Dream, Little Darling ... Dream

I had a date tonight. It was a special night. I took my four year old daughter to see the Nutcracker Ballet at the Krannert Center for Performing Arts. It was a night of first for us - our first time out together - just the two of us. The first time Emme was at Krannert. The first time she ever saw a ballet. The first time I went to see the Nutcracker after swearing at age 14 that I would never see it again.

You see - I hated it when I saw it. I didn't really understand it. I didn't understand why they were not talking. How was I suppose to follow a story without a narrative? And yet when the Nutcracker came to town, for some reason I felt compelled to take Emme. I'm not sure why? Perhaps it is because I feel like I don't do as much for or with Emme as I do for the boys. Or perhaps it is because I wanted Emme to know that there are different types of dancing, not just the sexy stuff you see on Dancing with the Stars. Or perhaps it was because I was wanting to see if I could sit through the Nutcracker one more time. I had a dream that maybe seeing it through the eyes of a child would make me understand it and why so many people flock to it each holiday season.

Tonight I was prepared. I did an extensive internet search to learn about the ballet. I told Emme at least three times the story about Nutcracker - emphasizing that the ballet was about a dream. I was prepared. Or so I thought. Emme understood the ballet. In fact, she brought to my attention that the story is not "told through words" but through the "instruments and the ballet dancers". What I hadn't counted on was Emme's fixation over the fact that the boys and men in the ballet wore tights. She just didn't understand. As she informed me during Act II, "Matthew would not like wearing tights" - and she right, he wouldn't. But, I wasn't prepared to explain the nature of male ballet costumes -- in part because I never quite understood why they wore tights. But, then as Emme sat snuggling in my lap, it dawns on her "it's a dream -- so really the boys aren't wearing the tights - it is just their costume in the little girl's dream. " But then - she sits straight up - concern on her face - "Mommy - does she want this dream to come true? Aren't dreams suppose to come true?" I didn't know what to say - not all dreams do come true, but does that mean you stop dreaming? Can parts of dreams come true? For Emme, she wanted the dream to come true - she wanted the ballerinas that were fairies to be real. But, she didn't want the boys in tights. In the car ride home, this perplexed her very much. She understood the dream, but she just wasn't sure that she liked it. It was then that I realized through her eyes that we could understand a dream, but not accept it. Or, we could accept a dream, but not understand it. I just wasn't sure which was better - I'm still not.

So, that best I could do for my Emme bear ... was to tuck her in, whispering dream little darling, dream ....

Shall We Dance?

My contribution to the Junior League is that I always sign up my husband and daughter to go to the Festival of Trees - Daddy/Daughter Dinner Dance. I'm not much of a Junior Leaguer. I know they do good work. I have many friends who are part of the Junior League. But, I can't seem to join an organization who makes their volunteers take training on how to volunteer. It seems contrary to me. I think if you want to give of your time - you give it. I feel like we have so many constraints put on us by society that volunteering was one of the last great freedoms we have - it is our opportunity to give back in a way that we can give back. So to me, being told how to "give back" goes against my belief of something coming genuinely from the heart. I'm sure this is a bad characterization of the Junior League and an unfair assessment - as I know they do very good work in the community. But, I still resist joining the Junior League - despite the fact that it might actually get me out of the house once in a while.

So, the Daddy/Daughter Dinner Dance is the closest I come to the Junior League. And like every year, I always wait until the last minute to get tickets to the dance and then keep praying that there is still room. Although, I've come to the conclusion that there will always be room - I think it is tradition now for me to panic a bit about getting Brian and Emme into the dance. My second area of panic has to do with the dress. I'm not much of a shopper - never have been - but, I feel compelled to get Emme a dress that would be comparable to all the other girls at the dance. A big, frufru dress that I hated as a child, but that I would insist that she wears. Yet, this year, I was sick prior to the dance and the thought of going to pick out a dress lacked any sort of excitement to me. Even the fact that the Dads at Matthew's basketball practice were talking about the "big event" of dress shopping couldn't convince me to go to the mall. My own guilt over dragging myself out of the house for basketball and not for a dress couldn't even get me to the store. And there it was the night before the dance and I stressed about a dress. I knew Walmart was open 24 hours and I could find something there - or Kohl's opened early - I could find something there. Might not be ideal - but, it would be a new dress. But Emme had a different idea.

She had found in her closet a very simple, velvety maroon dress with "sparkles on the bottom" - that was a hand-me-down from a friend of ours. "I'll wear this mom --- with tights" - and it was settled. The next night, she dressed, I did her hair, she ate her Ritz crackers with cheese, and took some photos with her Dad all in about 20 minutes. And they left for the dance. Emme in her simple maroon dress with sparkles, her hair barely combed and her Dad in his suit. They arrived home a couple hours later with ice cream.

Brian had taken some pictures of Emme while at the dance. And as I looked through them I see all the girls in these very nice, and yes, some very elaborate dresses. Emme looked beautiful, but her dress was clearly not like the other girls. I asked her if she had fun. I asked her if she liked her dress - because in the abyss of my mind I was convinced that somehow her lack of a fancy dress would put her in therapy at age 25 - yet she answers yes to all my questions. I asked them again when she got up this morning and she looked at me as only Emme could and she said, "Mom, the dress, the dance was okay - for real Mom - it was. But, really, I just like going out with Daddy". My Emme - my genuine little girl - she looked past it all and realized that what was important wasn't the dress or the music, but time with her Dad - time for a dance, time for some ice cream, and time for a hug.

I'm fairly certain that Emme is even less of a Junior Leaguer than I am ....

Three's Company

This past May was a memorable month for the Pianfetti family. Lucas was born - right on his due date, May 2 - and we closed on a new, bigger house a few days later. May was spent packing and then June was spent unpacking. But, I convinced myself it was well worth it. We needed more space. We had outgrown our Applewood home and need to be in a house that would let us grow and breathe. We needed a house that didn't have all the kids sleeping in one bedroom. In our old home, Matthew, Emme and Nicholas shared one bedroom, while Lucas had a room as the nursery. We wanted a house where at the very least Matthew and Emme could have their own room. And we found that home.

Emme couldn't wait to be in her own bedroom. A bedroom complete with new furniture thanks to Yiayia and Pappou and princess decorations. She LOVED her room. She would fall asleep amidst that princess covers with her stuffed animals positioned just so all around her - crowning our little princess. Nicholas, too, LOVED his new room. A room that he shared with Lucas. His furniture, again compliments of Yiayia and Pappou, was perfect for the boys - bunk beds that could separate in twin beds. Matthew of course was in heaven with a room to himself. He hung his "Camper of the Week" award on his wall along with his spiderman picture. It was his room to do as he wished .... with in reason, of course!

A few weeks ago, we had guest stay with us. We gave them Matthew's room with allowed for an extra bed from his trundle. It worked great for the guests and Matthew was fine sleeping on the floor in our bedroom. That was four weeks ago. And since then -

Lessons Learned

I stood there looking at my daughter - my Emme - through the hallway window at her preschool. I looked at all the other children at the table she was sitting at and wondered how was it that she was the only child with food still on her face from breakfast and her hair uncombed. We had, after all, done our morning routine of washing face and hands after breakfast. How had she missed her face? I know for a fact that I've taught her how to wash her face. I clearly didn't say - "take a washcloth on all the clean spots on your face" and yet somehow she always manages never to get her face completely clean. In fact, I'm fairly certain is was a great fear of my good friend, (Emme's Auntie Azeen) that Emme would walk down the isle as the flowergirl at her wedding with chocolate covering, albeit daintly, her face. Again - how is it that Emme can look into the mirror and miss the food on her face? Hadn't I taught her well enough? And then there's Matthew who no matter how many times I try to teach him to tie his shoes always seems to be running ... and then tripping ... over his laces. How is it that lessons like these are not learned quickly and accurately? After all - these are routine tasks, right? It took Nicholas no time at all to figure out how to scale the shelves of our pantry by using the box of garbage bags to give him more height. I certainly didn't teach him that. So why is it that simple tasks seem to take so long to master and then other things seem to come naturally?

There were only four fruit rollups left in the box. Matthew, Emme and Nicholas had asked for some for dessert and I told them it was alright for them to have some. A practice that somehow got started was the one fruit roll up was not enough - they needed two at each sitting. But, with three kids and only four fruit roll ups, I would need to change this practice. I would have better luck trying to change academics before trying to change this practice. So, I turned to Matthew and told him to pick another dessert because early that day he had taken two fruit rollups to the "Mad Science Club" for a snack. He lowered his head and agreed and in his ever so sensitive way settled on some whoppers from his Halloween bag. Emme and Nicholas sat there discussion the type of fruit roll ups they got - was it the Strawberry Burst or the Tropical Twist or the Grape Explosion? (or in Nicky terms: Red, Organge or Purple!). Trying to engage Matthew in the discussion, I asked what kinds he had for his snack. He said Tropical Twist. "What was the other one" Emme asked? And he says, "I don't know, I gave it to Jaxson. He didn't have snack." "Really, Matthew?" I asked. He says "yes, Jaxson's my friend and I didn't want him not to have anything." And at that moment, as I stood on the box of garbage bags to reach the very top shelf of the pantry for another box of fruit rollups so I could give Matthew his share, I realized we all learn lessons from each other. But it is those lessons that we don't think to teach, that are in fact learned by our hearts, and by our soul.

Happy Birthday to You

The house is quiet tonight. The kids, thanks to daylight savings time, fell asleep early. Matthew and Nicholas in bed with their Dad, Emme on the floor draped in her princess blanket. Lucas in my arms. It was our night to watch Extreme Makeover Home Edition together. And as I was breathing in the peace that had filled our home, my eyes gazed upon my baby - no, not Lucas - my first born, my Matthew. He's six today. It is his birthday. And as Dr. Suess tells us, it's your day of all days - shout loud I am I, I begin to wonder how it happened that my baby has suddenly become a little boy. He's tall. He's thin. He's bright. He's sweet. He is my heart that breaks with his sensitive looks and the smile that fills my soul when I listen to him in amazement tell me about the world. My eyes dance between my 6 month old and my 6 year old and I wonder how is that my Matthew can now read and write and do math and laugh and cry and run races and hug and be a little person. How is it that we learn so much as we grow and yet as adults it seems that we still have so much to learn. And yet, what we can learn is all around us - but we fail to take advantage of what the world - what our children - can teach us.

Eight six year old boys were over yesterday to help celebrate Matthew's birthday. They were going to spend the afternoon with us as we played a video game tournament. About 20 minutes into the party, it was clear I had made a mistake. Three hours with 8 boys - who were into everything and into nothing. There were those boys who wanted to learn to race on the Playstation and those who wanted to explore the house and those who just wanted to catapult themselves over the sofa. And as voices were raised, amidst the chaos of the party - I realized that the boys were having fun. We went outside and we raced - we ran - we laughed - we played ball tag. We ate cake, we open presents which each one being "just what [Matthew] wanted" - each boy so proud of the gift he brought and how well he knew what Matthew would like. There were boys from his new Kindergarten class, and some from his former preschool, and then there were new friends from the neighborhood -- all laughing and running and just being who they are as five and six year old boys. Although at first, my husband and I thought the party was disastrous - they weren't doing what we planned - I suddenly realized - that life comes without a plan. Life is what happens in between the plans that we make. These boys seem to know this better than most adults and what we view as "difficult" behavior is really the challenge we all face in trying to find our place in the world.

I watched my Matthew - my first born - as he floated among all his friends - envious of his ability to be who he was among all the distinctive personalities. He didn't change who he was - instead his personality just added a harmony to the chorus of voices that were filling our home and our backyard. There were some tears, as to be expected with so many young children - feelings got hurt, wasps sting when you pick them up, races were not always won like they wanted. But at the end of the party - the kids were still friends. It didn't matter what had happened at any point during the party - what mattered was the moment at hand. They were real in their moment. And as Jaxson was walking out the door he turned and gave Matthew the biggest hug I've seen two six year olds give each other -- and then half way down the walkway he turns and yells "see ya Monday" - and Matthew gives him his patented two finger wave back. At that moment, I realized that we are all just longing for those days -- those Mondays - when we are surrounded by those who know us and love us for who we are -- the hugger, the wasp catcher, the race winner ... for those gifts that are not wrapped but given so freely each day to each other when we are young.

Happy Birthday to You, my dear Matthew ....

Dancing wonders

My kids and I have a ritual on Saturday mornings. We get up and make chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. At first read, this sounds like the quintessential Rockwellian (as in Norman) image - a Mom and her kids baking together. But, in truth, the ritual started because my kids get up so early in the morning on the weekends that I was always looking for ways to engage them so that my husband could sleep in. The breakfast making idea stemmed in part from my oldest son's, Matthew's, keen interest in cooking and the teacher in me who figured that in baking there are several lessons of math and science (yes, electricity makes things hot - don't touch the griddle) to be learned. And so it has been for over two years now that most Saturdays, we get up and make chocolate chip pancakes.

But these past days have been very long for me - a lot to do, not enough time to do it all, and as a result, not a lot of sleep to be had. So on this particular morning, I dreaded the ritual. I dreaded it at 5 a.m. this morning when Anakin Skywalker, a fairy princess, and the boy wonder woke me as they were trying to fill water balloons in the bathroom. Yes, in their attempt to "let us sleep in", my kids had donned their Halloween costumes, and explored their bags of Halloween candy to find the balloons our neighbors had passed out. And despite their repeated pleas to let me let them finish filling the balloons, because "for real, Mom - we weren't going to throw them anywhere" - I decided it was time to take them downstairs, which meant the ritual would begin.

But, this Saturday was different - I was too tired for the pancakes. I didn't have the patience to make an extra batch of pancakes so that all three kids could crack an egg. I didn't have the patience to try and make sense of the fact that while I did not want them eating their Halloween candy first thing in the morning, I could put a cup of chocolate chips in the pancakes. And, I didn't see the logic in the fact that the bananas I put with the pancakes somehow offset the chocolateness of the pancakes. And so it was that this particular morning, I broke tradition. I sent the kids to the basement, turned on my iPod, and started making scrambled eggs.

I can't really tell you at what point in time the kids migrated back into the kitchen from the basement. But what I do remember is being asked to dance. My Nicky - at two - takes my hand and in four simple words "mommy dance with me" - made me realize that "in the end, we will only just remember how it feels ... that our lives our made in these small hours" with these little wonders. I had heard that song a hundred times - maybe more. My iPod was filled with music from children's movies. I was ever so grateful that movie producers were finally asking adult lyricists to compose music for children's movies because now both the kids and I could enjoy listening to the same songs. And we were - enjoying the music this morning - my fairy princess dancing while watching her reflection in the dishwasher as Jack Johnson asked "is this how its suppose to be?" - my jedi knight taking his turn on the makeshift dance floor as he and his sister pretended to be dancing with the stars -- and I twirled my two youngest - 2 years and 6 months - both in my arms, watching them gleefully try to make sense of the world as it spun by them.

The eggs got made, the bacon was done - and we danced and we ate. But soon my jedi knight, fairy princess, and boy wonder wanted to play outside trying to capture what will soon be fleeting moments of sunshine - and I needed to clean - both the dirty pan from the scrambled eggs and Lucas who was wearing just as much of his oatmeal and banana cereal as he had eaten. And as I sat contemplating whether or not it would be a good idea to clean both the pan and my 6 month old together in the kitchen sink - the soulful voice of Tracy Chapman came over my iPod asking "if you saw the face of God and love would you change?". I paused. Our Saturday morning ritual was less about food and about math and more about being together - finding that time amidst the twists and turns of fate - to feel real and to feel right with the world. And as my eyes glanced outside the window - I realized I had seen the face of God and love. Today - this day - they were in the form of a Jedi Knight, a fairy princess, and the boy wonder. And even at 5 a.m., water balloons and all, I would not change.