In less than 24 hours I will begin my 46th revolution around the sun. Typically, my birthday is great cause for celebration for at least a week or two, but honestly, tonight, I feel like shit. Earlier today, I had to leave my husband and thankfully, that is a task that never gets easier. In this moment, I am burdened by the knowledge that we have both spent the last seven days and innumerable dollars, trying to create happy memories for my children during their Spring Break recess. Our efforts have been rewarded by two boys who fought almost continuously, periodically talked back to us in disrespectful tones and cried every night for their daddy in a way that I doubt they ever cry for me.
Of course, during the last seven days we also managed a trip to the Hard Rock Cafe, a Jimmy Buffett concert and our first major league baseball game, the Tampa Rays vs. the Chicago White Sox. In between these events, we slept late and rode bikes and laughed and ate huge, juicy, locally grown strawberries every morning for breakfast. And today, I have safely traveled back "home", started washing the dirty clothes and begun to make the to-do lists that will direct the next few days of my re-entry. And I have posted the undeniable proof of our most excellent Spring Break Trip on Facebook. But there are parts of me that still yearn for perfection, or at least a more reasonable facsimile of perfection.
I want to be thinner and smarter and a better manager of money. I want to exercise more, worry less and be more appreciative of the blessings of my life. More than any of that, I want to stop hearing hurtful words coming out of my mouth when I am rebuking my children. I want to protect them from certain phrases and tones, yet it is those voices that reverberate on my worst days. I wonder if they will ever know that I cry for them on nights like tonight? I wonder if they will ever know, deep in the recesses of their hearts, that none of my 16,425 days thus far would be as meaningful if I had not had the chance to be their Mom? Because sometimes, even on the night before my birthday, I feel very frightened.
But if I have learned anything at all in the past 45 revolutions it is this: The only defense we have against fear is gratitude. And the only thing we can control is our response to the happenings in our lives. Tonight, my beautiful boys are healthy and their tummies are full and they are warm and sleeping in peace. And tonight, my amazing, generous husband is healthy and cool and sleeping in peace. I am the only one of us who is still awake worrying and fretting...and that makes me the lucky one.
I once read a story about a mother who stressed over the details of creating an absolutely perfect birthday party for her one-year old....the cake, the decorations, the guest list, the gifts. Except that when the party started her daughter was sleeping. And then, when she did awaken to a house full of strangers and her mother's expectations, she was overwhelmed and fussy. However, there was one picture from the party where the Mom was holding her daughter as she blew out the candle and in her mind, that picture was perfection...or a reasonable facsimile. To wit, the mother concluded that parenting was going to mean that 95% of her time would be spent in preparation and planning for the 5% that would be pure magic. I tend to agree with that assessment, although having been working this gig for more than ten years now, some days I am actually able to appreciate what a privilege it is to be planning for magical beings!
The most spectacular moment of our vacation occurred Sunday night when my daughter-in-law and son-in-law prepared a birthday feast for me. The food was unbelievable and my only job was to drink a most excellent glass of wine and be served at a beautifully set table. Before dinner, my granddaughter, who is 3, sang the blessing she learned at pre-school. After dinner my grandson, who is almost 2, actually gave me a kiss and sang "Happy Birthday" to me. And my own sons, 10 and 8, wore clean polo shirts and behaved with their best manners for the entire 2 1/2 hours that we were there*. I had cake and ice cream and thoughtful presents that were given to me by people who know me well and love me unfailingly. It truly felt as if my very existence in their lives was being celebrated. Which is more than some people get in an entire lifetime, much less during the course of one dinner.
I sincerely thank each of you that takes the time to read the ramblings that chronicle what I think, feel and ponder and I deeply appreciate the weight of the emotions you absorb for me as I unload them in these posts. You allow me to travel more lightly and live with a level of perspective that can come only from sharing and examination. It is my hope that 46 will be the year that I focus more on gratitude and peace than worries and weight. But alas, these are the gifts I must learn to give myself.
* I know that on paper I appear to be a mathematical mystery. Suffice it to say that my husband is considerably older than me and that my grandchildren have been graciously shared with me by his daughter and her husband.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The Hardest Thing
"I'm learning to fly...but I ain't got wings...and coming down...is the hardest thing." - Tom Petty
According to The One Who Knows Me Best, my biggest problem is with Acceptance....in the beginning it was accepting what I did not have, and would not be given because of the inability of those around me to provide it. And now it is accepting that I have built a life where I have all that I need, most of what I want and people around me who stay there by choice. Yet, sometimes, like today, I still struggle mightily with how to accept the abundance and the love, and to determine precisely where I fit in the midst of the life I am creating. I am almost constantly trying to balance between being gracious, giving and grateful enough that I don't throw it all away or become too much for the people I need and want.
In my natural state, graciousness is not my calling. I am loud and brash and too often I speak in the native tongue of my ancestors....negativity and sarcasm. But, life experience and more than a few loving mentors have shown me that negativity and sarcasm are best served in miniscule amounts...and then only when they are dressed in humor and a heartfelt intention to be truly helpful. To say that I like being at the center of things is a gross understatement. I feast on the organization and construction of events, ensembles, dwellings and relationships. All of which is useful to the fact that I am currently moving my household, fighting for the funding of my profession, shepherding two boys through spring-sports and helping to plan a major fundraiser for a most deserving agency! The trick is not making those around me, especially my children, pay the price for my obsessive need to control all aspects of my world....I mean, my desire to be where the action happens.
Another Person Who Knows Me Pretty Well once very sweetly described me like sunshine...drawing people out of themselves and bringing them together in the open where they can celebrate and enjoy their lives. Of course, the sun is also a gaseous ball of fire that will burn the skin off your bones if you don't occasionally take shelter and slather on protective lotions. So I guess the analogy works regardless of the viewpoint! Certainly, I am not afraid to be open...or outspoken...or wrong. What I am afraid to do is stagnate and stop growing. Or to have those I love and the things I care about be anything less than they were intended to be. Of course, that often means that what I need to do most is stop and listen and trust that they know for themselves what they need to be. Often, I need to assist rather than direct.
Thus far, all I need to know in life, I learned from experience, and so I try to tune into the music beneath the chaos and dance through my days. Moving between the dark and the light, between the bitter and the sweet, between the taking it all for granted and knowing better than to take any bit of it for granted. I dance loudly and brashly and without rhythm a lot of the time, but I don't quit moving and I keep on trying. Trying so hard. Somedays trying too hard. So if you should happen to see me traveling life's by-ways, or at the center of a whirlwind, it is likely that I will be wearing this sign:
Caution Fellow Travelers:
According to The One Who Knows Me Best, my biggest problem is with Acceptance....in the beginning it was accepting what I did not have, and would not be given because of the inability of those around me to provide it. And now it is accepting that I have built a life where I have all that I need, most of what I want and people around me who stay there by choice. Yet, sometimes, like today, I still struggle mightily with how to accept the abundance and the love, and to determine precisely where I fit in the midst of the life I am creating. I am almost constantly trying to balance between being gracious, giving and grateful enough that I don't throw it all away or become too much for the people I need and want.
In my natural state, graciousness is not my calling. I am loud and brash and too often I speak in the native tongue of my ancestors....negativity and sarcasm. But, life experience and more than a few loving mentors have shown me that negativity and sarcasm are best served in miniscule amounts...and then only when they are dressed in humor and a heartfelt intention to be truly helpful. To say that I like being at the center of things is a gross understatement. I feast on the organization and construction of events, ensembles, dwellings and relationships. All of which is useful to the fact that I am currently moving my household, fighting for the funding of my profession, shepherding two boys through spring-sports and helping to plan a major fundraiser for a most deserving agency! The trick is not making those around me, especially my children, pay the price for my obsessive need to control all aspects of my world....I mean, my desire to be where the action happens.
Another Person Who Knows Me Pretty Well once very sweetly described me like sunshine...drawing people out of themselves and bringing them together in the open where they can celebrate and enjoy their lives. Of course, the sun is also a gaseous ball of fire that will burn the skin off your bones if you don't occasionally take shelter and slather on protective lotions. So I guess the analogy works regardless of the viewpoint! Certainly, I am not afraid to be open...or outspoken...or wrong. What I am afraid to do is stagnate and stop growing. Or to have those I love and the things I care about be anything less than they were intended to be. Of course, that often means that what I need to do most is stop and listen and trust that they know for themselves what they need to be. Often, I need to assist rather than direct.
Thus far, all I need to know in life, I learned from experience, and so I try to tune into the music beneath the chaos and dance through my days. Moving between the dark and the light, between the bitter and the sweet, between the taking it all for granted and knowing better than to take any bit of it for granted. I dance loudly and brashly and without rhythm a lot of the time, but I don't quit moving and I keep on trying. Trying so hard. Somedays trying too hard. So if you should happen to see me traveling life's by-ways, or at the center of a whirlwind, it is likely that I will be wearing this sign:
Caution Fellow Travelers:
I am trying to learn to step more gently and with greater Acceptance....
and it is an awkward, human process.
The Monkey Went A-Courtin'
Phase I of the Season of Transformation has been completed and the Monkey has wedded the Ballerina. For those of you who may think that sentence was written in Gaelic, or that I have been hitting a crack pipe, let me re-phrase......Along with all of the other important changes happening in the next few weeks, Tom and Angie's wedding has been accomplished.
Like most of the big events in life, this wedding had all the trappings of a cliche. A greying bearded bagpiper named J.V. (who actually held his fingers in a "V" when he introduced himself). Grown men in varying types of plaid skirts ordered off the Internet. A family tartan originally to be woven by hand in Scotland that ultimately had to be shipped UPS from a supplier in Charlotte. We had sweeping updos and kids in tuxedos and a picture frame with no picture where the guests could write messages by the front door. And yet, when Highland Cathedral began to ring through the rafters and the nine year-old she had longed for so many years waited at the foot of the staircase, every person present sat transfixed. Her beloved and his kilted/sashed children stood waiting beneath the Grant family crest that was draped with the fabric of their ancestors. And just as it does every moment of every day for someone somewhere, Love transformed Life.
I remember talking to her after their first date and thinking how "alive" she sounded. A ride on his motorcycle, dinner, time at his apartment sharing the stories of how their lives had arrived at this point in time. I remember that he had asked her out when she was wondering if Love would ever find her again....and how exactly that might happen to an overworked, divorced single Mom in scenic Mayodan, NC. Laughing, I remember re-assuring her that if I could find a Love eighteen years my senior, living three states away while living that same life in scenic Madison, NC, then it truly could, happen to anyone. I remember how nervous we both were when not two years later, he sank to his knee in New Orleans and asked her to promise him "forever", one more time.
During the past five years, their courtship and the blending of their families has been rough around the edges and more work than romance, if you look only at the details. That is true of all of our lives. But if you take a step back, and adjust your lens, you see the Hope and Joy of five individuals who have formed a family circle large enough to include all members, past and present. You see newlyweds, moving into their first new house together; a structure large enough to encircle all five of them as they journey towards the memories waiting to be made.
He had always wanted a traditional, Scottish ceremony...he is kind of cheesy that way and the cheesi-ness is a huge part of his charm. She didn't really care, she just wanted him to be happy. Making the people she loves happy is central to everything she does. She is the zen-artist Ying and I am the charts and lists Yang....she paints the big picture in broad, beautiful strokes and I research the types and qualities of the brushes she should be using. She drives me insane because she rarely says "no", pushes herself much too hard and takes way too much crap from people...especially from me. But just when I lose myself in exasperation, there she is... taking care of the kids so that I can battle my to-do list...texting me pictures of the shoes/hats/jewelry she is buying me at SteinMart for our next great adventure...staying up way too late helping me edit the blog I started only because she wanted us to do it together. We are literally the Best of Friends because we had both "trialed-and-errored" our way to being grown-ups before we came together; our interests were similar, our paths were parallel and our struggles were conjoined.
And so, I coordinated and graphed and employed my Wonder Twin brother to help me execute their plan. Our favored photographer captured the event on film, our preferred DJ spun tunes we were too tired to dance to and our ex-husbands sat with their families from a former life making conversation about our children and the loves of their current lives. Folks, we are not talking Hallmark Channel or Royal Wedding etiquette here. But, nonetheless, the room was filled with laughter and fellowhip and Rowdies and the kind of happy endings that can only come from unsteady beginnings. Because last night, while I watched to clock and packed up the decorations, she smeared cake icing on his bald head and watched boys, young and not-so-young, break dance. Last night, Love transformed Life...and the Monkey married the Ballerina.
Like most of the big events in life, this wedding had all the trappings of a cliche. A greying bearded bagpiper named J.V. (who actually held his fingers in a "V" when he introduced himself). Grown men in varying types of plaid skirts ordered off the Internet. A family tartan originally to be woven by hand in Scotland that ultimately had to be shipped UPS from a supplier in Charlotte. We had sweeping updos and kids in tuxedos and a picture frame with no picture where the guests could write messages by the front door. And yet, when Highland Cathedral began to ring through the rafters and the nine year-old she had longed for so many years waited at the foot of the staircase, every person present sat transfixed. Her beloved and his kilted/sashed children stood waiting beneath the Grant family crest that was draped with the fabric of their ancestors. And just as it does every moment of every day for someone somewhere, Love transformed Life.
I remember talking to her after their first date and thinking how "alive" she sounded. A ride on his motorcycle, dinner, time at his apartment sharing the stories of how their lives had arrived at this point in time. I remember that he had asked her out when she was wondering if Love would ever find her again....and how exactly that might happen to an overworked, divorced single Mom in scenic Mayodan, NC. Laughing, I remember re-assuring her that if I could find a Love eighteen years my senior, living three states away while living that same life in scenic Madison, NC, then it truly could, happen to anyone. I remember how nervous we both were when not two years later, he sank to his knee in New Orleans and asked her to promise him "forever", one more time.
During the past five years, their courtship and the blending of their families has been rough around the edges and more work than romance, if you look only at the details. That is true of all of our lives. But if you take a step back, and adjust your lens, you see the Hope and Joy of five individuals who have formed a family circle large enough to include all members, past and present. You see newlyweds, moving into their first new house together; a structure large enough to encircle all five of them as they journey towards the memories waiting to be made.
He had always wanted a traditional, Scottish ceremony...he is kind of cheesy that way and the cheesi-ness is a huge part of his charm. She didn't really care, she just wanted him to be happy. Making the people she loves happy is central to everything she does. She is the zen-artist Ying and I am the charts and lists Yang....she paints the big picture in broad, beautiful strokes and I research the types and qualities of the brushes she should be using. She drives me insane because she rarely says "no", pushes herself much too hard and takes way too much crap from people...especially from me. But just when I lose myself in exasperation, there she is... taking care of the kids so that I can battle my to-do list...texting me pictures of the shoes/hats/jewelry she is buying me at SteinMart for our next great adventure...staying up way too late helping me edit the blog I started only because she wanted us to do it together. We are literally the Best of Friends because we had both "trialed-and-errored" our way to being grown-ups before we came together; our interests were similar, our paths were parallel and our struggles were conjoined.
And so, I coordinated and graphed and employed my Wonder Twin brother to help me execute their plan. Our favored photographer captured the event on film, our preferred DJ spun tunes we were too tired to dance to and our ex-husbands sat with their families from a former life making conversation about our children and the loves of their current lives. Folks, we are not talking Hallmark Channel or Royal Wedding etiquette here. But, nonetheless, the room was filled with laughter and fellowhip and Rowdies and the kind of happy endings that can only come from unsteady beginnings. Because last night, while I watched to clock and packed up the decorations, she smeared cake icing on his bald head and watched boys, young and not-so-young, break dance. Last night, Love transformed Life...and the Monkey married the Ballerina.
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