Tracking Ripples

Last Wednesday, a dear friend paid me the most beautiful compliment.
I smiled for days.
So, on Saturday, when I needed new black shoes, instead of my usual flats, I came home with the three inch heels I've always wanted to try.
On Sunday, I let someone in.
On Tuesday, Mary couldn't remember the last time I lost my temper.
Yesterday, my head finally touched the floor in a wide-legged forward fold.
And I took Beth's advice and wore bright red lipstick.
She has been smiling for days.

Happy Birthday!

I turned thirty-four on Sunday.  I woke to breakfast in bed.  Mary is only twelve, but she makes the creamiest scrambled eggs.  I lingered over them before I plunged into my day.  Then there were songs, and chocolate, and special gifts, and hugs, and phone calls, and laughter, and prayers of gratitude "for Mama's thirty-four years on the planet," and cake with sprinkles, and pistachio ice cream, and a long hot bath.  It was a wonderful day.

I only thought about aging twice.  Once when Beth let me know that I'm so old that she can't imagine ever being my age, and once when the ladies at church told me that I'm much too young to understand menopause.  I suppose I'm a grown up, but am I young one or an old one?

As always, Raffi knows just what to say.

Big Cats and Cold Feet in the Moonlight

Last night, for Family Home Evening, we donned our winter coats and jumped on the trampoline.  My children taught me how to butt slam.  We lay back and looked at the moon.  And the stars.  Our feet grew cold.  We were ready to wind down when someone suggested some Animal Fighting.  I'd never heard of Animal Fighting.  It's a game Mary invented when she was six--six years ago.  For the next twenty minutes, I sat beside Jared on the edge of the tramp and watched in amazement.  Those children became panthers (or maybe tigers).  I could almost see muscles rippling under black fur as they leapt at one another growling.  Hannah snuggled next to me and in occasional comments, explained the game.

"They need to bite each other on the neck to get a point."

"Right now, they're playing for three points."

"Oh!  Jonah's not supposed to do that.  Standing up is against the rules."

"They don't actually bite, they just do this (her mouth opens wide in a snarl and she creates a something between a hiss and a growl).  That counts."

"Jonah has a really good leap.  Beth's is silly (she says this giggling), she looks like a frog, but she does go higher."

Mary gets two points on Jonah quickly.  Her legs are longer, which in this game is a huge advantage.  She offers to "make things interesting" by giving him two free points, "So, the next point wins."  He gets her and she shakes his hand and congratulates him before moving on to Beth.  Their match lasts longer, maybe because they keep pausing for Daniel.  He wants to be part of things and Mary lets him pounce on her with his extended claws and cute little growl.  Each time, he returns to my lap crowing jubilantly, "I did it!  I did it!  Your turn, Mama?"

Sitting there in my moonlit backyard, surrounded by the laughter of independent, interesting people, I felt deep happiness.  They had welcomed me into their rich, secret world and it was beautiful.

Parenting Well...Enough

There are days when I think parenting may not be my forte.  Last Monday, we packed up diapers, wipes, water bottles, sweaters, strollers, sunglasses, sunblock, sunhats, and cash, and went to explore Washington, D.C.  We started our day with two hours at the Capitol Building.  One child enjoyed the view the grounds afforded of the Library of Congress, "Must...have...books," the others were less impressed.  We followed this fiasco with a visit to the National Gallery of Art.  Nothing says Mother of the Year like taking five tired whining children to see a da Vinci.  As we ran from the building, I poked my head in the Monet room, but skipped Degas completely.  The security guards thanked me for my sacrifice.  We thought a stop at the Natural History Museum would go better.  And it did...for all but the baby who screamed through the butterflies, mummies, T-Rex, and Hope Diamond.  The Washington Monument was, "Tall!  Can we go home now?"  By the time we climbed the steps at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, this 'sunny day of sweet memories' had taken on epic proportions.  Signs posted everywhere asked visitors to respect the quiet of the place.  My children didn't read them...or the bits of the Declaration of Independence carved in marble.  We then zoomed past the Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Martin Luther King Jr.  Memorials.  As we climbed down from the Lincoln Memorial I noticed the light was a little warmer.  The sun was getting ready to set.  Some oddball stood off to the side belting Amazing Grace and the moment seemed rich and significant.  We had done it...almost.  We still had to make it to the subway and the White House was kind of on the way, so we saw that too. 



Il Sodoma [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Back in the hotel room, as my children watched cartoons and horfed pizza, I Google Mapped our route and realised we had walked over twelve kilometres.  It seemed like the day had been all tears, and blisters, and sunblock in eyes, and indignation.  I felt discouraged.  Then I remembered a single golden moment.  In the National Art Gallery, Beth had alternated between cartwheeling and sprawling on couches.  But at one point, I heard her yell from across the room, "Look, Mama!  It's Saint George and the Dragon!  Remember?  We read about him!"  Leaning back on that double bed, my head throbbing, my feet swollen, I felt a slow smile spread across my face.  I have not failed this parenting thing completely.  I have done at least some things well (teaching my children museum manners isn't one of them).