Angst and Icing

Somehow, I started typing this post to share a project Marley and I worked on last night and I keep backspacing to delete all the parental, existential angst that keeps coming out instead.

Only I could manage angst out of icing.

Last year at the school carnival, I was talking with one of Marley's teachers and the subject of right brain versus left brain preference came up. I am decidedly a right brain, metaphor happy, start with the biggest picture before zeroing in to make a point, person. Thus, angst and icing.

So, I will try to summarize. Marley and I made cakes with fondant icing. I wish I was the kind of mom who did this kind of thing for her more often. Done.

The cakes:

After several episodes of Amazing Cakes (WE tv), she has been rabid to bake a cake. I looked up a recipe for fondant icing, whipped out a boxed cake mix and lo, please watch a slideshow of our creative process and the resulting creations:

Sleeping with Bread: the Caffeine-challenged Version

I sit and stare at the Sleeping with Bread questions.

I've got a little caffeine high going and it is hard to stop. Breathe. Reflect.

WheinsteaditfeelslikemyinsidesaregoingamillionmilesaminuteandIdon'tevenknowwhatitmeanstobreathe.

Slowly though, one thought bubbles up inside.

What caused a sense of desolation for me this week was money: the lack of, the overspending of, the years-long struggle to be a wise, disciplined steward of the generousness of God. A struggle which feels more like the proverbial "one step forward, two steps back" than the "slow and steady wins the race" turtle-like determination.

Sigh.

I breathe. Yes. That is a true desolation for me this week.

Another thought drifts to the surface, frees itself and pops.

What has give me great consolation this week is my children. The ones I complain about constantly. The ones I refer to as Wild Thing One and Wild Thing Two. The ones who wear me down, sometimes with the drip, drip, drip of the Chinese water torture, sometimes with the rushing torrent of a flash flood.

God help me, I love those kids.

My daughter has had lots of hugs for me lately. On Saturday, she kept climbing into my lap while we were at a friend's house. I asked her why I was getting all these hugs. She shrugged her shoulders, leaned in for some more cuddling and then said, "Because you bought me a hamster." She is in the midst of developmental and physical change right now. I look at her and her face looks different. Her words are different. She is really too big for me to carry, although sometimes I will lean over, put my hands under her arms, say "One, two, three!" so she will jump up at the same time I lift her up. By doing so I get enjoy--for the minute or so I can manage to carry her--her arms being wrapped around my neck, her legs around my body.

My son, as much as he resists being labeled, is in some ways the stereotypical teen. But he is so much more than that also. I forget sometimes how self-sufficient he is. I forget that if I stop and take time to explain what I am feeling, or to apologize for my rantings, he is gracious with me. He has long been a kid who wants his own space and is very adamant that his mother not touch him. I sneaked in back pats and hair rubs and sideways hugs for as long as I could. No more. I miss being able to express my love for him physically. But I know that it is more loving for me to respect his wishes in this area than to force it on him. So, I soak in his smiles, enjoy our shared interests in certain television shows and movies and remember the days when he was small enough to be held, his head resting just under my chin.


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Other Sleeping with Bread posts can be found here.

Sleeping with Bread Monday: with Parental Joy and Sadness

In the last week, when did I experience the most joy as a parent?

There is something about your child growing to love something which you love which makes your heart bursting-full. We all experience those moments throughout the lives of our children. It might be one of the more narcissistic aspects of parenting, but nevertheless, I believe it is a universal parental feeling. I had one such moment this week. Marley had drawn a picture of the earth, the moon and an alien in a spaceship. She wanted to share it at school and in order to do so, she was required to write about the picture. Here is the picture and her words (as is and then translated into grown up English.)

Ifyouhlldallangfllofaryoucansrvavforabou30secis.
(If you hold a lungful of air, you can survive for about 30 seconds.)

This may not have any meaning for most people reading this. I, however, experienced a moment of pure, unadulterated, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy-frenzied joy. This--this is MY daughter, without a doubt! (My husband probably would feel a similar sense of joy if he read my son's latest book project for his English class. He read a biography of Jimi Hendrix and stated that he chose the book because Jimi Hendrix is his favorite singer and guitar player.)

In the last week, when did I experience the most sadness as a parent?

There is something sad about persistent maladies and the impact they have on your children. Tonight, as I was trying not to lose my cool while I proofread my son's book report, I was getting a little testy. It isn't unusual for me to get frustrated when he has a project due--that could, and probably will, be a subject of an entire post. He was cooperating, though, with my suggestions. The work wasn't bad. I shouldn't have been as irritated as I was feeling. At one point, I asked my son to please turn out the dining room light. It was hurting my eyes. "Oh great," he exclaimed, "you're getting a migraine when I have a project to finish!" Well, so far, the actual migraine hasn't shown up. The pre-migraine crankiness and light sensitivity has, though. Those symptoms aren't a guarantee that a migraine will show itself, but it makes me sad that my son would know the symptoms and recognize, before I even do, that one might be coming. With a migraine, he recognizes that he will get to experience his mother being cranky, his having to help take care of her and his having to be responsible for an uncooperative little sister. It doesn't sound like a lot of fun, does it?














Thanks for joining me today!

P.S. I wrote this last night and dated it today because I knew I would be busy this morning. Later, in the wee hours of the morning, I wrote an entirely different sort of "How I'm Doing" post over here at my family blog. It ain't pretty but somehow, in the name of emotional honesty, I felt like I needed to disclose it here.

Also Sleeping with Bread this week:

Pam over at MarillaAnne
Sheila at Musings of a Mommy
atypical of nonsensical text

A glimpse into a family project: The Family Portrait

I convinced (arm-twisted and bribed) my children into cooperating for a do-it-yourself Christmas portrait this year. I thought you might enjoy a little slide show of the effort:

(Hovering over each picture will reveal a caption.)