On Saturday at 11:45 AM, I will ascend the spires of Cinderella's Castle and process down the staircase into the Grand Ballroom to have a luncheon with the Disney Princesses.....all seven of them! (For the lowly, that would be Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Jasmine, Ariel, Belle and Aurora....although the fine print says that "character appearances are subject to change!'") I will accompany by my four year old granddaughter, the Honorable Ella Echols Bracken, as her lady-in-waiting, although it has been rumored that she is merely an excuse for me to fulfill a life-long dream...and there may be a smidgen of truth to that rumor.
You see, when I was four, back in the pre-historic times, my favorite possession was a large, hardcover Cinderella book. I knew it was the authentic Disney version because the illustrations in my book looked just like pictures in the movie. I wasn't a particularly girly girl, but I adored my Cinderella book. It was only later, during my college years, that I would hear princesses denounced as being anti-woman and against feminist ideals. At one point I even volunteered in a program for at-risk fifth-grade girls that was called "Goodbye Cinderella." Obviously, the focus of the program was to show these young women that they were worthy and valuable, with intellect and talent, and not in need of a Prince Charming to come and rescue them. I have subsequently learned that all fifth-grade girls can be considered "at-risk" because it is an extremely confusing, hormonal time in life...and that fewer and fewer women of any age sit and wait to be rescued.
If I am being completely honest, I will admit that I wholeheartedly subscribed to the feminist perspective for a number of years. And I still believe fervently in the struggle for women to be treated as equals. But I don't see that belief as being in conflict with my love for pink or shiny tiaras or elegant parties where magical things can happen. In fact, the struggle itself should defend my right to love these things just as it should defend the right of any woman to pursue what she finds valuable and worthy. Because for the last forty-three years it never once occurred to me that the story of Cinderella had much of anything to do with the Prince.
My favorite page in my book was the page where the mice and the birds find ribbon and string and work in secret to make Cinderella a dress fit for a princess. And I loved the page where the fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage and mice volunteered to be Cinderella's footmen. For me, the story was always about the down-trodden girl who triumphed over her circumstances, with support from those who loved her (even if they weren't human). Granted, it took a dose of magic, but just like in "real" life, sometimes something magic happens at the moment when you most need it. And it is true that she did wind up living in a castle....happily ever after, they say...but in 2012 Cinderella would probably apply to Harvard online and use the Prince's wealth to set up a non-profit for the preservation of mice and birds and pumpkins and fairy godmothers.
So, Saturday when we process down the staircase to be greeted by the Princesses, there will not be a Prince Charming in sight. In fact, Cinderella's name is the one on the castle she lives in now....as well as on her castles in California and Tokyo. Of course, my Prince Charming is the one who is making my dream possible. Without him I wouldn't have the means....or the grand-daughter. But my Princess Ella also plays soccer and holds crabs with her bare hands and speaks her mind. She is beautiful, inside and out, and confident because of what has been invested in her by the people she loves. She will triumph over adversity and define her life by her own standards....which is exactly how I saw my storybook Cinderella when I was her age.
Dreams can come true. Even at forty-seven years old. So, come Saturday, I will be sure to wear comfortable shoes and a shiny tiara.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
It is All Hallow's Eve. It is dark, and cold, and I am home alone....without the boys, even without trick-or-treaters. Just me and the guinea pig. And thank goodness for Furona G. Pig, running laps around her cage when I gave her a fresh salad. Because as of tonight, we have crossed a threshold. The boys are no longer interested in dressing up or going out on Halloween. Braeden did call a few minutes ago to ask if he could come hand out candy to the kids in my neighborhood. But it was already 7:00pm, it is his daddy's night and most of our trick-or-treaters had already come and gone. I asked him if he was sad that he hadn't gone out tonight and he said, "yes ma'am." I said, "I know....me too."
I remember the hectic rush of Jackson's first Halloween. He was almost 9 months old and he was a "Scaredy Bat." It was a black costume with attached wings, a purple belly and giant bat ears that were lined in purple and tied under his chubby chin. I remember that his dad was wondering why we needed to put on his costume and take him out, sniffling, into the cold, when he was "not going to know the difference."
First, because he does know the difference. He knows it every year when I take out the Halloween decorations and sit out the boys' photos. Jackson has one more picture than Braeden has, and that was the year he was "Scaredy Bat." And, because even way back then, I knew that tonight would come.
Since the first day I became a Mom I have felt like the crocodile from Peter Pan who has the clock ticking in his stomach. I am blessed, and cursed, with the awareness that every moment we have with our children is precious and that the moment just ahead is going to be dramatically different from the moment that just occurred. Make no mistake, I don't always behave in a way that honors the preciousness of our time together. Sometimes I mock the fates by the way I react and the things I say to them. And then I apologize and feel guilty and go to bed hoping that I will be given the chance to get up and try to do better the next day.
But I am smart enough to know that for every 20 hour day I put in now washing PE uniforms and checking algebra equations and worrying about runny noses (still), there will be days when 20 minutes of their time and attention will be a miraculous gift and I would welcome the opportunity to cook and clean for them.
Granted, for every phase we move through, our relationships with our children can become deeper and more rewarding. The conversations we have on a good day now are certainly more enriching, and entertaining, than the ones we had five years ago. At this point in life when they say "thank you" or " I love you, Mom", it is exponentially more meaningful to me because we have been together long enough to know how incredibly hard it is to be kind and thoughtful to each other.
But I am still sad. Because their independent lives are getting bigger and bigger while their dependence on me is getting smaller and smaller. Which means their dad and I must be doing okay, because that is exactly how it is intended to be. It's just that I am so much more in love with them than they are with me, because their focus is the life that lies ahead of them. They are so eager to be more grown up and I am trying desperately to resist the urge to stand in their way. First it was Santa Claus and losing teeth and worrying about their hairstyles, and now it is Halloween and trick-or-treating. All I know for sure it that the days are very long, but the months and years are flying by.
So tonight, in the cold and the dark, I say, "Goodbye Scaredy Bat. Goodbye Jack O'Lantern onesie that Braeden wore at 1 month, 1 day on his first Halloween. I miss you. But I am grateful for the chance to have known you." Besides, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown," just started.....and even the passage of time can't take that away from me!
I remember the hectic rush of Jackson's first Halloween. He was almost 9 months old and he was a "Scaredy Bat." It was a black costume with attached wings, a purple belly and giant bat ears that were lined in purple and tied under his chubby chin. I remember that his dad was wondering why we needed to put on his costume and take him out, sniffling, into the cold, when he was "not going to know the difference."
First, because he does know the difference. He knows it every year when I take out the Halloween decorations and sit out the boys' photos. Jackson has one more picture than Braeden has, and that was the year he was "Scaredy Bat." And, because even way back then, I knew that tonight would come.
Since the first day I became a Mom I have felt like the crocodile from Peter Pan who has the clock ticking in his stomach. I am blessed, and cursed, with the awareness that every moment we have with our children is precious and that the moment just ahead is going to be dramatically different from the moment that just occurred. Make no mistake, I don't always behave in a way that honors the preciousness of our time together. Sometimes I mock the fates by the way I react and the things I say to them. And then I apologize and feel guilty and go to bed hoping that I will be given the chance to get up and try to do better the next day.
But I am smart enough to know that for every 20 hour day I put in now washing PE uniforms and checking algebra equations and worrying about runny noses (still), there will be days when 20 minutes of their time and attention will be a miraculous gift and I would welcome the opportunity to cook and clean for them.
Granted, for every phase we move through, our relationships with our children can become deeper and more rewarding. The conversations we have on a good day now are certainly more enriching, and entertaining, than the ones we had five years ago. At this point in life when they say "thank you" or " I love you, Mom", it is exponentially more meaningful to me because we have been together long enough to know how incredibly hard it is to be kind and thoughtful to each other.
But I am still sad. Because their independent lives are getting bigger and bigger while their dependence on me is getting smaller and smaller. Which means their dad and I must be doing okay, because that is exactly how it is intended to be. It's just that I am so much more in love with them than they are with me, because their focus is the life that lies ahead of them. They are so eager to be more grown up and I am trying desperately to resist the urge to stand in their way. First it was Santa Claus and losing teeth and worrying about their hairstyles, and now it is Halloween and trick-or-treating. All I know for sure it that the days are very long, but the months and years are flying by.
So tonight, in the cold and the dark, I say, "Goodbye Scaredy Bat. Goodbye Jack O'Lantern onesie that Braeden wore at 1 month, 1 day on his first Halloween. I miss you. But I am grateful for the chance to have known you." Besides, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown," just started.....and even the passage of time can't take that away from me!
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The Indulgence of Introspection
Well, it feels like it has been a million years since I wrote a blog and even as I type these words, I have no idea what the next sentence will be. During those million years, I have had a trillion thoughts and taken almost as many pictures of what's been happening in my life. It seems that these days I would rather record the images of my days than talk about my experiences.
Looking back to when I initially started the blog, it seems that I was writing for two primary purposes: as a way of recording how I had become who I am and as a way of sorting through my most intense feelings....some celebratory, some painful and confusing.Selfishly, I wrote to leave a trail for my sons to have a greater understanding of who I was as a person, when they finally reach a point in life where they might be interested in that sort of thing. Communally, I wrote to share views on the fucked-upness that is often the human condition and hopefully, so the readers might not feel so alone in their own struggles. Admittedly, it was gratifying to feel like my words resonated with people I admire and respect, as well as with strangers who came to "know" me only through the posts. I can honestly say that when I wrote, the words flowed urgently and easily.
And so I have been quiet....metaphorically....for 64 days. I have prowled the streets of Mayodan and Bartow and Key West taking photographs of the world as it presents itself to me in
8 x 10 snippets. I have disovered a deepening joy in being able to "see" the unseen beauty and wonder that I would typically pass by or disregard. And it has been my privilege to share myself and my journey, of late, photographically. As always, the inspiration to approach my life this way came from the work of my soul traveler, David Smith (http://www.moonovertrees.com). But the "eye" I have developed is uniquely mine.
I been busy living my day-to-day, mostly contentedly, and focusing much more on my "being" rather than my "doing". I have accepted that there is a cloak of anonymity that comes with being a woman of a certain age...in essence, you become invisible in a lot of situations where you once garnered notice. Rather than mourning the loss of attention, I find that I am reveling in the freedom of no longer needing to try so hard. Make no mistake, I never want to be a person who wears pajama pants to the grocery store. But I also no longer need to wear trendy ensembles as a form of armor, projecting my "togetherness" outwardly. Honestly, I just want to be comfortable, in my own skin as well as in my clothes, and on occasion, to don a Pink Pirate Princess costume, because I can.
Lately, my mantra has been Maya Angelou's admonition that "people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget the way you made them feel."
I would postulate that in fact, most people can not listen or be open to your ideas, until you connect with them in some way emotionally. And, unfortunately, this can often be most difficult with the people closest to us, the ones we profess to love the most. Something extraordinary happens in every beings' life every day...it is only a matter of being present enough, often enough, to actually hear those we love when they try to share these occurences with us.
And so that is where I have been....mostly in my house(s), mostly with my boys and my husband, and mostly inside my own head. But before you start to gag on the bit of vomit coming up your throat as you read this, remember that I have also been busy cleaning the guinea pigs cage, mowing the grass, shopping for groceries eight days a week and trying to hold my temper while a disrespectful pre-teen (or two) questions every move I make every waking moment. I still live here on this big round ball with the rest of ya'll....I am just trying to keep my eyes and ears open more often than my mouth, so that I can catch as much of the magic as possible.
Looking back to when I initially started the blog, it seems that I was writing for two primary purposes: as a way of recording how I had become who I am and as a way of sorting through my most intense feelings....some celebratory, some painful and confusing.Selfishly, I wrote to leave a trail for my sons to have a greater understanding of who I was as a person, when they finally reach a point in life where they might be interested in that sort of thing. Communally, I wrote to share views on the fucked-upness that is often the human condition and hopefully, so the readers might not feel so alone in their own struggles. Admittedly, it was gratifying to feel like my words resonated with people I admire and respect, as well as with strangers who came to "know" me only through the posts. I can honestly say that when I wrote, the words flowed urgently and easily.
And so I have been quiet....metaphorically....for 64 days. I have prowled the streets of Mayodan and Bartow and Key West taking photographs of the world as it presents itself to me in
8 x 10 snippets. I have disovered a deepening joy in being able to "see" the unseen beauty and wonder that I would typically pass by or disregard. And it has been my privilege to share myself and my journey, of late, photographically. As always, the inspiration to approach my life this way came from the work of my soul traveler, David Smith (http://www.moonovertrees.com). But the "eye" I have developed is uniquely mine.
I been busy living my day-to-day, mostly contentedly, and focusing much more on my "being" rather than my "doing". I have accepted that there is a cloak of anonymity that comes with being a woman of a certain age...in essence, you become invisible in a lot of situations where you once garnered notice. Rather than mourning the loss of attention, I find that I am reveling in the freedom of no longer needing to try so hard. Make no mistake, I never want to be a person who wears pajama pants to the grocery store. But I also no longer need to wear trendy ensembles as a form of armor, projecting my "togetherness" outwardly. Honestly, I just want to be comfortable, in my own skin as well as in my clothes, and on occasion, to don a Pink Pirate Princess costume, because I can.
Lately, my mantra has been Maya Angelou's admonition that "people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget the way you made them feel."
I would postulate that in fact, most people can not listen or be open to your ideas, until you connect with them in some way emotionally. And, unfortunately, this can often be most difficult with the people closest to us, the ones we profess to love the most. Something extraordinary happens in every beings' life every day...it is only a matter of being present enough, often enough, to actually hear those we love when they try to share these occurences with us.
And so that is where I have been....mostly in my house(s), mostly with my boys and my husband, and mostly inside my own head. But before you start to gag on the bit of vomit coming up your throat as you read this, remember that I have also been busy cleaning the guinea pigs cage, mowing the grass, shopping for groceries eight days a week and trying to hold my temper while a disrespectful pre-teen (or two) questions every move I make every waking moment. I still live here on this big round ball with the rest of ya'll....I am just trying to keep my eyes and ears open more often than my mouth, so that I can catch as much of the magic as possible.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Quest for Serenity...or Sanity...
There is something about trying to parent a 6th
grader that has taken me back to my “junior high” years. Maybe it is all the
angst, or all the excitement that comes with having your toes on the edge of a more adult world. Or maybe it’s the fact
that I have been listening to Classic Rock. But my emotions are swirling in a
way that feels 1977ish.
In 1977, I was a big kid….and I don’t mean just “big-boned”. I mean almost 6 feet tall and overweight. I was clumsy and loud, with skin that seemed to be perpetually broken out and hair that was straight and fine and limp…..during the days of Farrah Fawcett and Charlie’s Angels. Thankfully, I was very smart and made excellent grades because otherwise I would have had nothing noteworthy going on. Also, I had a knack for ingratiating myself with the popular people, either through luck or through cunning. I kept score for the volleyball and softball teams so I knew all the girls who were athletes and their jock boyfriends. I even cheered for a few years because my broad, strong back made me an excellent “base” for the 90 lb girls to build stunts around. In 9th grade I was Vice-President of Beta Club and a Student Council officer, so if you looked at my yearbooks from this era it would appear that I was square in the center of the “It” crowd.
Except I really wasn’t. Most days I felt like I sat just on
the outside of knowing whatever secret it was that all those beautiful people
knew. I studied their casual confidence and hungered for it. I dressed the part
and I talked the talk, but in the darkest recesses of my soul, I felt like a
fraud. Emotionally, it was pure agony. Psychologically, it was the highest highs
and the lowest lows, almost every day. Back then my self-esteem hinged on so
many factors outside myself, that were beyond my control, when what I really wanted
was to feel like I fit in.
Looking back, I am certain that my family bore the brunt of how sad and angry and scared I felt inside. And in all honesty, the distance and tension that exists in our relationships to this day can, in large part, be traced to this period of my life.
Now I watch my oldest going through some of the same emotions
and I am on the receiving end of the confusion and anger. I realize that since
the day each of the tests read “pregnant”, I have been basing my parenting philosophy
primarily on NOT doing anything the way my parents had done it. For years now I
have falsely believed that if I tried to be more involved and tried to be more
focused on my sons’ emotional well-being, then I could help them avoid the
pitfalls that clouded so much of my life then and still occasionally darken my
mood. Unfortunately, I WAS WRONG….about so many things and in so many ways.
For all of my efforts (and those of their Dad), here we are…
dumbfounded by the mood swings and the intensity of the emotions…wondering what
in the hell we are suppose to do now. Even as I type these words I am questioning
whether I should be sharing these thoughts with the cyberworld. Don’t I owe my children more privacy than that? What
if writing is only the selfish act by which I work out my own crap? Truthfully,
I don’t have the answers anymore. I don’t have the energy to pretend that I
have the answers. And obviously, living authentically is going to be more about
the questions than the answers. As my wise Uncle Mickey used to say, “The only
thing that never changes is the fact that things are always changing.”
So apparently, now is going to be the time for me to change
my parenting philosophy. Because as painful as it has been coming to this
point, the reality is that most children are only doing what they need to be doing
at any given moment, so that they can grow in the ways they need to grow. I
believe it is not their behavior or their misbehavior that creates our
difficulties. Rather it is our inability to manage and cope with the behavior
and misbehavior that causes us to lose sleep and spend days with lumps in our
throats and knots in our stomachs. Undoubtedly, our children are the ones sent
from some place more perfect for the purpose of helping us grow into the people we are meant to be. And for the
majority of us, that process involves learning and re-learning lessons related
to patience and self-control, even under the most dire of child-raising
circumstances.
The message that has been resonating through my core and
spilling out in my tears for the last few days is this: I must accept and forgive the circumstances
that shaped me, even if I never fully reach any understanding of them.
Forgiveness is a gift I am being required to give…for my own sake. Only by
doing so will I have the energy to keep growing and changing…to keep living my life to the fullest.
Intent and diligence are the hallmarks of forgiveness, not
necessarily coming to any semblance of understanding. The Universe has also made
it abundantly clear that I will not be able to guide or help anyone…or any one…
until they can feel and trust that I am giving them my acceptance. Paradoxically,
I am going to have to give my sons a level of acceptance that I don’t always
have to give to myself; an acceptance that I most definitely did not feel at
their ages. Apparently, Acceptance precedes Discipline and Guidance, not only
in the Webster’s Dictionary, but also in the Book of Life Lessons for Parents.
I have no idea how to even begin to convince my children
that I can accept them just the way the are and exactly for who they are.
Granted, I have no intention of allowing them to seize the power and call all
of the shots. More likely than not, tough love will always be the foundation upon
which I build as a parent. But fortunately for lots of us who struggle,
children are typically more forgiving and resilient than the adults in their
lives. And their reservoirs of unconditional love are deeper than ours. Simply
put, they will give us lots of opportunities to figure out what it is they want
and need from us. Today, I am guessing that for our boys, it will begin and end
with Acceptance.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Springing Forward
Equinox (n.) - the time when the sun crosses the plane of the earth's equator, making night and day of approximate equal length all over the world.
Today was an amazingly balanced, extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary woman.
Today I was able to do some work on behalf of our community and its' most defenseless citizens. I was blessed to be able to spend a few hours at a job that still energizes me after thirteen years and to eat slices of pizza with my boys, beside a booth full of colleagues who are also great friends.
Today I drove across the county where I live, with the windows down and the radio blasting; listening to my children sing and reveling in the beauty of the blooming trees and flowers surrounding us. I felt the same sense of freedom that I did when I was their age, riding in my dad's pick-up, singing the songs of my youth and feeling the wind in my hair.
Today I bought a miniature work of art at a local boutique. I started weeding the flower beds in my backyard and I sat on my neighbor's front porch while our children played basketball in the street. I watched a thunderstorm roll across the sky with intense flashes of lightning and powerful booms of thunder, from the safety of my kitchen where we all sat down to dinner...together.
Today I breathed the breath of my life in and out, peacefully.
And for me, that is an incredible feat. Despite the worries, the stress and the absolute absurdity of the anxieties that plague me, today the universe conspired to gift me with balance...and I was gracious enough to soak it in like the spring sunshine. Today.
Today I was as fully present in each moment of as I am humanly able to be and I experienced the celebration that is a day in life of an ordinary human.
Today was an amazingly balanced, extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary woman.
Today I was able to do some work on behalf of our community and its' most defenseless citizens. I was blessed to be able to spend a few hours at a job that still energizes me after thirteen years and to eat slices of pizza with my boys, beside a booth full of colleagues who are also great friends.
Today I drove across the county where I live, with the windows down and the radio blasting; listening to my children sing and reveling in the beauty of the blooming trees and flowers surrounding us. I felt the same sense of freedom that I did when I was their age, riding in my dad's pick-up, singing the songs of my youth and feeling the wind in my hair.
Today I bought a miniature work of art at a local boutique. I started weeding the flower beds in my backyard and I sat on my neighbor's front porch while our children played basketball in the street. I watched a thunderstorm roll across the sky with intense flashes of lightning and powerful booms of thunder, from the safety of my kitchen where we all sat down to dinner...together.
Today I breathed the breath of my life in and out, peacefully.
And for me, that is an incredible feat. Despite the worries, the stress and the absolute absurdity of the anxieties that plague me, today the universe conspired to gift me with balance...and I was gracious enough to soak it in like the spring sunshine. Today.
Today I was as fully present in each moment of as I am humanly able to be and I experienced the celebration that is a day in life of an ordinary human.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Growing Pains
Dear Jackson,
Outwardly, I was smiling and nodding and listening to the presenters because I am thrilled for you to be taking this next step towards independence. But on the inside, it felt like a part of me was dying. I was there crying when you started your first day of child care and then again on your first day in the pre-school class and on your first day of kindergarten. I actually cried harder when you went to first grade than kindergarten, because by then you had moved into the big building with the upper grades. And when you walked down the sidewalk at the end of that first day with that giant book bag on your back, you looked seven feet tall and grown.
Mom
Last night we went for your middle school orientation and you were so excited that you could hardly control yourself. Earlier in the day your entire 5th grade had been on a tour of the school, so you were pointing out science labs and locker rooms and showing your Dad and I around like you owned the place.
Outwardly, I was smiling and nodding and listening to the presenters because I am thrilled for you to be taking this next step towards independence. But on the inside, it felt like a part of me was dying. I was there crying when you started your first day of child care and then again on your first day in the pre-school class and on your first day of kindergarten. I actually cried harder when you went to first grade than kindergarten, because by then you had moved into the big building with the upper grades. And when you walked down the sidewalk at the end of that first day with that giant book bag on your back, you looked seven feet tall and grown.
I know you don’t understand all these feelings. I know I am a source of embarrassment most of the time these days. In all honesty, there are things I enjoy about being your Mom at every age and the more independent you become, the more helpful and responsible you become. But while the days are long and seem to stretch beyond the normal twenty-four hours, the weeks, months and the years are whizzing by like a flash of lightning.
When you were an infant I felt confused about 95% of the time. I was tired, overworked and frazzled in every way possible; I didn’t know what to do or when to do it because I had never been anyone’s Mother before. Believe it or not, I am eleven years into the job and I am feeling the same way all over again. I am still tired, overworked and frazzled….except now I am also older, heavier and I have to wear glasses to read J. Most days I don’t know what to say, how to say it or how to respond when you don’t want to hear it. I volley between wanting to pull you close to me like I did back then and wanting to rip your head off if you talk back to me in that tone one more time.
I want to be someone you trust and come to for guidance, but lately I can’t tell when I am suppose to rush in with potential answers or hang back and let you make your own mistakes. I remember how decrepit my parents seemed when I was your age, and I cringe when I hear their words coming out of my mouth. Fortunately, your brother doesn’t completely ignore me yet, although I have caught him rolling his eyes a few times lately. But you can be certain that he is watching every move you make as you blaze the middle school trail for us all.
In my confusion I have resorted to reading a lot of books about adolescents at this age and talking to a lot of parents whose children are either successfully maneuvering middle school or have survived and transitioned to high school. I have no doubt that together we will sail this ocean and find a treasure chest of memories waiting to be unearthed in the next three years. I remind myself that at this point I have had the privilege of being your Mom for 4,041 days (and counting) and I haven’t had a map or a guidebook thus far.
But if you could occasionally look back at me and smile as you sprint into this next phase I would appreciate it. And when your heart is broken or your spirit is weak because of someone’s words, or an All-Star game lost or your own inexperience, please know that I am ready and waiting. I may not be able to say or do the right thing….ever…..but I am here! Waiting in the wings, with my own heart breaking and soaring, while I cheer for you loudly and silently. I am here for you always and I am here for you in all ways. Godspeed, Sweetheart, and please be careful.
All My Love,
Mom
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Boogie Shoes
Melanie Has Lost Her Groove. And unlike Stella, who found hers with Taye Diggs among the sweeping palm trees and warm breezes of Jamaica, mine can not be found at the bottom of a margarita glass....believe me, I have looked. In fact, lately I have been so "grooveless" that I switched the dial from 105.7 The Hits to NPR, where Mishelle Norris (pronounced "ME-Shelle Norris), helps me Consider All Things, without the pressure of the synthesized backbeat.
Seriously, for months now I feel like I am constantly dancing out of time to music heard only inside my own head. You know, like Elaine Bene's dancing on Seinfield (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xi4O1yi6b0). The harder I try to move and sway and find the beat, the more awkward and stilted and frightened I become. For as long as I can remember I have always loved to dance; music freed me, conncected me to the flow of life and moved me outside my own head. But at this stage I always seem to be a beat behind, gesticulating in the wrong direction and hyperaware of the younger, more fluid dancers. From the inside it is maddening to watch and painful to experience.
It has occurred to me that maybe this is a natural part of aging. Granted, my forties have brought me a dynamic partnership, a more comfortable home, gratifying work, and a new found love of photography and travel. All of which seem to get dwarfed in my own mind by my slowing metabolism, increasing size and failing short-term memory. These days I spend an inordinate amount of time feeling as awkward as I did at fourteen....unsure of who I am becoming, longing for the security of not so long ago when I thought I knew who I was and desperately trying to be one of the cool kids.
Recently, I had a friend tell me that she loved me because I was "not afraid to piss people off." And from the outside, it certainly looks that way. Due, in part to my upbringing, I have never had a problem expressing my opinion; loudly, and in amusing sarcastic tones. But lately, I have been reminded repeatedly that "amusing" can subject to interpretation, that sarcasm can be very divisive and that if people roll their eyes when you open your mouth, then maybe the impact of your message is being diluted by your delivery.
Ironically, in a parallel dimension, I am trying to parent an awkward, hormonal fifth grade boy who is loud, opinionated, sarcastic and trying desperately to be one of the cool kids. He also happens to be exceedingly bright, tender-hearted, thoughtful, beautiful and wise beyond his years. These days I spend an inordinate amount of time hoping that he will find a way to embrace all the goodenss of his life and recognize all the opportunities that lay ahead for him... if he would just look beyond his own fear and loathing, and embrace his own brand of coolness. Hmmmmmm.....
Unfailingly, parenting requires you to face the deepest, most insecure aspects of yourself and continue the painful process of growth. Undoubtedly, it is not mere coincidence that I am parenting a child on the cusp of "middle" school from the outskirts of being "middle" aged. What I am realizing, again, as I type these words is that it is not the desire to belong or the attempts at validation that reveal our awkardness. It is the overwhelming fear that we will never be "enough" that robs us of graceful movement and separates us from the other dancers. The common struggles of humanity actually draw us closer to one another; that is why we like fat Oprah, dancing Ellen and the absurdity of "I'm Sexy and I Know It."
So today, I can try to move through the world more gently, choose my words more carefully and turn off the static inside my head.
But I won't ever stop Pumpin' My Jam :)
Seriously, for months now I feel like I am constantly dancing out of time to music heard only inside my own head. You know, like Elaine Bene's dancing on Seinfield (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xi4O1yi6b0). The harder I try to move and sway and find the beat, the more awkward and stilted and frightened I become. For as long as I can remember I have always loved to dance; music freed me, conncected me to the flow of life and moved me outside my own head. But at this stage I always seem to be a beat behind, gesticulating in the wrong direction and hyperaware of the younger, more fluid dancers. From the inside it is maddening to watch and painful to experience.
It has occurred to me that maybe this is a natural part of aging. Granted, my forties have brought me a dynamic partnership, a more comfortable home, gratifying work, and a new found love of photography and travel. All of which seem to get dwarfed in my own mind by my slowing metabolism, increasing size and failing short-term memory. These days I spend an inordinate amount of time feeling as awkward as I did at fourteen....unsure of who I am becoming, longing for the security of not so long ago when I thought I knew who I was and desperately trying to be one of the cool kids.
Recently, I had a friend tell me that she loved me because I was "not afraid to piss people off." And from the outside, it certainly looks that way. Due, in part to my upbringing, I have never had a problem expressing my opinion; loudly, and in amusing sarcastic tones. But lately, I have been reminded repeatedly that "amusing" can subject to interpretation, that sarcasm can be very divisive and that if people roll their eyes when you open your mouth, then maybe the impact of your message is being diluted by your delivery.
Ironically, in a parallel dimension, I am trying to parent an awkward, hormonal fifth grade boy who is loud, opinionated, sarcastic and trying desperately to be one of the cool kids. He also happens to be exceedingly bright, tender-hearted, thoughtful, beautiful and wise beyond his years. These days I spend an inordinate amount of time hoping that he will find a way to embrace all the goodenss of his life and recognize all the opportunities that lay ahead for him... if he would just look beyond his own fear and loathing, and embrace his own brand of coolness. Hmmmmmm.....
Unfailingly, parenting requires you to face the deepest, most insecure aspects of yourself and continue the painful process of growth. Undoubtedly, it is not mere coincidence that I am parenting a child on the cusp of "middle" school from the outskirts of being "middle" aged. What I am realizing, again, as I type these words is that it is not the desire to belong or the attempts at validation that reveal our awkardness. It is the overwhelming fear that we will never be "enough" that robs us of graceful movement and separates us from the other dancers. The common struggles of humanity actually draw us closer to one another; that is why we like fat Oprah, dancing Ellen and the absurdity of "I'm Sexy and I Know It."
So today, I can try to move through the world more gently, choose my words more carefully and turn off the static inside my head.
But I won't ever stop Pumpin' My Jam :)
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Epilogue of a Dream
Dear Dr. King,
I hope you were blessed by the day of celebration and service in your honor. I just wanted to let you know that your dream is still alive and that even in Mayodan, NC, people are making progress.
I have two sons, 9 and almost 11, and they play basketball at the local rec center. Last Monday, afterschool, we stopped at Food Lion to pick up groceries and saw one of their teammates, who happens to be bi-racial. He was shopping with two white women. My oldest son said, "Hey Mom! I think _____ has two moms." To which my youngest son replied, "No he doesn't. One of those is his grandma." "Actually," I said, "I think he does have two moms...and that woman is much too young to be his grandmother." "Well, I know one thing," the little one retorted, "he must have a brown skin dad, because he couldn't have gotten his skin from those blonde women." And I smiled.
Granted, it is 2012. And granted, my children have grown up with the expectation that they will judge people based on the content of their character...not the color of their skin or their family dynamics. But it still felt like progress to me.
And this past Saturday when I relayed this story to _____'s two moms, we hugged and beamed with pride at our boys and laughed for a long time. Because given all the elements of the story where judgment and prejudice could have crept in, we were only appalled that anyone could think ANY OF US were old enough to be GRANDMOTHERS!
Dr. King, I thank you for your wisdom, your sacrifices and your legacy. And I wanted you to know that we are still listening, still dreaming and still believing. Because....We Shall Overcome Someday.
Most Sincerely,
Melanie Miller
I hope you were blessed by the day of celebration and service in your honor. I just wanted to let you know that your dream is still alive and that even in Mayodan, NC, people are making progress.
I have two sons, 9 and almost 11, and they play basketball at the local rec center. Last Monday, afterschool, we stopped at Food Lion to pick up groceries and saw one of their teammates, who happens to be bi-racial. He was shopping with two white women. My oldest son said, "Hey Mom! I think _____ has two moms." To which my youngest son replied, "No he doesn't. One of those is his grandma." "Actually," I said, "I think he does have two moms...and that woman is much too young to be his grandmother." "Well, I know one thing," the little one retorted, "he must have a brown skin dad, because he couldn't have gotten his skin from those blonde women." And I smiled.
Granted, it is 2012. And granted, my children have grown up with the expectation that they will judge people based on the content of their character...not the color of their skin or their family dynamics. But it still felt like progress to me.
And this past Saturday when I relayed this story to _____'s two moms, we hugged and beamed with pride at our boys and laughed for a long time. Because given all the elements of the story where judgment and prejudice could have crept in, we were only appalled that anyone could think ANY OF US were old enough to be GRANDMOTHERS!
Dr. King, I thank you for your wisdom, your sacrifices and your legacy. And I wanted you to know that we are still listening, still dreaming and still believing. Because....We Shall Overcome Someday.
Most Sincerely,
Melanie Miller
Monday, January 2, 2012
Pursuing Peace - Day 2
For the second consecutive day this year, my motivation for accomplishing anything other than breathing in and out came from the Inspirational Ms. Debbie. Last night the boys were with their dad so I slept on the couch in front of the Christmas tree and watched, "Meet Me in St. Louis", which were the last two items on my holiday to-do list. When I woke up this morning, I was sorely lacking in motivation...and my back was broken...okay, not broken exactly, but definitely out-of-whack. And given that I hadn't taken my thryoid meds for two days, it was looking like one of those days when I was probably going to have to mainline Diet Coke.
The word of the day was no help whatsoever; apparently, the word"fetor" means, "a strong and offensive odor." Which was actually appropo, given that I never showered yesterday! Oprah.com also offered little wisdom on this fine Monday, because I have absolutely no interest in living my best life in 52 weekly installments. So, I lumbered in and out of the shower, actually brushed my teeth AND dried my hair, before putting on a clean pair of pajama pants, that can double as loungewear, if necessary. It was at this moment that I received a text from the Divine.
No! not Bette Miller or the working girl hired by Hugh Grant, but the Divine Ms. Debbie. Who casually informed me that she probably would not be able to go for a walk with me today because she was "directing the choir for a funeral before I take my mother-in-law to the hospital to visit my father-in-law who has had pneumonia since Saturday." Alrighty then...message received loud and clear from the Universe via Verizon. Apprently, I was being instructed to get off my expansive derriere and accomplish something...without any further bitching!
So today, I am gratified to report that I found Peace through Perseverance; not because I felt like doing the tasks, but because I did the tasks regardless of my feelings. Honestly, I don't think I completed any task except getting the clean sheets on the beds. But I made progress in a million different directions and in 2012, making forward progress directly correlates with letting my efforts Be Enough. And as is often the case, along the way I was rewarded with moments of magic.
The pageantry, imagination and tradition of the Tournament of Roses Parade. Beginning work on a surprise for Jackson when he graduates from 5th grade. Relishing life in a town small that when I called in a prescription at 1:10 PM to a pharmacy that apparently closed at 12:00 noon, they recognized my home phone number and had the meds ready for pick up at 1:39pm. Listening to the laughter and negotiations of the neighborhood boys who worked fervently to build a ramp and then spent hours jumping their bikes and boasting.
But most impressively, I obliterated both of my children at Just Dance 3, because I am smart enough to figure out that you score points by moving your arms and hands, whether your feet are in sync or not. And for today, that is more than Enough.
The word of the day was no help whatsoever; apparently, the word"fetor" means, "a strong and offensive odor." Which was actually appropo, given that I never showered yesterday! Oprah.com also offered little wisdom on this fine Monday, because I have absolutely no interest in living my best life in 52 weekly installments. So, I lumbered in and out of the shower, actually brushed my teeth AND dried my hair, before putting on a clean pair of pajama pants, that can double as loungewear, if necessary. It was at this moment that I received a text from the Divine.
No! not Bette Miller or the working girl hired by Hugh Grant, but the Divine Ms. Debbie. Who casually informed me that she probably would not be able to go for a walk with me today because she was "directing the choir for a funeral before I take my mother-in-law to the hospital to visit my father-in-law who has had pneumonia since Saturday." Alrighty then...message received loud and clear from the Universe via Verizon. Apprently, I was being instructed to get off my expansive derriere and accomplish something...without any further bitching!
So today, I am gratified to report that I found Peace through Perseverance; not because I felt like doing the tasks, but because I did the tasks regardless of my feelings. Honestly, I don't think I completed any task except getting the clean sheets on the beds. But I made progress in a million different directions and in 2012, making forward progress directly correlates with letting my efforts Be Enough. And as is often the case, along the way I was rewarded with moments of magic.
The pageantry, imagination and tradition of the Tournament of Roses Parade. Beginning work on a surprise for Jackson when he graduates from 5th grade. Relishing life in a town small that when I called in a prescription at 1:10 PM to a pharmacy that apparently closed at 12:00 noon, they recognized my home phone number and had the meds ready for pick up at 1:39pm. Listening to the laughter and negotiations of the neighborhood boys who worked fervently to build a ramp and then spent hours jumping their bikes and boasting.
But most impressively, I obliterated both of my children at Just Dance 3, because I am smart enough to figure out that you score points by moving your arms and hands, whether your feet are in sync or not. And for today, that is more than Enough.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
A Peace Offering
I came home from Florida on Friday with the usual mix of emotions...exhaustion, relief, grief, overindulgence on every level, exhaustion...oh, I said that one already, didn't I? While we were gone the Most Inspirational Ms. Debbie had been taking care of our house and feeding the beloved Furona G. Pig. Once we got the suitcases unloaded and the boys left with their dad, I noticed that Ms. Debbie had left me a gift, in a large red bag. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the bag contained three items, and apparently one of them was peace...a small, rusted, metal ornament tied with twine that read "peace."
Hmmmm...Peace in a red Christmas bag...along with a 20 serving bucket of Strawberry Margaritas and a peppermint antibiotic hand soap. Like gold, frankincese and myrrhh, I had been honored with three gifts offered by a Wise Woman. Blithely, I placed the hand soap under the bathroom sink, stored the margarita bucket for a Valentine's soiree and hung the "peace" over my bedroom door knob to be packed away with the other ornaments when the mood struck.
Fast forward to Sunday, January 1st.
Logging onto http://www.quotations.com/ for an inspirational quote and the word of the day, I found the following:
"Human beings have the inalienable right to reinvent themselves." - Germaine Greer
and
"ruminate - to consider a matter again and again; ponder; muse; meditate; reflect upon."
And so, today I have been ruminating on Peace. How I might be more peaceful. How I might cultivate more peace within and around my being. How I might encourage more peaceful interactions between my warring offspring. Which, quite frankly, seem like overwhelming tasks...especially where my boys are concerned. Make no mistake, this is not a declaration of resolve for a new year. I am simply offering that each day I hope to be more aware of the peaceful moments in my life; with the hope that awareness will bring appreciation which will encourage greater awareness, more appreciation, etc., etc., etc.
When I began this blog last winter, I was seeking to live a more inspired life...to seek the elusive balance between "being" and "doing". As of today, I have produced 39 posts, some of which inspired, lightened a load, encouraged a laugh or kept someone from feeling so fucked up or alone. Along the way I have been blessed with the adventures of travel, discovered a passion for photography, and rediscovered the artistry of cooking for those you love. I have had moments when I genuinely enjoyed the growth of my children more often than not, deeply appreciated the strong steady love of the finest man I have ever known and enjoyed 365 days of unobstructed breath. It truly has been, a Life Well Lived, and I appreciate those of you who have shared it with me.
Therefore, I offer you this thought:
Today I found Peace in thought, organization and gratitude. By kissing my children at midnight on New Year's Eve. By sending our dreams and wishes up into the universe in the flames of biodegradable hot air balloons. By trying a new recipe for breakfast, organizing our photos and typing up our 2011 Year in Review. Today I breathed in tranquility in the quiet in my own home, doing exactly as I chose...celebrating the gift of today. My hope for you is that you can count the blessings of the year gone by and forgive yourselves the transgressions. Breathing in Love, Breathing out Peace...at least for today.
Hmmmm...Peace in a red Christmas bag...along with a 20 serving bucket of Strawberry Margaritas and a peppermint antibiotic hand soap. Like gold, frankincese and myrrhh, I had been honored with three gifts offered by a Wise Woman. Blithely, I placed the hand soap under the bathroom sink, stored the margarita bucket for a Valentine's soiree and hung the "peace" over my bedroom door knob to be packed away with the other ornaments when the mood struck.
Fast forward to Sunday, January 1st.
Logging onto http://www.quotations.com/ for an inspirational quote and the word of the day, I found the following:
"Human beings have the inalienable right to reinvent themselves." - Germaine Greer
and
"ruminate - to consider a matter again and again; ponder; muse; meditate; reflect upon."
And so, today I have been ruminating on Peace. How I might be more peaceful. How I might cultivate more peace within and around my being. How I might encourage more peaceful interactions between my warring offspring. Which, quite frankly, seem like overwhelming tasks...especially where my boys are concerned. Make no mistake, this is not a declaration of resolve for a new year. I am simply offering that each day I hope to be more aware of the peaceful moments in my life; with the hope that awareness will bring appreciation which will encourage greater awareness, more appreciation, etc., etc., etc.
When I began this blog last winter, I was seeking to live a more inspired life...to seek the elusive balance between "being" and "doing". As of today, I have produced 39 posts, some of which inspired, lightened a load, encouraged a laugh or kept someone from feeling so fucked up or alone. Along the way I have been blessed with the adventures of travel, discovered a passion for photography, and rediscovered the artistry of cooking for those you love. I have had moments when I genuinely enjoyed the growth of my children more often than not, deeply appreciated the strong steady love of the finest man I have ever known and enjoyed 365 days of unobstructed breath. It truly has been, a Life Well Lived, and I appreciate those of you who have shared it with me.
Therefore, I offer you this thought:
Today I found Peace in thought, organization and gratitude. By kissing my children at midnight on New Year's Eve. By sending our dreams and wishes up into the universe in the flames of biodegradable hot air balloons. By trying a new recipe for breakfast, organizing our photos and typing up our 2011 Year in Review. Today I breathed in tranquility in the quiet in my own home, doing exactly as I chose...celebrating the gift of today. My hope for you is that you can count the blessings of the year gone by and forgive yourselves the transgressions. Breathing in Love, Breathing out Peace...at least for today.
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