Dreaming of a memory

I took Emme to see the Nutcracker this past Saturday. It has become an annual tradition and some of you faithful readers of this blog may remember that I'm not a huge fan of the Nutcracker. Why I decided to go again this year, I don't really know - but a friend was taking her daughter and suggested we go together. And because I have trouble saying "no" - we were set for the Saturday afternoon performance. But, this year I didn't review the ballet with Emme as I did last year. And much to my surprise and thanks to her public education of "learning through the arts", she had a firm understanding of the ballet. She knew what to expect and anxiously awaited the dancers' venture into the Land of the Sweets. I am almost ashamed to admit that I think she knows the ballet better than I do. I was amazed at what she remembered from her Kindergarten class in which they were learning about the Nutcracker. Her command of the ballet let her ask good question - one which I am pondering even tonight. She asked if you could "dream of a memory". When I asked her what she meant, as we enjoyed intermission and our quest for a bathroom, she said that she wanted to know if it was okay to dream about something that already happened or do dreams have to be of something that doesn't exist. I wasn't sure how to answer her at the time in part because I wasn't sure how best to answer and in part because I was afraid if I said "yes" outright that she may grow up to be like me and be too afraid to dream of possibilities and instead end of dreaming of days gone by instead of days yet to come. I cherish my memories - at times they are the only things that warm my heart when the days seem cold. But at other times, dreaming of memories can be painful because you long so much for them to not exist in the past that it can paralyze you from dreaming or from creating any more memories. And yet, Emme is so full of life - so full of what could be that I can't ever see her not dreaming. It would go against who she is and who she is meant to be. She is my beautiful dreamer and my beautiful daughter who tonight, will help me dream of a memory of a hand slipping into mine and a soft voice saying "I'm happy to be here with you" ... and I will dream of another time when this might happen again.

Thanks - giving

It was a crazy Thanksgiving weekend. As is our recent tradition, we went to my sister's house in St. Louis to celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends. And as has become tradition, the weekend became, as my husband joked, "all the work of being home, but the discomfort of someone else's ...". I don't completely agree with him, but I do understand his sentiment - holidays are to be a time to relax and enjoy. But it never seems that way for me. And yet, somehow, I am okay with that. My kids had - as they would tell you - an awesome time and as a Mom, you do whatever you can to make sure your kids are well and happy. For me, I've come to understand my place in this life - one that I have carved and crafted - both consciously and unconsciously. And more importantly, I've come to find the time - amidst the craziness - I so crave as I wash the dishes and prepare meals. It is the time I crave to think about my life and the blessings that are in it. This Thanksgiving, I thought a lot about my friendships and how precious they are to me.

The Dad of a good friend of mine once said that you are as much defined by the friends you have as by the choices you make. As a mom, I take great responsibility in helping my children learn how to make friends and be a friend and how to make good decisions about friendship. By all accounts, I try hard to be a good friend, but admittedly, there are times, that I have failed a friendship. Because of this, sometimes, it is hard to know how to help my kids be thankful for the friends they have made - even in the short time they've been on this Earth.

Matthew's buddy Jaxson will be moving soon. They've been friends since Kindergarten - and although it has only been two years since they've known each other - they've come to consider each other best buddies. When you're seven, you have a lot of best buddies, but as you get older, you realize how the decisions you make start to define those who really are your "best buddies". There are those friends who make you laugh, those who make you think, those who make you want to be more than you thought you could be, and then there are those friends who will hold you hair back when you've had too much to drink, those who will look you in the eye and tell you the truth - even when it might hurt, those who will help you remember that you are beautiful, and those who will hold your hand as well as your heart. The choices we make in friends may define a lifetime of pleasure and a lifetime of pain. But, the choices are ours and we come to learn that if we stop making friends because they may move away, we stop learning how to live and how to love. My friend's Dad had great wisdom. In a simple statement, he made his children - and me - think about the consequences and the blessings of friendship. What are we willing to give and give up for the sake of friendship?

Matthew's heart will break when Jaxson moves away this Spring. Kickball won't be the same, his birthdays won't be the same, summer camp won't be the same, and play dates won't be the same. But, I tell Matthew that we come to know what makes a friend by how our heart hurts when they are gone and how our heart smiles when we remember the times that we have shared. And for that, we give thanks.

The Melody of Motherhood

In the past couple months, I've had a few friends announce their pregnancies. I'm thrilled for them and for the journey they are embarking on - either as first time parents or in expecting their second child. Both present equally rewarding challenges. Life will reframe itself with each new heartbeat that will soon wrap their family with love. It is exciting to watch as my friends grow - both physically and emotionally. For me, I understand that my time to expect a child is done not due to physically limitations, but emotional ones. Four children is my limit. Each of my children is a blessing to me as they have uniquely taught me so much about life, love, and laughter - about seeing the beauty amidst the clouds because even on a rainy day a well and loudly sung rendition of "sun, sun, mr. golden sun" can brighten the day. But, we all have our limits. And as my friends' families grow, I am content in knowing that my family is complete. And in this completeness, I have come to learn that my role know is to support my friends and to impart wisdom when asked about raising children.

I never thought much about what I would be like as a Mom. In truth, I never pictured myself as a Mom. I babysat growing up, but I knew I was always the last resort on the block - Mrs. Colpi would call me when my sister or Julie were unavailable. And I think for about fifty cents an hour, I would deal with her six kids for most of the day. I'm fairly certain I potty trained two of them, and I know I taught Danny how to read - but I never thought about my own kids. I did what I did for the Colpi's because I went with the rhythm of the household. I didn't try to change who the kids were or who I wanted them to be - but instead, I was who they needed me to be. As I reflect now, I realize I do that with my own kids. They each have their own way about them - Matthew is the analytic, Emme is the creative spirit, Nicholas is the humorist, and Lucas is the charmer. Each complete my soul in a way that I need to get me through each day. I know there are days when I wish Matthew was more of a free spirit and Emme could be more intellectual - but that isn't who they are - it isn't how they see the world or their place in it.

My friends have asked me how I manage to raise my kids as I have - and it wasn't until tonight as I watched my kids - all four of them - trying to teach each other how to dance as they watched the hip hop number on "Dancing with the Stars" - that I realized what it is about motherhood. Motherhood isn't about crafting your children to be who you want them to be, but empowering them to be who they are at their core. It is knowing that the best we can do for our children is to let them grow into the person who they are meant to be and to teach them to love who they are and the beauty that their difference bring to the world. I can't imagine what dinner would be like if Matthew didn't ask at least five questions or Emme didn't create a story about her day that captivates you with its details and her own knowledge of "mom, you know this is fiction", and Nicholas telling jokes that have no purpose - or punchline for that matter but bring us all to a common voice of laughter - and Luke - he combines his sign language for "more" with his ability to say please as he grabs the last of the bread off my plate. Yes, there is a lot to motherhood - a lot that you can read about in books - but in the end, your children are the notes that fill the music of your soul and when you listen to their own rhythms, you know without hesitation how to be their Mom.

So, to my friends who are embarking on a new stage in their life - I say to you - embrace the music that will fill your heart and know that it was composed as a melody to your motherhood.

Good Mornings

Life comes at your fast sometimes and those things that we love to do the most, seem to get pushed aside. For me, it is my writing - something that I love doing, but find little, if any time to do. But, in trying out a skill for the undergraduate technology course I'm teaching - I decided to share a short tale from my morning. In a sense - getting me back to my blogs. I hope you all can hear it okay. It's a little echoey, but I didn't have a good microphone. Enjoy!

Day is done

I am so tired that my body aches. The first week of school always makes me feel this way. But this year between teaching two classes - one of them with 150 students - soccer practices, cub scouts, playdates, and general life I am exhausted. Or at least I thought I was - I thought I would barely be able to make it home, much less pick up my kids. But as a mom, you find that reserve energy and you get things done. For me, I figured I'd put the kids in front of the t.v. while I made frozen fish sticks and then just let them sit while I lamented in my mind about my drained energy. But the kids didn't want that - they want to play - play outside. So, while I put the fishsticks in the oven, I let the three older ones go outside. Lucas shrieked until I finally brought him outside, too. He immediately went to the wagon and as he gingerly climbed in so as not to drop the blueberry bagel he snagged on the way out, his crying fit ended and he seemed to throw his head back as if to breathe in the last few days of summer. I circled block several times as I watched my kids playing with the neighborhood kids. The bikes - the scooters - the chalk - the laughter - the strategy as two jedi knights protected the culdesac ... all combined to take my own breath away. This moment - that was strictly orchestrated by ten children just being kids - the youngest being 15 months - the oldest 9 years old - was exactly what any mom would need to believe that life doesn't get much better than this. The fish sticks could wait, the peas would reheat - but this moment - was what summer was all about - no video games, no tvs ... no fatigue - simply friendship that framed the end of the day.

As I stood looking at these kids, I began to think of my own friendships and how precious they are to me. How there are days when your friends bring you the peace you so deeply needed - although they may not have known it - or how there are times when the right song evokes a memory of days passed and for a moment you are transported to a time and place where life embraced you. I think about how the beauty of friendship strengthens my soul.

And so it was tonight as all the Moms began to call their kids in for bed that I noticed the sun setting. My kids and I walked to the end of the block to let the richness of the orange hues paint the end of our day. And as we slowly turned to walk back home and Nicholas slides his hand into mind, he notices the stars. "Look Mom, they are following us" - "yes, baby, they are - the stars will always follow us, when the day is done - and sometimes, it is wonderful to take the time to let them guide our way home." With that, we turned into our driveway - blessed by another day and the night in which we may dream.

Freedom is ....

Last week I travelled to Ohio for a conference. This was my first trip for work in over a year. Situations in my life limited my travel for work so when the opportunity arose to travel to a conference in Ohio that dealt with digital media's ubiquity in higher education - I took advantage of it. As "geeky" as it may sound, the conference would give me the chance to think about how digital media is transforming the way we think, the way we learn, and the way we come to expect what it means to be a lifelong learner. The conference also would give me a chance to be free. I would be free from the responsibilities of my life as a wife, a mom, a co-worker ... and would free me from the guilt I tend to feel if I haven't lived up to my responsibilities. The trip meant freedom - if only for three days.

Thursday night of the conference, a reception was held at the Freedom Center. I was so excited to attend the reception because I was so curious to see what constitutes a "freedom center." I was humbled by the evening. The Freedom Center was a tribute to slavery and those slaves that found their freedom through the rivers and terrain of Ohio. One of its main exhibits was the "shelter" that housed captive the slaves in the evening. As I walked within its walls, my heart saddened by humanity's ability to self-impose entitlement by controlling others. Along the walls that framed the house was a pictorial history of the slave trade. My eyes and heart were drawn to a small picture of a faceless female slave as she was entering the slave shelter. Beneath the picture was a saying "I am tired, but tomorrow I will go on." Those words echoed in my soul as I imagined her life and the courage she showed waking up each morning. I don't believe that I will ever forget thinking that being weary can strength our character as long as we faced another day - no matter what it may entail.

Later that evening, representatives from Apple Computers showed the winning video of a contest they hosted for college students. In less than a minute, students, through the use of digital media, were to answer the question "freedom is ...". In 45 seconds, the winning team shared their vision and their soul getting us to understand that "freedom is coloring outside the lines." The saying is simple, but its understanding is powerful. As a society, we try to force coloring within the lines - but those who are truly free are brave enough to color outside the lines and to face another day within a society that may have other expectations for them. Coloring outside the lines allows us to be free with our movements - physical, emotional, and soulful. The images were powerful in their simplicity and their brevity. For me, I have been trying to figure out how I would answer the question. When I began my trip - I thought I knew - freedom is freedom from responsibilities. But tonight, I realized that true freedom is riding without the training wheels.

My husband and I have since May tried to teach our first born, our Matthew, how to ride his bike without training wheels. All the neighborhood kids - some younger than he - all ride without training wheels. But Matthew struggled. His sense of balance was off, his pride was shattered with each fall, his excuses were numerous as he looked at his failure to ride his bike. One of the more poignant moments for me as a Mom was finding him crying at the kitchen table as he had been humbled by his inability to succeed in something - when for him - up until now - everything came easily. He is bright - his intellect is impressive - he never had to struggle to learn. But this bike riding was challenging him and for the first time in his life he realized that he may fail. It is a lesson we all learn at some point in our own lives, I was just ill-prepared to deal with it with my six year old. And so I did what every mother would do. I hugged my son and I told him he wasn't a failure - that failing has to do with not trying, not believing in yourself, not wanting to keep trying when things get hard. I promised my Matthew that by summer's end, he would be riding his bike, if only he believed he was not a failure. And so tonight, after several (and I do mean several) long, hot hours holding the back of his bike - we let him go free and he took off. He soared down the road without care, without fear, without failure.

And so it was tonight, I understood that freedom is riding without the training wheels. Freedom was his not because he could go around the culdesac with the other kids, but because he didn't stop believing in himself - no matter how tired he was - both physically and emotionally - he went on for another day. Freedom was his because he came to learn that there is a balance of his soul that supercedes his physical balance. Freedom was his because he realized that a promise was kept because we both believed in the power of his determination. Tonight I learned that while I may have thought freedom was about letting go of responsibilities, it was really about understanding the power of my responsibilities and strength of getting up for another day to embrace those responsibilities.

Swinging

A few weeks back, I made the statement that "I wanted to swing". My good friends (and you know who you are!) teased me as only good friends could as they inquired if I meant adopting the unconventional lifestyle of the 70's . It was funny to think that this Mom of four would think about "swinging" in that manner. I'm typically so exhausted by the end of the day (hell, I'm exhausted by the beginning of the day!), that the thought of swinging seems best left to a well spun, but perhas short-lived television series.

No - this Mom of four - simply meant that she missed swinging in a swing. I had spent the afternoon pushing my kids on the swings. Each had their own style for swinging - but each wanted to swing high enough to touch the sky. Even Lucas just 15 months old loved the freedom of swinging. His huge smile as he kicked back his head to catch the breeze told me that he realized - even at a young age - how precious it was to swing. It was as if he, like his siblings, understood the power of the swings. He understood the power of freedom. He was free to fly - free to dream that you could reach heights you never thought possible. As I watched all my children swing in a row, I prayed that they would never forgot that feeling. The feeling that the impossible was possible and that no matter how high you might go, there would always be solid ground below you to break your fall - no matter how hard it may be. That's the power of the swing. It is the belief that you can soar and know there is a solid foundation below you. And sometimes it is about knowing who is next to you on the swing - breathing in the same moment and understanding the simple beauty of the swing and the freedom - even for a moment - that it brings.

[NOTE: this was drafted in July ... not sure why it was never posted!]