how to grow a kid

What is the cure for Cabin Fever?
Ditch the kids, and hightail it to IHOP.

I called Andrew at 6 p.m.
"Hey wanna go on a datee?"
        "Sure, but what are we gonna do?  It's 12 degrees outside and we don't have time for a movie."
"I don't know, but I just want to hang out with you."
         "Ok, I'll meet you at 6:30."
"Better make it 6:45."
          "Why," an irritated grumble and heavy sigh.
"Oh nevermind..."  I wimper.
            "Fine! Ya let's just bag it...."
"No, I'm sorry.  I don't want it to be this way.  Ugh...I'm just frustrated," I acquiese.    
             "Well why will it take you so long?  What do you have to do?"
"Clean the house, get kids dressed, pack the diaper bag - it takes a long time to mobilize the troops."
              "Alright..."  Another heavy sigh, "I'll meet you at 6:45."

a day in the garden with Sophie

I hang up and start the mad dash of throwing toys into bins, laundry into piles, kids into car.
I look in the mirror and realize I haven't brushed my hair in 3 days.
I toss it up into my banana clip and brush my teeth.
At least I still have a good butt.
That's gotta count for something on date night.

Sitting in IHOP the Mom next to us shouts,
"Because we're in a restaurant!  That's why you can't take your pants off!"
We laugh and eyes twinkle with recognition of this feeling.
At least we're not the only ones.

We drink decaf coffee and talk about our life:
the upcoming move to our new house.
our budget.
the fact that I feed the kids crap-food cuz it's cheaper.

They really do love muck

"Kids should eat garbage.  They're growing.  It's like putting shit in your garden," he declares, "Shit makes things grow."

"That's the Best Metaphor you've ever come up with!"  I blast.

He sits back into his seat with a proud grin that says, 'Ya, that was pretty clever, wasn't it?'

And we adore each other all over again.
Amazing what one hour in IHOP can mend.






         

whole little people

 I can't believe I chose today of all days to break my no-writing streak.
My head is an orange helium balloon bobbing 3 feet above my neck.
It doesn't stay focused where I assign, but instead floats and weaves lightly where it wishes.
My nasal passages are swollen hot-dogs along the bridge of my nose.
A small animal is trying to burst through my ear drum.
I am sweating into Andrew's hoody and shivering.
My eyes just want to close and close and sink.  But I can't sleep, because I can't breath.

This is how Beckam felt last week.

Beckam when he isn't sick

Now I am glad I rocked him with his blanky whenever he needed.
I looked into his bleary eyes and smoothed red straws of hair from his forehead.
I wish someone would rock me - distract me - from all of this sickness.

I walk the trail of intuition every day, eyes atuned to signs of what my kids need.
If I am not looking I will miss the broken branch or Cheerio dropped.
Usually they can't tell me either because they don't know or can't talk.
Now that I am feeling Beckam's experience first hand, I am glad I don't punish him for being needy.
Too often I think to whip them into shape.  "Stop Whining!  What's wrong with you!?"
This does not work at all.  The need is not met by my bullying.
But if I am quiet inside, I can watch, and ask questions.  I can be gentle.

This happens to me just as it does them.  I am taunted by needs I don't realize and act childish.
I whine.  I lie.  I lash out.  I get sloppy.  I shout things that aren't true in an attempt to assert my own power.
I take things that aren't mine.  I cry.  I wander around feeling sorry for myself.
I leave Andrew wondering what's the matter instead of being a grown-up and telling him.
I migrate from food to food - eating little - then announcing - I am hungry!
( this one's Sophie's favorite...probably mine too*)

Teaching Beckam how to open
presents - 1 yr. birthday.

Last week my friend said to me,
"I never knew how to deal with kids.  They kind of scared me.  I didn't understand them.
Then you taught me, they are whole people, just smaller."

Children are whole people.  I learned this from my parents.
It is the best thing they taught me.  They displayed it in their actions everyday.
It was not a theory.  It was their reality.
As a child - I never doubted the truth of my own feelings.  I knew exactly who I was.
I did not dismiss myself or my intuition.   I was validated and heard.
I never wondered if I was silly or crazy or over-sensitive.

All of that came later - as a teenager - as an adult.
It came with boyfriends and marriage and college and drugs.
But when I needed to leave all that behind and be Sarah again - I knew exactly what she felt like.
I knew how it felt to see the world through her eyes.
There is a twinkle in the corner of her perception.  It rests right where her temple meets her eyelashes.
 It says, "This is all a delight...kind of funny, incredibly precious, and there is no need to be afraid."

Little people trying to fill big shoes

Ugg Boot Kick

5:42 a.m. the house is quiet. I am sneaking my own thoughts over a cup of coffee.
My eyes feel rested even though I only slept from 12:34 am to 5:19 am
I always do that when I get up in the middle of the night with the kids.
I look at the clock to see how much sleep I am not getting.
It is an exercise in dispelling the myth about how much sleep I actually need.

From 1979-1989 my mom had 6 kids  Then in 1995 she tacked on one more.
She didn't sleep solid from 1979-1999.  20 years.
Now she sleeps whenever she wants, in a massive slab of a bed.
It has at least 8 pillows spread across the top like a thick layer of frosting.
When I get weary of all this I think about her.
If she could trade me places and be 33 again with a house full of tiny kids, she'd do it.
She would pull herself from bed 8 times in one night to taste the top of Beckam's head under her nose.  She would caress his cheek and coo to him in the dark living room surrounded by blue snow light.  She would tell Pepper she is so brave for sleeping without her bottle and run a hand along the back of her fleece jammies until breathing steadied back to dreams.

 Yesterday I took Pepper to the dentist.
Her front tooth is abscessed and I can see the swelling up under her lip morphing her face just a bit.
Here we go again.  5 years ago, Sophie had the same infection.  Except it was both of her front teeth and it exploded over night.  I couldn't stop laughing at her duck lip.

Ruthless Toothless 2009

The dentist pulled her teeth and she was Ruthless Toothless for 2 years.
I feel an odd parental ego flair when thinking about having a toothless child in family photos.
What if people look at her and see only the gap in her teeth?
What if they are not charmed by her anymore?
What if she's ugly?

It is the same ego that barked at Sophie yesterday on our way into the dental office.
"Soph!  You've gotta do something about that hair!  Brush it or put a hat on!  Your hair looks so ratty I'm embarrassed of you!"
She is slumping through the snow ahead of me in Ugg boots, a too-small ski coat, and jogging pants that need to be about 6 inches longer.
She flips her shaggy head around, flashes feisty eyes and a smile at me,
"You're embarrassed?  Mom, you're so funny."

With that one gesture, she puts me in my place.  She reminds me I am not that kind of Mom.  I do not think of my children as accessories, or an extension of myself.  They are individual people.  Yes, they are younger and they are dependent on me.  But they are not me.  I can try to teach them what I know.  But in some moments, they know more than I do.

Sophie climbing fearless and barefoot in Moab 2010
Climb rated 5.10

Sophie will not be crushed.
Yet, I think I assume too much of her.
I assume she is impervious to me.  I assume she has a bullet proof chest and everything I say is deflected.  In my fear,  I hurl too much at her.
But I've pierced her before, and I see the flinch.  I want to scramble up behind my bullet and erase the blow.  This would not help her though.  It is good that I can break through.  I am afraid for the day when I can't.  Once she is cracked then we can talk.
We are open.
Her sweetness trickles out and she finds relief in the rivulet running between us.

When my friends get divorced they say things like,
"She seems totally fine.  She tells me she is fine.  I ask her and she doesn't want to talk about it," and the most absurd, "She doesn't really seem to care."
Of course she cares.  Of course she wants to talk.  She wants to be important.
She just doesn't know how to tell you.  She doesn't know how to demand your attention.
It just so happens that Sophie was born with a fierce sense of personal justice.
She has no trouble finding her voice.
But not all kids have this.
In a way, I am lucky.  I never get to be lazy or diluted about the value of her soul.

Sophie loving me big 2008

paper airplane

       "Can I have it all? I'm inclined to believe that the myth of having a successful career and a happy, cemented and well-adjusted family is just that, a myth. I either marry my ambition and don't notice my children until they're grown or sit in poverty while savoring the precious moments that are gone all too soon. But where is the balance? This is where being a "creative type" becomes EXTREMELY tricky."
                 ~ Austism: Another year

I read this in my friend's blog this morning.
I was cursing the kids for waking up too early and robbing me of my writing time, yet again.
After reading her blog, I remembered the fight to keep my soul.
I remembered graduating from college and wondering if it had been a huge waste of money.
Now I had a studio art/teaching degree...for what?
I nearly curled up and let the kids trample, nurse and whine the magic right out of me.
Instead I decided to use all that "thinking outside of the box" stuff I'd learned in school.

Right now I am winning.

The last 2 years of school I was pregnant and had a newborn.  I was not the only one.  I found women in every class who were taking on the same Herculean task that I was.  If they can do it, I  can do it.  It was not a competition, they were an inspiration.  I smiled every time I saw a pregnant woman waddle across campus.  I sent her a tiny paper airplane up and over the bog of intellectual steam.
My classes were juggled between Pepper's nursing schedule.
 Senior practicum.
Advanced studio painting.
 Printmaking.
 Adobe photshop for studio artists.
and the whole time I was thinking...."this is not my real life. My real life is at home."

I broke down and cried to my professor - I don't know how to make honest art and be a mom. I feel like I have to chose, and that one choice would be a lie...I don't even know which life is the lie.

That is the illusion you believe - he told me - you don't have to choose.

He was right.

Then my marriage counselor said - You just need to become a more creative problem solver.

He was right too.

Now I make art inbetween my work.  My work is raising these 3 kids.
Yes, I may enjoy it.  But it is work.
My art is squeezed into the cracks, like right now.
I started writing this yesterday, and haven't found a space to finish until 24 hours later.
Right now both kids are laying in bed drinking bottles.
They woke up at 6 and decided to take a nap at 7:45.
Okay.
So here is my nugget.

My friend's blog also got me thinking about a "successful career."

ca·reer

/kəˈri(ə)r/

Noun An occupation undertaken for a significant period of a person's life and with opportunities for progress. Alright. I've certainly got that in the bag. I've been writing - painting - drawing - creating - since I was 12 years old. The kids don't have to stop this. In fact, they make it more necessary. I started blogging at 4 am when I was up nursing Beckam. I did it because I could feel my mind and soul going to sleep. If I have no soul, no inner-voice, no compass, no dreams.....how can I raise children who matter? "Mother and Child", sculpture by Wilhelm Lehmbruck