Spring Break, Part 2

Caught up in activity to pass the unstructured days of a Spring Break, the sun began to shine...

A universal landscape of snow surrendered as a trickle from the heights of branch and rooftop, seeping slowly down, down, as the blanket of snow--weakening, reducing, seeping, balding against the earth--found  the thawing soil drinking it down toward the tender growth seeking the strength to stand and plume.  The melt, quickening with frantic pitter-patter, dripping, tapping gutters, bouncing and draining, trickling streams flowing in an ambient activity of water marching toward a new identity.

And, soon, it all aligned as it should, and light found the ground and the vibrant green of young growth, not yet deepened and matured, almost glowing against the early morning sun, and we awoke and found Spring.  We opened our doors and windows to her eagerly, and with her, activity emerged at every turn.  Humanity found song with the birds beckoning an awakening to the senses.

The second week of Spring Break was, in fact, Spring, and we did not take it for granted.  We rambled outdoors and went on a hike toward a destination of abandoned dwelling.  The trail led us toward a home built in the late 1800's,  now sitting quiet, empty, hollow.  Much like the Winter season now behind us, it was lifeless and much too barren.  I thought of the sounds that had echoed in the halls and bounced off the trees and streams around it so many years before.  A mother, I'm sure, once chased her children outdoors on a day like our day, as they scrambled around and into one another like children do, squealing and zig-zagging through the woods.  As I padded atop the tender moss, I imagined her shoes laced tight in purpose, treading along side me, from one out-building to the next, performing duties to see her family clean and fed and satisfied.

I gazed at the structures now, lacking soul, lacking a family.  Little more than lifeless wood and cold stone with no purpose.  It had witnessed the bustle of life in another age, like the giggling and tromping of my children in the shadow it cast this April day more than 100 years since the foundations laid.  I am struck that we are essentially the same, but time has marched on, and here we sit, non-threatening trespassers, observing what live had been here in this clearing.

We dined at picnic tables.  We blew bubbles.  We turned our faces to the sun.  We basked.

The kids are different when they enter the natural world.  It provokes their imaginations and embraces the herd of them, without the constraints of walls or hypnosis of technology.  They had been saving up this energy all Winter long to bash and tumble, run and chase, climb and fall and roll and laugh and cry out as all children have, since the beginning of time, when Spring had finally come.

Look, mom! Look at me!

Becoming a parent grants access to a most peculiar event, an event that is laborious in the making and stretches indefinitely in it's plot.  You become an audience to the stage show of a human life.  A life made and observed, at times like an out-of-body experience, as something of yourself is unfolding and revealing  secrets of unimagined possibilities.  We observe  a "mini-me" making strides with an untold destination we wait to behold.  Yet, no matter how much a child is identical to our makeup, there is also the most intriguing percentage, that is not father, nor mother.  Individuality demands a witness.  Therefore, you take a seat, and with rapt attention, take in the life of a child, one act at a time.

Human development in one short year is nothing short of miraculous.  From a watery cocoon, they cry from lungs burning with their first breath, and take suck to a nectar of life.  This infant lies helpless and unable, but not ill-equipped, and so it begins.... A journey of milestones to which this infant gains mobility and control and stands erect and takes a seat to dine with us, chewing a morsel of food that could have brought death just a few short months before, and with a mother tongue will ask for more.

As that first year winds to a close, the milestones are not in such rapid succession, and with minds so attuned to our child attaining mobility and speech, we might start to take for granted the many hurdles they continue to leap everyday.  A baby doesn't ask for our attention, but they have the means to command it, and with those very same lungs our toddlers, children and adolescents beckon our gaze.

As we bump along on this planet, one thing is certain: there are a great many people living side-by-side with us.  Many, perhaps most, may possess much higher levels of achievement, natural talent, intelligence, symmetry.... and the list goes on, leaving us to feel quite common and average in relation to one another.  We plod a course very well traveled, trampled by the human experience, and, yet, we still seek validation for taking these steps of commonality.  If we are all, basically, the same and share similar levels of accomplishment, and we are equipped with equivalent bodies and brains, why do we strive for significance?  I dare say, what makes us so similar also makes us restless and becomes the very driving force to which we seek some level of recognition.

One thing to love about a child is that they have no idea that what they are achieving is so average.  They are thrilled with every single autonomous step.  More than any adult, they seem to best sense the glory of an individual attempt and succeeding at it.  I love that in any moment of learning, they burst with pride and glow in it.  They understand, more than our tired, uninspired brains that have long taken ourselves for granted, the brilliance in anything learned and retained and applied.  What better gift could we give than to lock eyes with them in that moment and witness their greatness?  A child will rarely, if ever, find satisfaction in lonely accomplishment.  So we join them and, thereby, exponentially increase the magnitude of their momentary importance, above anyone else, be it ever so fleeting.


They call out to us.... "Mom, look!"  "Dad, watch this!"  "Look at me, guys!"  "Watch me!"



It seems so demanding when taken out of context.  It sounds self-indulgent.  It's anything but.  It's the very thing that makes the human experience great.  It's the fresh air in a dull day.  It's a wave rippling through the doldrums.  It is an individual finding a place.  It is life living.

Like a tree that falls in the forest, do our kids really exist if we don't take the time to truly see them?  They  exist in an ever-changing form that is never to be repeated as the days go by.  Sometimes, we see more than they will ever know, and we witness their frustration and pain and victories quietly in the shadows, hoping and rejoicing until we bring it to light and bask together with them in understanding, knowing all too well the triumph and tragedy of the existence we share.

They require, no....need, our attention, attention that may not always be convenient, but will always be a testimony to the wonders of humanity in a single, magnificent person.




 

Know your "No"

The most powerful word in parenting.
No.
It is a command.  It is a complete sentence.  It stands for authority and represents consequence.
"No" is the entire reason for the "terrible twos."
"No" is powerful when effective, but substantially more powerful when not, and you don't want to know who has the power then....

This topic cannot be overstated when it comes to the matter of effective disciple.  It is the Alpha and Omega of parental control.  "No" is the tool to stop tracks and avert disaster. "No" is the path to any shred of dignity a parent can salvage in a public setting.

Now....parents have the rights to "No,"  but children will infringe.  One day...a toddler opens his eyes to 17 months of existence, and a top-secret memo leaks.  A revelation.  An epiphany.  They realize, when verbal skills meet determination, they have access to this powerful tool.  Misappropriated use is ugly.  But, that won't stop every child from trying to wield it.  Convinced they can carry it, they muster a defiant stance and own it.
"NOOO!!"
Firm and resilient, because they have nowhere else to be.  They've got ALL day.  It's on like Donkey-Kong.  They don't acquiesce.

When the "no's" start getting tossed around, it gets messy.  You have got to re-establish ownership quickly, because they get greedy for it.  Hungry for the power.

Claiming the "no" and using it correctly are imperative to any disciplinary success.   If your "Yes" means "maybe" and your "No" means "okay, just this once..."  then you are creating a super-villain, like a mutating viral strain, gaining strength with every weak attempt to squash it.

Educate yourself as to what you're up against.  Children have the upper hand from the beginning.  They start as a lump.  It would be abuse to say "No."  Literally.  So...it's yes to food, yes to bouncing, yes to pacifier, yes to squishy toy, yes to pacing around the living room 42 minutes at a time, yes to hanging out at 3 a.m., yes to being held while cooking dinner, yes to the smart phone....wait....

They age, and we strive to be reacquainted with our preferences again, the adult capacity of deciding what suits our fancy.  So, we test the waters.....  "No" we say, but do we mean it?  You better believe that a child knows if we mean it.  They know so much more than we could ever imagine, and they have the advantage.  They are self-centered to the core and possess fine-tuned animal instincts, having communicated non-verbally for upwards of two years and analyzing our every movement and expression, becoming experts at human interaction and reading body language.  They are building synapses at the speed of light, while we lumber through our sleep-deprived mental processes to stay one step ahead of them.

So, we say the "No."  Was there a pause?  The slightest pause has already been registered, and our rusty cogwheels have no awareness that it's too late.  Even if they don't get their way this time, they've identified the crack and are licking their chops to the sweet taste of victory to come.  Do not be mistaken, it is the hesitation, the second chances, the indecision, and worst of all: the back-pedaling that will eventually bring a mother to her knees.  It is madness.  The "no" becomes a tug-of-war instead of a line not to be crossed.  They will press and search for the point when "no" becomes "yes" and they are good at it. 

The bottom lines is:  if you're going to use the "No," you have to mean it and be prepared, flexed in your haunches, for immediate confirmation.  We must be equipped with a knee-jerk response that enforces a "No" immediately, seriously, unequivocally.  No second guessing.  The crossroads of a "No" leaves you facing child, both searching for the bluff.  Do not shift your eyes.  Do not change your stance.  Do not allow changing circumstances to prevent you from follow through.  See it all the way to success.  You are a pillar of authority, and no matter what chaos ensues, you stand firm, poised only for substantiation of your command.

A child will throw everything they've got at you.  It might get ugly, embarrassing.  But, I promise you, when they realize that your "No" means no, they won't waste their energy anymore.  A child will respect a firm line, but they know, like they are equipped with a psychological radar, when an adult will cave or look away or provide multiple "chances."  It is then, you become your own worst enemy.

Arm yourselves, moms!  Do it sooner than later.  Meet the challenge of defiance with one option and one option only:  yours.  It is the best gift you will ever give yourself.  Your preference counts.  Your opinion matters.  Don't be bulldozed!  Find your power you have within, and your children will rest easy knowing you have the control to guide them to their own success.

Spring Break, Part 1

Vacation for children is rarely a mutual experience for parents.  More work may actually be involved in vacationing, as oppossed to our daily grind, because it is imperitive to keep expectations from plummeting to the reality we are all too familiar with in day-to-day living.  Every effort is made to avoid reminders of home.

 But, my topic is not really vacation, it's worse:  a school break without the glory of vacation, more specifically (drum roll, please):
An Indiana Spring Break.

The Midwest, in March, is a gamble, to say the least.  This year, it was anything but warm.  M'lady, March, simply wouldn't have it and sought some sort of retribution for the record-breaking heat we enjoyed the year prior.  While we frolicked in the tropical heat last year like spoiled Polynesians, we paid the piper this year with a freakish post-Solstice snowstorm.  Not what you want when the students in your children's classes are talking about Florida-bound plans making you, the room parent in charge of the Spring Party to usher in the very "Break" of Spring, very jealous indeed.  I was present in class when the teacher made the rounds to ask what exciting plans each child had in store for their Spring Break.  My kid wasn't going to Disney World....

Sigh....what to do, what to do?  I don't base my success as a parent on a trip to the ocean, although I wouldn't feel UN-successful if we were heading to the Sunshine State, but I do find deep satisfaction in making a break from school worth breaking for.  Time spent with me has to be at least more exciting than fractions.  My oldest daughter went through the trouble of making a binder entitled: "My spring break schedule and fun things I did."  Talk about pressure...  She's got every day of the two weeks swimming in a sea of blank white paper, staring at me like a dare.  How am I going to see those pages filled?

I started by initiating a new tradition:  every Spring Break will begin with cupcakes!  New rule.  Don't know if it's more for them or for me, but it feels festive and bright and "Spring-y," and I'm sticking to it for the next 14 years until all my children graduate high school.  By then, I should definitely have more gray hair than Chestnut (yes, Chestnut), and I will probably continue the tradition from there with my grandchildren....yikes!

Here's the best part about a break in the school grind:
Waking up with daylight.  Moving slow.  Eating breakfast together in our pajamas.  Discovering an activity around town.  Freedom to be busy between the hours of 2:30-4:00 without stopping to report to a school pick-up line.  Time with grandparents and cousins.  Staying up late.

Here's the worst part:
Stumbling over bodies parked in front of the TV every morning, shoo-ing them away like flies collected on an old hamburger, to find something, anything more productive.  Noise.  Finding something to do out of the house.  Mess.  Late dinners.  The kids never seem to go to bed.

I enjoy being with my kids.  I also enjoy my house not looking like some sort of animal rescue shelter.  So, they must help with chores and picking up, while I dangle the carrot of good things to come.

This week, as I mentioned, started with a thick blanket of snow.  My mind kept trying to sync the longer days of light and sounds of turtle doves with the 9 inches of snow on the ground, but, out came the snowsuits and boots, nonetheless. They enjoyed playing in it for at least 15 minutes, until two of the four ended up landing face down in the powdered ice, and they came crying of the shock and pain, while one other child trailed behind in tears from "not meaning to push" the 3-year-old to his demise.  That was fun.



We did find warmth the next day at Garfield Park Conservatory.  The bulbs in bloom made the air thick with fragrance and my nose was grateful for the humid warmth.   We lingered for two hours, until someone had an accident in his britches...but that's another story.  I gave the kids turns with my camera, which added to the foraging-in-the-rainforest-experience.

 If you ever want to have a good laugh, give a kid charge of a camera.  They need it long enough for their creative eye to engage, but not so long you've lost track of where they might have discarded it.  When they're done, enjoy scrolling through the 527 pictures to replay their steps and see what they see....

They spent a long weekend with grandparents, making costumes, working the winter garden, and baking with some very custom "shape ware."  Apparently, my father has become adept at ordering specialized culinary equipment off the internet.  He has a collection of bake ware in a variety of shapes.  Castle cakes, pineapple cakes, you name it....  He has warned the perils of looking up "shapeware" in a search engine, as it may also apply to lingerie.   Assuming they weren't exposed to any "angels" in their "unmentionables," I believe they were dosed with enough sugar to make it a good time. 

What's in store this week?  We'll have to wait and see.  I do know we will get out, get creative and try to find some ever strengthening April sun to warm our faces and the memories we will make.






I did make some pretty killer gluten-free, Meyer lemon waffles.  They are also dairy-free.  The recipe is an adaptation from a tradition waffle, but it's all mine:

Gluten-free Meyer lemon waffles

2 Cups all-purpose gluten-free flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
3 Tblsp sugar
2 Tblsp chia seeds
zest of 2 Meyer lemons
 mix and add wet ingredients:
3 eggs
2 oz oil (I used sunflower)
1 1/2 Cups rice milk
juice of 2 Meyer lemons
1 tsp vanilla

Mix batter.  Allow to rest 5 minutes.  Ladle in waffle iron.  Cook until golden brown and serve warm with maple syrup!

the Climb

The rule to climbing trees around here is as follows:
You are allowed to go as high as you can manage independent of outside assistance.
If you can't get into the tree, then you're out.
If you can't reach a branch, then you're done.  You've reached your limit.

I suppose it's criminal to insinuate that a child can have limitations.  It's standard practice to teach they can be whatever (or would it be whomever?) they want to be.  Is that really true?

Like all clean slates, there are endless possibilities to fill an empty void.  Add a dash of personality and a splash of hard-core drive, and, yes, a person can evolve into many forms.  Seemingly endless possibilities await....

When an infant is born, they inherit a cradle of sorts:  a cradle of mahogany, gold, recycled barn wood...perhaps, molded plastic, or maybe nothing more than a simple tattered blanket.  A social class.  A cultural distinction.  Shackles.  Aren't all children born into shackles of circumstance or expectation to be bound, overcome or live up to?  We hope they will find freedom from anything to which we were inherently burdened, and when we witness glimmers of aptitude, we want them to succeed uninterruptedly.

It is all too easy to live vicariously through the broad horizons of our children.  To be where we stand in life, limited to a path of circumstance and choice, and see the road map of possibilities before them, glimmering in early morning light, with so much time to journey.

How high can they climb?  Will they grasp every branch they struggle to reach?

I wish it only depended on talent or sheer determination.  How many of us have desire?  Burning desire.  Or, how about willpower?  Is it really a lack of willpower that makes us unable to out pace the road blocks of a life going completely status quo?

One thing I do know about life is the unexpected nature of events taking shape at all times.  I have attained many goals I have sought; but more often than not, I have been blind-sided by random circumstances I could not control.  Some events have been mere hiccups, nothing more than a passing annoyance. Others have been tragic, monumental.

Looking back on disappointment or pain and seeing the other side is called survival, and survival is not nothing.  It may not be glamorous.  Life in it's everyday form is not an inspirational poster.  Trophies aren't awarded for hard choices and monotonous work and sacrifice.  When a glass ceiling is smeared with clawing desperation, it can become nothing short of an obsession to break through.  And, now we must take pause, because an obsession will dominate everything is touches.  How hard should we push to climb higher...and, at what expense?

I suggest, while we teach our children to strive for goals, we also take the time to celebrate the accomplishment of adaptation.  Sometimes it's the decision to stop climbing or find satisfaction with the heights we were able to attain, without risk to life or limb, that we must acknowledge and celebrate.  It's not failure I congratulate, but, rather, sincere effort and the modesty to know when we gave it our best and still find value in it.  Contentment does not mean abandonment of dreams.  Contentment is peace.  Contentment is satisfaction without the gnawing static of discontent sapping the beauty of the delicate, fleeting present.

It's so difficult to see what is out of reach, rest our gaze on it, and be fine with not touching it.  It may always be beyond us to hoist any further, but higher does not always mean better.

The climb can take on different purpose, and for that be wary.  A person may stretch for a branch of personal growth.  But, sometimes, our tree becomes a competitive pursuit.  In ecology, competition is:  "the simultaneous demand by two or more organisms for limited environmental resources, such as nutrients, living space, or light."  What is force driving us on?  Has our tree grown greedily tall just to starve out neighboring growth?  Just because a tree reaches beyond our sight doesn't mean we have to go there, that we must sacrifice the view below for an unknown, perceived gain that lies above.

Some may say "You can have it all."  But, it's not true.  It's really not.  Our children, though, can have so much.  It is a privilege to be witness to the unfolding of intellect and skill harnessed in such small, hopeful packages.  Perhaps, though.....it is not what they Become, but, rather, their ability to Adapt, for the sake of valuing what is their life alone and not in comparison with anyone else, that will be most extraordinary.

in sickness & in health

Thursday, I had an intestinal "malfunction" of sorts.  As I blinked to consciousness, my mind quietly whispered uncertainty.  Something was amiss, but I preferred to doubt.
Too many things to do.
Kids to get off to school.
People counting on me.
This gnawing feeling had to be a fluke.
 My insides, however, were mounting nothing short of a mutiny.   

My daughter began preparing her lunch in the glow of the kitchen, the outside still dark with night (thank you very much daylight-savings time), and I began to sense urgency.  A medical "red sky at morning" was dawning on the horizon of my day.  I was on borrowed time, because something was going down in a hurry, and I needed to get these kids on their way before it all broke loose.

***

Moms dread sickness.  Not just for the illness, but the incapacity that comes in tow.  Viruses don't give you a "heads up."  They appear, anywhere, anytime.  In good clothes.  On vacation.  When you've agreed to chaperon a school field trip.  A mother doesn't have much room for "down time," should she be stricken, especially when little ones are bobbling precariously about the home.  I've had anywhere from one to three preschoolers at home with me for twelve years now.  These opportunists require an adult at full operating capacity because they are always hungry or inflicting personal injury.  They do not understand suffering on the part of an ill parent, except to say, it is the ideal opportunity to play in the dog water or try on makeup or yank a container of yogurt from the refrigerator onto the kitchen floor, where they will happily eat and finger paint the stainless steel appliances.

***

Already squirming to the discomfort of what was building, I drove those kids to the school that morning like Danica Patrick meeting a bomb squad.  Van doors opened at a rolling stop and they fell to the curb, backpacks softening the landing.   And, as I dispensed of right-of-way etiquette at each of the seventeen four-way-stops between the school and my home, I broke into a cold sweat, ready to meet my maker.

Although I felt significantly better after the "purge," I wobbled to a vertical position to muster the strength to go to work, collect my son from an overnight excursion to his grandparent's house, and find my way back to a sofa with my name on it.

The mind has incredible will when necessary.  It can fixate.  It senses desperation to fulfill a goal or meet a deadline, and will commit to the pursuit of it's prey.  Distract the body to empower the mind...

Must get to work.

Driving, unfortunately, leaves the mind vacant, restless.

Must use music to keep forward momentum.

Could have tried talk radio...but a topic like the children of Charles Dickens may not be enough to deflect the physical discomfort, nor the mental stress of not knowing if my intestines had reached a truce with my body.

I landed on "18 Wheels on a Big Rig" and sang loud and proud to a song I hadn't heard in probably 20 years.  (I totally nailed the Roman numerals part, by the way.)   My brain was functioning on another level now, ignoring the invasion, ready to complete the task at hand.

What do you do when left alone to tend children when you need to sleep?
or curl into fetal position?
or camp on the bathroom floor for awhile?

I think, in all the years, I've only had the need for adult reinforcement twice....maybe three times.  Each time required an infant to be delivered to my den of infection to be nursed and whisked away to avoid further contamination.  Otherwise, any illness to which I have fallen victim required creative management of any children stuck with me, while I lay as motionless as possible.  The TV gets props here.  When kids don't get a lot of screen time, the glow becomes a magnet to their impressionable brains.

This time, I had jumped a hurdle to which I wasn't even aware.  I saw how far I had come in these twelve, short years.  (Yeah, I'm being sarcastic, but grateful.)  When my middle-school-aged daughter arrived home minutes after I did, I briefed her on the situation.  Somewhere along the line, she had developed the ability to become a pretty stellar care-giver.  I never once had a reason to peel myself from the sofa to make a snack or break up an altercation between siblings.  With an appreciative smile, I relaxed against the understanding that my kids were going to survive in her care.  Better yet, I was going to survive in her care.

Of course, there was some aftermath.  Food had wandered out of the kitchen.  The TV did become a hypnotic presence.  The candy stash was breached.  However, the backpacks were hung and homework did get done and snack time didn't become a brawl over the Cheddar Bunnies, so dear o'le dad had only to make dinner for the kids while I entered a coma until morning....

Perhaps, at this stage in my life, my insides can melt, and I can actually indulge myself in 12 hours of uninterrupted recovery.  Who knew that succumbing to an illness could become such a fulfilling accomplishment?

Feeding man and bird

No talk of the weather this week.  I give...

After my small 20-hour stint with illness, I re-grouped, took a 40-minute spin with a shopping cart at the local super-center searching for supplies for a 3rd-grade Spring craft I was assigned to bring to school later that day.  There is nothing like some hard-core procrastination to get the blood pumping.  At 2:30 pm, it was show time.  The teacher turned over the class to "Mrs. Calbert."  (I always laugh inside when anyone calls me that!)



I came up with a bird feeder made from a rice cake.  Fortunately, none of the kids had an allergy to peanuts. 

You will need:
*unsalted rice cake
*pencil (or anything to punch a hole in the middle)
*string
*peanut butter (or nut butter)
*bird seed
*small dowel rod




First, we punched a hole in a rice cake.

Then, we pushed a string through the hole and tied it in a knot.











We covered both sides of the rice cake with peanut butter and then pressed them into a pile of bird seed.








 

(If you cover one side with the peanut butter first and then leave it in the seed while you cover the other side with the  peanut butter, it is much easier and cleaner.)










Finally, we pushed a  small dowel rod through the completed rice cake so the birds had a spot for their leisure!










Here's what us humans ate this week:

*Chili

*Butternut squash risotto (didn't have saffron, but this dish was delicious regardless)

*Green chili chicken tacos

*Spaghetti and meatballs

*Roast chicken and potatoes, green beans