisfying about carrying a heavy load up a mountain, making camp, finding wood to make a fire and sitting by a river or a stream filtering water for drinking.  It's primal.  And soul-repairing.  It doesn't have to be a long journey.  It just has to be...away.  Away from smart phones and tvs and cars and stores and ads and "I want" and "I need" and "Could you?" and lawns to be mowed and every single other item that demands your attention every moment of every day.

Sometimes, it's just good to be away.  Really, truly AWAY.

I sat there on Sunday morning perched on a large flat rock in the middle of a stream.  The temperature was just under 40 degrees Fahrenheit and I could see my breath in the beams of early morning sunlight streaming through the trees.  I yawned and rubbed my eyes before I put the plastic tubing of the water filter into the icy water.  As I slowly pumped the water through the filter into our Nalgene bottle, I became intentional in my appreciation for this planet, this life, my friends and family and for the many things I tend to take for granted every day.  I sat there on that rock in the frigid cold before I ever even had one drop of morning coffee and I thanked God for everything I have, everything I am and everything I have yet to learn.

It was a beautiful time of worship.  And I can't wait to get back there again.  Join me?  You know you want to... 

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Learning to Let Go: A Mother's Story

“The best way to keep children at home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant, and let the air out of the tires.”
― Dorothy Parker

This morning, I dropped Thing 1 off at the high school so he could go with his marching band to a competition a few towns over.  He got out of the car, gathered his things, and then looked me in the eye and, with his deep manly voice, said, "OK, then.  I'll see you later."

Thing 1 walks off into the sunrise

I drove away a little teary-eyed.  I'm often not sentimental about traditional milestones that I'm SUPPOSED to be weepy over.  I didn't cry when he went to kindergarten.  It didn't bother me when he went to middle school.  But, now...these days he's needing me less and less.  He's out there doing his own thing.  His world is his own.  And it hits me every so often that my Big Job as a mom is almost done.  He's almost baked.

This morning, he got up before I even thought to go and rouse him.  He came downstairs and proceeded to pack his lunch with nary a reminder from me.  He consulted his list and gathered all the items he needed for the day.  As he stood eye-to-eye with me, we discussed how best to pack and where he could put his spending money so he could have access to it (and not, as I always fear, lose it and have no money to eat!). 

He's growing up.  All those motherly worries come back to me.  Does he have faith?  Can he withstand the storms of life on his own?  What if someone hurts him?  Have we taught him well? What if he fails?

I worry because the child's head is quite often in the clouds.  He missed the bus just a couple of weeks ago not because he was late to the stop, but because he was daydreaming when the bus pulled up.  He stood there, lost in his own world, while the GIANT YELLOW SCHOOL BUS picked up his classmates and moved along.  He's not prepared to go out on his own!  This child NEEDS a mother.

He's been mine from day one.  We learned about life together.  I had no idea how to be a mother and he was new to the world.  I was fortunate to be able to stay home with him as an infant.  I cried when he cried.  I tried to sleep in the few minutes when he would sleep.  We left the house every morning together in pursuit of the day's Great Adventure and I talked and talked and talked.  Knowing who he is now, I must have driven him bat-shit crazy as a child.  I'm almost positive he cried so much because he simply couldn't take so much interaction--touching, holding and talking. 

He's out on his own today.  He's building his own life and dreaming his own dreams.  And I, as I should, am standing on the sidelines cheering him on, quietly.  His life is not mine.  And my role now is to become more and more passive as the years go by until the only role I have is that of quiet cheerleader. 

My best friend's daughter went to college this year.  I thought she handled it very well as a mother.  I know she struggles still...but she's doing better than I thought she would.  I know that, when my time comes and my chickens fly the nest, I'll be fine.  But, until then, I will probably have more of these teary reminders that Thing 1 will be Out On His Own in a blink of an eye.

The days are very, very long.  But the years?  They're so very, very short.

It's good to be back in the Rockin' Chair...if only for a moment.  Ya'll take care.

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I DID Learn a Lot in Kindergarten!

“Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw some and paint some and sing and dance and play and work everyday some.”
― Robert Fulghum

I begin my days early.  There is always something wonderful and magic about the pre-dawn hours.  I often stroll the streets of my neighborhood with my earbuds in and my Pandora station tuned to something I can sing along to while I walk.  In those hours just before dawn I am new.  I haven't screwed anything up yet and life is always full of possibilities.

It's always then (well, NOW) when ideas strike.  

This morning I didn't take a stroll.  I somehow injured myself on Saturday night when the boys and I went bowling with my Significant Other and his daughter.  Who knew you should stretch before bowling?  HE claims I wrenched my knee during my goofy (public) victory dance after nabbing that spare.  I think that bowling may just be more strenuous than we imagine. But I digress.

This morning, I sat down at my computer to do some work.  And then found myself searching for Robert Fulghum quotes.  

In the moment with Things 1 and 2

For those of you who don't know Robert Fulghum, he was the author of the 1989 besteller, "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten."  It was probably the first "positive thinking/self-help/let's all feel good" book I ever read.  My copy is dog-earred and worn because I have a tendency to bring it out year after year.  I still cry for many reasons when I read it.  Mostly I cry because he puts into words the hope, the joy and the absolute certainty I have that the world is not made up of hate but of love.  If you haven't read it, you should.  Today.  Here's a link.  And here's a spoiler alert:  the Crayola bomb is my absolute favorite essay.

I stopped watching the news a long time ago.  Well, I catch snippets of The Today Show in the morning as I get ready for work. But mostly, I cruise along in blissful ignorance of the "news."  I choose to believe that the REAL news in our lives is more positive.  So, in celebration of the positive, I'm sharing the REAL NEWS this morning:

1. You're alive.  You made it through the night.  You're still here so you have yet another chance to offer that apology or to find that new job or to clean your dirty kitchen floor.  Today starts NOW and you're still here to enjoy it.  Yes, I know that your boss is a jerk and your spouse is neglectful and your kids are out of control.  But, yet, here you are.  That's good news.
2. Right now, someone is doing something good.  It could even be happening in your own house!  The truth is this:  at every second on this planet there are many, many wonderful things going on.  Someone is singing a song.  Someone is listening to an elderly parent tell a story (for the thousandth time). Someone is smiling.  Someone is holding a door for a stranger.  Everywhere.  All the time.  Good things are happening. 
3. This, too, shall pass.  Every moment is fleeting.  Even if you're having the best worst day of your LIFE, it will be over tomorrow.  No matter how you're feeling in this moment, it will pass.  The joy will be gone (but it will come again!), the sorrow will be fleeting, the pain will disappear.  Trust me.  It will pass.  So, why not take this opportunity to be here?  Take a minute to fully appreciate where you are IN THIS MOMENT.  And then move along.  
4. Life is happening.  I am channeling my inner Dr. Seuss here:  don't get stuck in the waiting place!  Take action, no matter how small.  Even if you're just getting up out of your chair to walk around the block or putting down your cell phone to notice that flowers are blooming or the rain is falling.  Life is happening all around you.  Be a part of it.

Over the past couple of years, I have found my own joy.  I work hard to be fully present in the moment and, by simply focusing on the four things above mixed in with a little prayer and an attitude of thankfulness for the grace in my life, I am more joyful and more mindful than ever before.  Circumstances change but my heart stays the same.

What's your news?

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How to Be a Mother (or, Things I Learned the Hard Way)

"Mothers are all slightly insane." -JD Salinger

Mothers are not born.  Instead, they are carved in flesh from late nights, worries, struggles with discipline, and fretting every. single. day. over whether they are making the right choices.  Being a mother is the toughest thing I've ever done and, while I won't detail all of that here, I've climbed some pretty high mountains.

I didn't want to be a mother.  Fortunately, my Ex Husband was fairly insistent that he carry on the family name and, since I happened to be married to him, he figured I was the one to do the job. WHAT?

OK, fine.

I became a mother.  And I learned how to breastfeed and change diapers and how to try to soothe a fussy (screaming) baby while not losing my own mind.  He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I didn't sleep much and I was scared out of my mind most of the time.

I didn't want to screw up this tiny amazing gift.  I didn't want him to ever feel a moment's pain or fear.  I became INTENTIONAL in my treatment of him...the first time I had ever behaved so with another human being.  When I approached him, I never swooped him up without first saying, gently, "I'm going to pick you up now."  Before he could talk, I talked him through our days together.  "In ten minutes, we'll leave the house and I'll take you to the park." I cherished the idea that he was a tiny human being and only in my care for a short time.  I'm sure I probably appeared nuts to strangers but it was so important to me that I honor his SEPARATENESS from me.

I became a mother again.  And I realized that THIS beautiful tiny amazing gift was completely different from the first.  He slept (I didn't realize babies DO THAT!).  He cried and, more important, STOPPED CRYING when he was attended to.  I was distracted by my busy toddler but I contentedly snuggled up with this one and put the housework aside as I PURPOSEFULLY enjoyed each moment of his growth.

Nurturing doesn't come naturally to me.  I'm selfish and irritable and all the things that mothers aren't supposed to be.  But I work hard at it every day.  Really hard.  And I think women should be real with other women.  We should be more courageous in explaining that mothering is tough and that it's not all sunshine and roses and beatific appreciation.

1. There are days when you want to quit.  Those days, for me, came early on.  The days of crying, snot and fevers were tough ones for me.  I have never been a baby person.  They're cute and all but I am never one to volunteer to hold them.  There were so many days when I literally had to breathe deep and not run screaming out the door.  Dealing with beings who communicate through sobs, snuffles and grunts was not my specialty.  But even now that they are getting more fun for me all the time, there are days when I have to grit my teeth to get through dinner.  Some days, I truly just want to be left alone.  When you're a mom, "alone" is the toughest thing to come by.  
2. It's OK to be real in front of your kids.  As moms, we need to show our children our emotions.  If we protect them from the bad stuff we're feeling, then they may be confused about their OWN emotions and question whether or not they're normal if they're mad/sad/confused/hurt.  I intentionally show my children my emotions and then I discuss what I'm going through (not in the "on the therapist's couch" kind of way but in the "I'm having a problem and this is what I'm going to do about it" way).  It's important for kids to watch you work through your own stuff.  I still protect them from some of the nasty, nitty-gritty I've experienced but I let them see the day-to-day struggles and the subsequent strength that comes from them.
3. Understand that they are not tiny versions of you.  Oh, don't get me wrong; I see a LOT of my flaws in my children.  One or the other has my procrastination, my sloppiness, my temper, my drama, and on and on.  And I realize that I've taught them to eat dessert before dinner (hey, life is SHORT!) and I've encouraged them to be still (lazy?) and enjoy the small things in life.  I know that my parenting impacts them in good and bad ways.  But they each need different things from me.  And they don't need the same things I need.  They are not me. 
4. It never gets easier.  Oh, they no longer cry.  But now I deal with different things like the lack of attention to homework.  I get calls from the vice principal at school because one of my kids feels like violence is the answer (when, in reality, it NEVER IS...why won't he get that?).  I struggle with whether or not my introvert feels isolated or if my extrovert is happy.  I wonder if I have ruined them because their father and I divorced.  I worry that they will be sitting on my couch eating Cheetos and playing video games when they're forty.  I want to be sure that they feel happy, safe and secure in the knowledge that they are loved.  
5. Loving them is the best part.  I still look at them in amazement that they came from me.  I would die for them.  I know now what it is to understand beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would take a bullet for someone.  I would..without hesitation.  They're funny, kind and smart young men.  I watch admiringly as they hold doors for people at church.  I was thrilled to come home yesterday and find that they REALLY HAD cleaned the house for me while I was out for a couple of hours.  I adore these kids.  And I'm really glad their dad talked me into having them.  Good call, Ex Husband.  

I am by no means a "wonderful" mother.  Phew, this job is TOUGH.  I read books and magazine articles and I beg other parents to tell me their secrets.  I Google things like "what to do when your kid won't turn in homework." I am rarely patient and I am completely self-absorbed at times.  But I wake up every day vowing to try harder than I did the day before to give these boys what they need to grow to be strong, caring men...the kind of people the world needs more of.   And, so far?  Wonder of wonders, I think it may be working...

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.