Sliding Through

Lately I've felt like I'm falling. I haven't been able to piece together enough time to get all the good or important stuff done. I keep thinking there's just one more busy week to get through but then another appears.

Last night I felt the weight of 20 years on me - as in, we're going to be having these same struggles almost daily for the next 20 years. What an utterly depressing thought. 20 more years of flailing as I fall into the abyss, waiting for solid ground.

But tonight a different thought occurred to me: what if it's not falling but sliding? What if the spasms of terror, the pitted stomachs and the sloshy perspective are all just part of the joy in the ride? As we give in to gravity and the laws of physics we find ourselves on a ride that brings excitement. As I give in to the laws of human nature and accept the relationships around me, I find myself on a ride that brings unexplainable pleasure.

Like going down a slide, I willingly put myself into the position of fear and anxiety again for the rush that comes with momentum. And like the slide, I know that I'll soon enough hit solid ground - and climb right back up the ladder to do it all again.

Bundled in Boston

 Last weekend our family trekked to Boston to watch our friend run the marathon. I spent many Patriot's days watching and cheering during my years in Beantown and it was great fun to share the experience with my family.

We stayed with our dear friend Brie, who should win a Hostess of the Year prize in addition to her many accolades as an all around fabulous person. She even taught Monkey & Peanut how to crochet. Thanks Brie!

We found a great spot to cheer the runners on, not long after Heartbreak Hill. Monkey & Puddin' were reluctant at first but with a little coaching got into the spirit of it. They enjoyed being loud but even more so, they enjoyed seeing the difference their cheering made on the runners.

Puddin' had a harder time. She was overwhelmed by the noise and commotion. She reluctantly cheered a little for this picture but mostly just wanted to be held, sheltered from the masses around her. This week, however, she's reliving some of those moments. Puddin' started a marathon game where we take turns running and cheering each other on.

Here's our friend Bob, in the lime green shirt. Wahoooo!

After a yummy late lunch (scrumptious Thai from Brown Sugar Cafe) we headed over to Harvard Square for treats. Peet's coffee for me, Burdicks chocolate for the rest. Here's Stan checking out the menu with Puddin' and Monkey. They all thoroughly enjoyed their choices, and I'm still basking in the coffee glory with Garuda blend that Brie sent home.

With the whole gang in tow, I didn't get the chance to visit with as many friends as I would have liked. But I'm very grateful for the time I did have. Thanks especially to Jess, John & Sophia for changing your schedule to come have dinner with us. I got to have one of my favorite dishes with one of my favorite people.

Thanks also to Misch and Tara for letting me crash the baby shower. It was great to celebrate with you and be part of the baby phases in your lives.

We did a family photo shoot at the BU beach, the largest plot of grass on my alma mater. (although, BU wasn't very nourishing for me so the title must be said with tongue planted in cheek.) I love how the kids personalities show up in each photo.

A big thanks to Bill, who helped Bob, his family, and a few runner friends find a fabulous and cheap place to stay for the weekend. Bill, who already had a place in my heart, took wonderful care of my friends and went out of his way to be generous to people he had never met. This guy is a testament to the love and grace of God and I'm blessed to know him.

Taking Monkey & Peanut was a last minute change to our plans but I'm so glad it turned out that way. We had a great time sight-seeing, eating, cheering, and riding the T. I'm so grateful to the friends who helped me share my former city with my family. And I'm grateful to Stan for tolerating the cold & drizzle: next vacation will be warm, I promise.

Circles of Influence

This week has been spring break at our house. We got back from a road trip to Boston and the next day the kids were a little at a loss without masses of extra stimulation. At the first complaint I sent Monkey outside with a list of things to find: different species of birds, trees, mammals, & flowers. Peanut hurriedly grabbed a clipboard and went to join her sister. Together they marched around the yard and then up and down our street. They came back with pictures and written descriptions of all they had seen.

Before they could switch modes I handed them a large beaded necklace and told them to spread it out as a circle somewhere in the yard. Their assignment, after Monkey calculated the area, was to list all forms of life they found within their circle. Puddin' just HAD to have a circle too so they all ran off with their magnifying glasses to work on their assignment together.

Later I mentioned something to Monkey about science time and it took her a few moments to figure out what I was talking about. It seems the kids consider this kind of thing completely normal, which this nerdy mama finds wonderfully comforting.

Wet Panty Blues

Potting training has exposed my severe lack of patience. I get disproportionately upset to the mishaps and dirty panties. Why, oh why can't Puddin' just go to the potty? She knows what to do, has all the necessary skills, but won't deliver. She does not want to.

This morning she stood talking to me then squatted and waddled to the bathroom. She called over her shoulder as she penguined away - "Mama, will you go get me new pants please?" grr. I told her I was sad. I told her I was angry. I told her we might have to go back to diapers. In short, I did everything the experts say not to do. My anger and frustration leads her to feel anxiety, which increases her reluctance to try using the potty. Vicious cycle, which adds to the nasty laundry cycle we've already got going. grrr.

The thing is, I know part of the reason she had an accident this morning is that she had a crazy weekend with little downtime and not enough sleep. I also know that most of the reason I'm easily angered today is a crazy weekend with little creative time and not enough sleep. sigh.

I put Puddin' down for a nap and grumpily went to find some indoor cardio options. Did you know that on some websites there's a cardio entry for playing an instrument? Seriously? Squats and push-ups don't count but playing my guitar does? If you play tuba in marching band you totally deserve cardio points but that can't be what they mean because marching band has it's own entry. It's a mad, mad fitness world.

Obviously I chose playing an instrument. It doesn't give me a whole lot of calories burned but the mental health benefits are incalculable. I've practiced and I am a healthier person for it. Bring on the wet panties - I can take it.

(I also did some footloose-style dancing with hand weights but let's just keep that between us.)

Not My Job

As a stay-at-home, my job description is fuzzy at best. My husband cooks a little on weekends but for the most part it's my job. Homework time is my domain. Instrument practice, ferrying to lessons - mostly me. Feeding the preschool mind - me. I know that cleaning is my job but I rarely get to that one. Laundry - my life sentence.

In the midst of this I'm also volunteering, practicing my own arts, keeping up with world events, and trying to get myself healthy. I never get to it all in one day but in a good week I hit all the marks at least once. Balance is elusive: I bounce briskly from one activity to the next, all the while wishing I could float gently instead. Just as I find myself holding steady, something comes along to knock me off my beam. Tonight was one of those nights.

Peanut is a bright enough child that she was placed in an accelerated program this year. She's never had to work hard before so this year has been a shock. She's a dramatic child with a history of histrionics. When she feels her world is off-kilter, she flips out. My job is to right her keel and get her sailing smoothly again. I have my own dramatic tendencies so I've got to be in a good state when working with her. I calm myself. Together we calm her. We talk through the hard emotions and help her understand her world. We look at the problem she's facing and find strategies to solve. Finally, she can go back to her homework - hopefully without anymore meltdowns. It's been getting better lately, though. I thought we were through the worst of it.

Today, we had another messy fit. Turns out her teacher gave her math homework that she had no concept how to do. We looked through the math journal for evidence that the work had been taught at some point but no. Instead we found months worth of incomplete and incorrect school work. This journal is supposed to live at school so we never see it. It's astoundingly bad. Our little math genius does not have a clue what she's supposed to do with this journal. It's a mess of scribbled notes and badly glued worksheets. Our curious kid who loves to learn is now convinced that she's not good enough. Bad teaching has killed her curiosity.

So now, in addition to the bathrooms that need to be scrubbed and the mounds of laundry I could lose my preschooler in, I have a new title: I am now a math teacher. To be fair, I do have a degree in education, with a significant chunk focused on teaching math. And my brilliant physicist hubby will play an admirable role as co-teacher, but he has to go earn our money so there's only so much teaching time for him. Peanut is going to be ok. She's got parents who love her and who have the skills to make up for the appalling teaching her school has provided. The point is, it's not my job. If this is the way it has to be, the school could at least do a little laundry for me. It's only fair.

Notes on Springtime

I dropped off a bill at the post office and suddenly an urgent voice came from the back seat.

"Can we go home and get my notes to put in the box?"
"What notes, smoochy?"
"The ones I have."

Puddin' insisted she had notes that must be mailed immediately. I convinced her that we could wait a little while to post her notes - especially if she went home and made some more. Puddin' instantly agreed and decided she would make a "lellow" note for Grandmama with flowers, pretty yellow flowers from her garden. (The nearly 3 year-old remembers planting in her grandmother's garden just once almost a year ago.)

We gathered pretty paper scraps, glue, stamps, ink and set to work. Puddin' glued & stamped, colored & sorted until she ran out of stuff. By the end I had a proud Puddin' and a plethora of springy, flowery notes to brighten the days of a few of her people. Making them was the pick-me-up I needed this cold & dreary week. Spring is indeed coming. It's only a matter of time.

Happy Spring! Love, Puddin' (& Mama)

Faux Spring

As of today, there is no snow in our yard. We were the last yard on the street with a pile and finally it's gone. As the girls and I walked up to the house returning from school, I kicked the last little bit around and muttered "Take that winter." Monkey in particular thought that was just too funny.

Puddin' and I went with double layers but no coat today. It wasn't really warm enough but I'm aching for sun and bare toes. This week we'll have temperatures near 70º with bright sunshine. I'm pretty sure there's a picnic in my near future. Let's just hope winter doesn't get mad at me for my mutterings and come back to wallop me.