It is January and we’ve had a fair amount of snow and cold in Colorado this winter. I’m of the opinion that if it is going to be winter, it might as well be cold and snowy, but our house faces north and inevitably, every winter, a gigantic ice patch forms in front of it. Sometimes it melts off rather quickly. Sometimes it hangs around for the better part of winter. This seems to be a year when it plans to hang around. No amount of shoveling, chipping, pick-axing, or salt can prevent the glacial formation. While I don’t love the ridiculous, unending, painful work of trying to remove the ice, what I like even less is trying to walk across it. I resemble a zombie every time I lurch across the ice with little jerks and convulsions. I’m a klutz and have horrible balance.
So horrible that I couldn’t ride a bike until I was 12 or something. Balance beams terrified me as a child. Roller skates? Forget it. To this day, I still have trouble riding an escalator. Really. I can’t quite coordinate that whole moving stairs, one foot at a time thing. On the whole, I’ve learned to live with my lack of physical balance. But sometimes it feels as though my emotional balance matches my physical balance and I start lurching through life with little jerks and convulsions. I definitely haven’t learned to live with that.
I’ve been working on writing my doctoral dissertation for what feels like most of my adult life now. Obstacles keep getting thrown in my path. Sometimes they are unforeseeable and out of my control, like when my mom was ill last summer and I spent the better part of it in the hospital with her. Or even the months leading up to moving her to Colorado, when I was finding her a place to live and preparing myself emotionally for her arrival. Sometimes the obstacles are of my own making, like when I sit down and cry and tell myself, “I can’t do this!” During those episodes I end up wasting inordinate amounts of time in emotional angst. And then my inner judge walks in all hostile and haughty and starts chastising me (funny how that judge looks an awful lot like my mother). It can get ugly.
For some weird reason, if I’m not careful, I can get caught up in the notion that I have to make it seem as though everything is breezy even if it isn’t. As though I can handle my mother and the dissertation and my family and my friendships and everything else that comes my way without being ruffled. I can’t. And really, aside from my own pride, there simply isn’t any reason I should feel I have to.
Being my mother’s nearest care-giving offspring adds a decidedly challenging spice to life. Her autumn rally appears to be wearing off and when that happens I know what is coming. I feel like I’m playing ‘Beat the Clock’ to finish the dissertation before she plunges. Some days I’m paralyzed by the fear I can’t do it all. When that happens I try to walk my emotional balance beam but start feeling like I did back in 5th grade PE when everyone else was prancing across the beam with dainty graceful steps and I would take one step, teeter, shriek, and fling off the side.
I am doing the best I know how. And for the rest of the world, that seems to be plenty. For whatever reason, my brain can get really crowded with the inept 5th grader, the judge, and that crazy bitch who thinks she has to make it all look so easy. Sometimes the clamor is so loud I can’t even make out who is saying what.
Recently I told my brother that I had been praying for more challenging people in my life to help me learn grace. While I lack physical grace I'm hoping to develop more emotional grace. He, rightfully, thought that was a little nutty and recited for me all the challenging people and situations I’m currently juggling. He lovingly offered advice regarding my prayer life by suggesting that if I needed to pray about something, I pray to win the lottery. Or, if I really needed to pray more altruistically…I could pray that Newt Gingrich is rendered mute.
He made me laugh. He calmed me down. And he reminded me that who I am and what I’m doing is plenty. He offered me what I most need to offer myself. What we all need to offer ourselves.
Grace.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Blame it on the Enthusiasm....
I’m not sure how it happened, just that it happened. At some point I grew old enough to be qualified to give advice. I suppose it would be presumptuous to call myself a ‘sage.’ Perhaps a bit self-deprecating to say ‘crone.’ But somewhere on that definition spectrum, my age and life experience have qualified me for a position. For a long, long time I saw myself as too young and inexperienced to offer much in the way of advice. Advice givers were older. Advice givers had more life experience. Then one day it occurred to me that I am older. I do have life experience.
I officially deemed myself qualified to give advice.
For starters, I’ve been a parent for over 23 years. That alone qualifies me to give advice to my children. True, some of it is unheeded, but I give it regardless. For a while I had a job where I got paid to give advice. That was cool. Not so much because I could be Ms. Smartypants, but because I was helping students achieve their goals. I liked feeling that what I did mattered.
Currently, no one is paying me to tell them what I think but I do, at times, have the opportunity to offer my expertise, wisdom, or general know-it-all-ness when I’m asked. I’m not very good at making stuff up to try and sound smart, so if someone asks me about something that I really know nothing about, I usually say so. It saves time. Plus people who act like they know what they’re talking about when they don’t just look ridiculous.
Over time, I’ve grown comfortable with the advice-giving me. Confident that I’ve earned some degree of credibility through my life experiences. Without a doubt, my best and most rewarding experiences have come through being a parent. As a result, my advice-giving frequently involves telling young parents to savor the moment. I have a compelling need to ensure that they understand how short the time is. How quickly the years blur and how, before they know it, they’ll be looking at photos and realizing they are the shortest person in the family. Until recently I had confined my advice-giving to those people with whom I have a relationship.
The other day, however, I became possessed by some sort of crazy advice giving spirit that overtook my body, determined to impart wisdom on unsuspecting strangers. It was around Anna’s birthday and Steve, Anna, Charles, and I had gone out for dinner. While we enjoyed our meal we talked and laughed and recalled stories of when the kids were born and things they did while growing up. As we talked it just didn’t seem possible so many years had passed. I noticed two couples and a newborn baby at a nearby table. Our family continued our lively conversation and a few minutes later the couples gathered their things to leave.
That’s when the crazy spirit took over.
Without thinking about what I was doing, I sprawled my upper body across the booth where we sitting and in an attempt to get their attention pointed and waved and even took to snapping my fingers while saying loudly, “Hey, who’s its mother?” Honestly. Several times I, loudly, referred to the baby as ‘it’ while attempting to get their attention. Finally ‘its’ mother responded and I motioned her over to our table. For some reason she actually walked over to our booth rather than ignoring me and making a hasty exit. And then I started gushing. To this slightly bewildered, overwhelmed young mother, I launched into mawkish adoration of my children and my utter joy at being a parent. My effusiveness was out of control. In the words of Robert Lowell, “I was overcome by an attack of pathological enthusiasm.”
I instructed the mother to look at her newborn. She obliged. I told her to look at Anna. She obliged. And then I solomly said, “Look carefully because they go from that (pointing to the baby) to that (pointing to Anna) like that (snapping my fingers for dramatic effect). The mother was gracious. I’m not sure if she was embarassed for me or not but she and the baby’s father smiled, thanked me, and then made their way toward the door.
As the couple walked away I saw the bemused looks on the faces of my family. It was then that I realized what I’d done. I asked, “I’ve become one of ‘those people’ haven’t I?” They smiled. Charles ducked his head and said quietly, “Yes. Yes you have.”
The thing is, even though I didn’t know them, I wanted that young couple to understand how quickly it will pass. I wanted them to savor and enjoy and love every moment…both good and bad…because before they know it that baby will be grown and living a life of her own. And it happens so fast. Maybe they took my message to heart. Maybe not. I’ll never know. But in that moment of pathological enthusiasm, I simply had to tell them.
Good thing I knew what I was talking about. I wouldn’t have wanted to look ridiculous.
I officially deemed myself qualified to give advice.
For starters, I’ve been a parent for over 23 years. That alone qualifies me to give advice to my children. True, some of it is unheeded, but I give it regardless. For a while I had a job where I got paid to give advice. That was cool. Not so much because I could be Ms. Smartypants, but because I was helping students achieve their goals. I liked feeling that what I did mattered.
Currently, no one is paying me to tell them what I think but I do, at times, have the opportunity to offer my expertise, wisdom, or general know-it-all-ness when I’m asked. I’m not very good at making stuff up to try and sound smart, so if someone asks me about something that I really know nothing about, I usually say so. It saves time. Plus people who act like they know what they’re talking about when they don’t just look ridiculous.
Over time, I’ve grown comfortable with the advice-giving me. Confident that I’ve earned some degree of credibility through my life experiences. Without a doubt, my best and most rewarding experiences have come through being a parent. As a result, my advice-giving frequently involves telling young parents to savor the moment. I have a compelling need to ensure that they understand how short the time is. How quickly the years blur and how, before they know it, they’ll be looking at photos and realizing they are the shortest person in the family. Until recently I had confined my advice-giving to those people with whom I have a relationship.
The other day, however, I became possessed by some sort of crazy advice giving spirit that overtook my body, determined to impart wisdom on unsuspecting strangers. It was around Anna’s birthday and Steve, Anna, Charles, and I had gone out for dinner. While we enjoyed our meal we talked and laughed and recalled stories of when the kids were born and things they did while growing up. As we talked it just didn’t seem possible so many years had passed. I noticed two couples and a newborn baby at a nearby table. Our family continued our lively conversation and a few minutes later the couples gathered their things to leave.
That’s when the crazy spirit took over.
Without thinking about what I was doing, I sprawled my upper body across the booth where we sitting and in an attempt to get their attention pointed and waved and even took to snapping my fingers while saying loudly, “Hey, who’s its mother?” Honestly. Several times I, loudly, referred to the baby as ‘it’ while attempting to get their attention. Finally ‘its’ mother responded and I motioned her over to our table. For some reason she actually walked over to our booth rather than ignoring me and making a hasty exit. And then I started gushing. To this slightly bewildered, overwhelmed young mother, I launched into mawkish adoration of my children and my utter joy at being a parent. My effusiveness was out of control. In the words of Robert Lowell, “I was overcome by an attack of pathological enthusiasm.”
I instructed the mother to look at her newborn. She obliged. I told her to look at Anna. She obliged. And then I solomly said, “Look carefully because they go from that (pointing to the baby) to that (pointing to Anna) like that (snapping my fingers for dramatic effect). The mother was gracious. I’m not sure if she was embarassed for me or not but she and the baby’s father smiled, thanked me, and then made their way toward the door.
As the couple walked away I saw the bemused looks on the faces of my family. It was then that I realized what I’d done. I asked, “I’ve become one of ‘those people’ haven’t I?” They smiled. Charles ducked his head and said quietly, “Yes. Yes you have.”
The thing is, even though I didn’t know them, I wanted that young couple to understand how quickly it will pass. I wanted them to savor and enjoy and love every moment…both good and bad…because before they know it that baby will be grown and living a life of her own. And it happens so fast. Maybe they took my message to heart. Maybe not. I’ll never know. But in that moment of pathological enthusiasm, I simply had to tell them.
Good thing I knew what I was talking about. I wouldn’t have wanted to look ridiculous.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Keep Calm and Celebrate...
Although the traditional holiday season typically ends on New Year’s Day, in our family the party extends from Parker's birthday (a day or two east or west of Thanksgiving) all the way to Anna's birthday (five days into the new year). This provides us with extra time to consume massive calories with abandon and gives us one more thing to celebrate before settling into January’s doldrums.
We didn't plan for Anna's birthday to fall just as the new year was gearing up. In fact, we weren't planning for Anna at all. She just sort of happened. She has, on a few occasions, asked if she was an 'accident.' Steve responds in his typical caring, positive, and sensitive way by saying, "Oh no! No child is ever an accident." I, on the other hand, answer her question with something much more along the lines of, "Yep!"
It is true. But, Anna is the happiest accident of my life.
Before her noon-hour arrival 17 years ago, our little family eagerly anticipated Anna’s birth. At four-years old, Parker was very excited to have a younger sibling. Only, not really. He was excited to have a younger sister. In fact, he was adamant that he was having a younger sister long before we actually knew if she was a girl or a boy. If the baby were a boy he'd prefer to pass, thanks. He did, however, insist that we should name her Ed. No amount of explaining could convince him that Ed wasn't a conventional girl's name. Not that our family has ever been conventional. But still.
I had a favorite name picked out for a baby girl but in an overzealous moment a few years earlier, I gave it to the cat. This didn't seem so insurmountable. The cat never responded when called anyway, so why not just change the cat's name to something else and transfer the original name to the baby? When I suggested this, I got horrified looks. No. The cat had already been in possession of that name for 12 years. She was not giving it up for the baby. Apparently there was some concern for a feline identity crisis. Really? For a cat who largely ignored us except when she wanted food, I doubted she’d forget who she was. But, I had ankles the size of small watermelons, a perpetually full bladder, and a lack of oxygen was addling my brain. I just wasn’t up for the argument.
It was Charles who eventually created peace by suggesting Anna's name. Shortly before she was born, Charles calmly proposed the name Anna Katherine. It was as if angels quietly whispered in his ear. When he spoke it, we knew immediately the right name had found its way to our baby girl.
Once we established that she was a girl and had a name, the only thing left to do was welcome her. It was a cold, snowy, Colorado day when our little songbird was born and at that moment the world instantly became more beautiful.
Anna’s calm, easygoing manner was evident from the start. As was her natural musical ability. Quietly determined, so far Anna has accomplished pretty much everything she’s set out to do, although she rarely creates the accompanying hoopla. Fortunately, she is surrounded by people who love her and just happen to be superior hoopla creators, otherwise her accomplishments might be overlooked by her blithe acceptance.
Although Anna’s gene pool is crowded with every imaginable expression, including some who are hooting and hollering and doing cannonballs in the middle, somehow she manages to be confident, poised, and reserved, with just the tiniest hint of regality. Which might explain why she has always referred to Charles and Parker as, ‘her boys.’ I might start getting concerned if I hear her say, “We are not amused.” But, unless that happens, I’ll stand aside and watch as my unassuming superstar casually saunters in and, with aplomb, takes her place in the world.
Accidents happen. We are all better for this one.
Happy Birthday,Ed Anna!
We didn't plan for Anna's birthday to fall just as the new year was gearing up. In fact, we weren't planning for Anna at all. She just sort of happened. She has, on a few occasions, asked if she was an 'accident.' Steve responds in his typical caring, positive, and sensitive way by saying, "Oh no! No child is ever an accident." I, on the other hand, answer her question with something much more along the lines of, "Yep!"
It is true. But, Anna is the happiest accident of my life.
Before her noon-hour arrival 17 years ago, our little family eagerly anticipated Anna’s birth. At four-years old, Parker was very excited to have a younger sibling. Only, not really. He was excited to have a younger sister. In fact, he was adamant that he was having a younger sister long before we actually knew if she was a girl or a boy. If the baby were a boy he'd prefer to pass, thanks. He did, however, insist that we should name her Ed. No amount of explaining could convince him that Ed wasn't a conventional girl's name. Not that our family has ever been conventional. But still.
I had a favorite name picked out for a baby girl but in an overzealous moment a few years earlier, I gave it to the cat. This didn't seem so insurmountable. The cat never responded when called anyway, so why not just change the cat's name to something else and transfer the original name to the baby? When I suggested this, I got horrified looks. No. The cat had already been in possession of that name for 12 years. She was not giving it up for the baby. Apparently there was some concern for a feline identity crisis. Really? For a cat who largely ignored us except when she wanted food, I doubted she’d forget who she was. But, I had ankles the size of small watermelons, a perpetually full bladder, and a lack of oxygen was addling my brain. I just wasn’t up for the argument.
It was Charles who eventually created peace by suggesting Anna's name. Shortly before she was born, Charles calmly proposed the name Anna Katherine. It was as if angels quietly whispered in his ear. When he spoke it, we knew immediately the right name had found its way to our baby girl.
Once we established that she was a girl and had a name, the only thing left to do was welcome her. It was a cold, snowy, Colorado day when our little songbird was born and at that moment the world instantly became more beautiful.
Anna’s calm, easygoing manner was evident from the start. As was her natural musical ability. Quietly determined, so far Anna has accomplished pretty much everything she’s set out to do, although she rarely creates the accompanying hoopla. Fortunately, she is surrounded by people who love her and just happen to be superior hoopla creators, otherwise her accomplishments might be overlooked by her blithe acceptance.
Although Anna’s gene pool is crowded with every imaginable expression, including some who are hooting and hollering and doing cannonballs in the middle, somehow she manages to be confident, poised, and reserved, with just the tiniest hint of regality. Which might explain why she has always referred to Charles and Parker as, ‘her boys.’ I might start getting concerned if I hear her say, “We are not amused.” But, unless that happens, I’ll stand aside and watch as my unassuming superstar casually saunters in and, with aplomb, takes her place in the world.
Accidents happen. We are all better for this one.
Happy Birthday,
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