Ballet Shoes

Because I decided that my entire family should suffer through the most intense grad school semester I could pull together, I decided to do something special for Marley--a mother-daughter experience--before I get buried in school-related stuff. We hosted a mother-daughter book club party today. We chose to read Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfield. We evited a few friends and read the book. For ages 9-12, the book was more than Marley could handle on her own, so I read it out loud to her. We didn't begin as early as we should, so we ended up reading 1-3 chapters a day for 10 days or so.

Marley enjoyed the book very much and I took advantage of her willingness to sit and listen to work on her comprehension skills. Every night that we read, we did a mini-review of the main points of each chapter. Granted, by the 15th chapter, we only covered the most recent chapters and didn't go back all the way to chapter one.  We read the last 18 pages just two hours before our guests were due to arrive.

I really wanted this to be something different for Marley. I wanted her to experience reading and discussing a good book, but I also thought my social butterfly needed some friends around her to enhance the experience... and a craft. Marley dearly loves a craft. I tweeted and facebook status'd for help and Veronica over at Toddled Dredge came through with No Sew Tutus. My in-laws scoured thrift stores for china cups and saucers. Ballet Shoes takes place in 1930s London, so of course, tea was the refreshment of the day. Used teacups are cheap and who cares if they break? The local bakery was the source for yummy tarts and petit fours. Sticky Fingers Scone mix was used for plain and chocolate chip scones. There was lemonade for the girls and tea and coffee for the moms. The final touch was 20s and 30s music courtesy of internet radio. 

Before our guests arrived, I gave Marley a crash course on hostessing. The hosts pick last. Hosts offer to take the moms' purses. The hosts offer refreshments. She did a wonderful job although her discussion faciliation was rather interesting. She tended to interrupt to move on to the next question or to share her own point of view.  As it became time for our guests to leave, Marley was a little too enthusiastic in her goodbyes. She was to go home with one of her friends for an overnighter and had her bagged pack and slung over her shoulder, ready to move on to the next experience!

Yesterday, Marley and I took some time to have discussion questions ready. We asked about favorite characters and events in the book. We considered what type of conversations we might want to have with the characters. Marley was very interested in asking what Great Uncle Matthew collected (Fossils!!!!) and wondering if everyone knew what GUM meant (Great Uncle Matthew!!!!).  My favorite question that Marley came up with, is "If you had influenza, what would you do... take medicine or not?" The girls very enthusiastically shared their thoughts and opinions. Marley had passed out questions to each of them so they could take turns. Seriously, it was just too cute. Of course, my cynical teenager had to tell me tonight that he didn't want to hurt my feelings but the party today was the DUMBEST THING EVER. I laughed at him because what else would a teenage boy think about a 1930s themed, mother-daughter book club party?

Here's a slideshow of our party. Because I don't have permission, I am only posting pictures of Marley, the tutus, the teacups. If you have a daughter, I highly recommend hosting a book club. After the discussion, the girls talked and decided that for their NEXT book club, they would read Theater Shoes, also by Noel Streatfield. When a party gets kids excited about reading, that's a very good thing! (Of course, I don't know if the moms are ready for another 200+ page book read. The girls might have to wait for a couple of months!

Oh for a Way Back Machine

It may just be that I'm close to entering the Red Tent but I am feeling very emotional these days about my daughter.  There is just so much stuff surrounding her these days.   I am so aware of where her life is right now--more than I was with Colin (probably because she was an infant when he was this age.  Oy.  Now I feel guilty about that.  He was, in some ways, completely neglected at that time.)

ANYWAY...

Tonight while Paul, Colin and I were still lounging at the table after dinner, Marley was be-bopping around the house.  She passed by Paul and he stopped her to inquire if she'd been growing.  Paul and I have this tendency to ask this of our children in an accusatory tone: "Hey! What have you been up to?  Did you get taller last night?"  Because, really, it is astounding how you can look at your child one day and see a different, taller version the next. It is very unsettling.

We took her to The Wall of Measurement and she had not really grown any in the last month. But there are other differences.  Paul and I both see them.  The parents of her classmates see them.  She is changing. But the changes aren't just physical.  Her interests, her ability to manage herself, her awareness is all changing, too.

And I can't help but think about her future--both immediate and not so immediate.  Maybe her recent experience with being cast as Mrs. Gloop is influencing me.  Her disappointment was total.  She is, as I hope she will time and time again, turning her disappointment into a positive experience.  But I know there are so many more out there.  Lurking, like John Irving's Under Toad, waiting to catch her unawares.

She will feel unloved.

She will feel unattractive.

She will feel unimportant.

She will feel less than.

She will want something and not get it.

She will not want something and get it anyway.

She will be hurt by others.

She will hurt others.

It just goes on and on.

But I watch her at gymnastics, getting to ring the bell because she did a pullover by herself for the first time.

I see her confidence building.

I hear her teacher telling her what a wonderful job she is doing as Mrs. Gloop.

I see her confidence building.

I see her being given responsibilities in her class because she has been working at being a good role model for the younger kids.

I see her confidence building.

I hope it is enough.

I hope that she can internalize the positive experiences and the disappointments because together they are the warp and weave of life.  You become the person you are by how you deal with both.  And I pray for her.  I pray incoherent, gutteral, purely emotional prayers because the words are inadequate to cover all the protection and blessings I want for her.

And then I pray for myself to survive it all. Is there any way to get back to the simplicities of this age?

Marley, 18 mos. old

22 down, 8 to go

The Joys of Parenting OR Is there an MRI Machine in the House?

Is it possible for an altercation with your seven year old daughter to cause a brain bleed?

If so, then that explains the pain in my head after Marley had a complete malfunction after soccer practice. Now, I'm used to her shenanigans at home but this one resembled something out of a cartoon complete with a tiny mushroom cloud going "POOF" right over her little blonde head.

I was in no mood to listen to her carry on. I was embarrassed. I could not get her to talk to me about what had upset her. Of course, she had no problem telling me about all sorts of other stuff she was unhappy about including but not limited to:

Not wanting to be on a yellow team with a stupid name
Wanting to be on a pink team with pirate in the name
Not wanting to be in the "light"
Wanting Colin to come to her practice
Announcing she is not going to practice next week

And so on and so on.

After passing her off to her father upon our return home with the words: "You need to come out here and deal with her," I proceeded to abdicate all parental responsibility and took a couple (okay, fine--three) ibuprofen. I then waited to see if my brain bleed was going to be fatal.

So far, it hasn't been. So far.

****flip****

Lest I make my daughter sound like a complete monster-child, I will say that her coach works the girls pretty hard. They come running in for water breaks two or three times during practice with faces red from exertion and the heat.

I was also finally able to get her to tell me what had upset her. Her friend's sister has practice immediately following Marley's. I had told her after the last practice that we would stay and play on the playground with her friend. Her friend didn't show up and she was upset.

****flop****

Lest I sound like I am excusing my daughter's bad behavior. I'm not. She has a will of iron which I am sometimes at a loss to deal with. But she received appropriate consequences. Hopefully, they will have made an impression on her.

A Walk Down Memory Lane, Part 2

Also found in my mad scramble for my marriage certificate and Social Security card...

the best Mother's Day card I ever received... EVER!

Front of the card:



Back of the card:



Pretty funny, eh?

The Real Moms Meme: My Turn

Real moms have realizations...

...such as a few weeks ago when my daughter was in church with me. I love the worship time during our service. I have a hard time shutting down my brain and connecting in the moment. During worship however, that is not a problem. It is one very consistent place where I can "be" with God, present with my emotions, happy or sad and I just am: a mess, content, troubled, at peace, all of the above.

So, you can imagine the buzz kill my daughter was. She was pretty quiet but moving around. Up and down. Down and up. Every time she stood up, the movie theater style seat creaked. She'd tug on my arm. You know, fidgety kid stuff.

I kept trying to stay in my blissful worship moment, only to have to stop and encourage Marley to sit down, etc. "You're ruining my worship!" I wanted to say--may have said even. My interior monologue went something like this:

Why can't my kid just do what I tell her to? Is it so hard for her to just sit still? I've got something I'm doing here and...

she's...

not...

co...

op...

er...

at...

ing.



Oh.


And there I have it. A realization in the middle of worship that I am like a child who chafes at God's instruction. I don't listen to what he has to say. I won't sit still long enough to hear what he's saying. I don't tend to cooperate with his plan. Another instance of a child teaching her mother something profound.

Hmmm. Something to think about.


I was tagged by atypical of nonsensical text for this meme. And in turn, I tag the Ravin' Picture Maven, chickenone, Sheila and PeanutButtersMom. All you do is finish the thought: Real moms... You can do it with pictures and/or words. Whatever you like.

On difficulty taking a compliment...

My friend and I are walking through the park one beautiful day.

"Your kids are so lucky to have you for a mother, Mary."

My insides go on high alert, preparing for how to respond to this statement.

"How do you mean?" I say.

"Well, you are so good about showing your kids they need to think about others."

We had just been talking about how our family sponsors two children through Christian Children's Fund and about our Christmas tradition of a Jesus stocking in which we place notes with the things we do for others throughout the year.

Everything inside of me wants to protest. I feel a flush rising up in my body. I want to say No! I'm not a good mother. I'm a shrieking lunatic, inconsistent discipliner, selfish, lazy. . . I could go on and on. But I don't. I confess:

"This is very uncomfortable for me to listen to," I say as I'm fanning my face with my hands, "but... thank you."

"You're welcome," she says to me.

I take a deep breath and keep walking.

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.

Going Down in Flames

(If you already made it to this post, I apologize for the new post alert in your feed reader. I had some glaring mistakes staring me in the face this morning and I couldn't let them go. I guess trying to write a post while supervising two young girls isn't the brightest idea.)


Yesterday I did something I am usually loathe to do: I took myself for a walk. Now, don't get me wrong; I love walking. Except in the dread heat of summer, there is very rarely a bad day for walking here in So-So Cal. But I hate to walk alone. Give me blue skies, mild temperatures and a warm body by my side to keep me company. Please. But my walking schedule has been erratic lately and I'm trying to chisel a healthy woman facet on my already dazzling self and it was either walk alone or not at all.

Of course, faced with such a solitary sojourn, I had to dig out my faithful iPod. I had recently loaded up a new album so it was a good excuse to listen to it. So picture me now, starting out slowly as I wind up and down the hills of my neighborhood. I am so proud of myself:

"Look at me. I'm walking. I can do this. This is easy." Soon, however, I have this to say to myself:

"Good Lord, (huff, puff) I can't do this. I have to stop. This is impossible. I don't want to be healthy." Some version of these two mental exchanges takes place alternately for my one hour walk. Finally, I finish, legs tingling and body sweating. I did it. I walked alone!

Excuse my waxing poetic about that major accomplishment in my life. I really came here to share the lyrics of a song I listened to on my extreme trek. The new album I just put on my iPod is Long Island Shores by Mindy Smith. Superb music, let me tell you. But the song I want to tell you about isn't on that album. It is on her previous album, One Moment More. It was easier to hit "Play All" Mindy Smith songs so after Long Island Shores, the One Moment More album began. As I listened to Down in Flames, I realized why I love her music so much. Although I imagine that her life and mine are very different, almost every one of her songs relates an emotion that I've felt or reflects a situation which seems familiar to me. This particular song, Down in Flames, resonated for me so much as a mother. The picture of someone confiding to a stranger, struggling over her day, reminded me of all the different mom posts I read and it seemed as if on any given day, this song could be one of our theme songs.

"Down In Flames"

I don't usually take chances
Most would easily agree
Something in your eyes
Is saying you can ease my heartache
I have a burden in sight
And I know you're just a stranger
If you cannot understand
There's too many times
I've lost my chance to talk with an angel
Too many to count

And life's so hard
It's the little things that seem to be getting me today, yeah
Life's so hard
But I'm doing what I can to not to be getting down
I'm going down in flames
Going down in flames

I would tell you I am happy
If I wasn't so damn sad
And the loneliness both overwhelms and keeps me empty
That's how it's been for a while

And life's so hard
It's the little things that seem to be getting me today, yeah
Life's so hard
But I'm doing what I can to not to be getting down
I'm going down in flames
Going down in flames

I need some direction
I need someone to listen
Someone to tell me that they know

That life's so hard
It's the little things that seem to be saving me today, yeah
Life's so hard
And I'm doing what I can
Oh, yeah, I'm doing what I can
Hey, I'm doing what I can
Going down in flames
Going down in flames

I'm not feeling the emotion expressed in this song at this moment in time. As a mother, though, there have been many a day in which it seemed I was going down in flames, every little thing adding fuel to the fire. I imagine many of you have, to0. Listening to this song, I feel less alone.





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Side note: My presence in the 'verse has been sporadic this past week. Mostly I've just been recovering the the mutant virus that threatened life on Planet Mary-LUE. Mind you, I wasn't sick, just my Wild Child; however, I was out of circulation as much as she was and it is taking me a while to get back in the swing. I'm sure ya'll be seeing me more this week. (Did I use that correctly, Pam?)

MoTBA (Mothers of Teenage Boys Anonymous)

I met with a think tank today--a group of like-minded women determined to solve a problem that looms large in our world: getting teenage boys through high school.

Well, okay, it wasn't really a think tank. A couple of the women have thoughtfully arranged get togethers for our sons--who sojourned from preschool through elementary school together--since they scattered to different schools beginning in seventh grade. The boys get a chance to see each other and the moms get to freak out at how much the other boys are changing. Some of them are six feet tall! Six feet! Yowsa! What began as a mini-reunion became a support group meeting for us moms.

Today was my first time to join the other moms as the boys feasted at the Rainforest Cafe' and then played video games. I'm not sure what the other get togethers were like but within moments of the moms being sat at a table adjacent to our sons, the comparing and contrasting began. Most of the mom research had to do with how our new freshmen were coping at high school. This one had a bad progress report; another one was doing better than expected. Involvement in sports and other extracurricular activities was discussed. How to get your kid focused on being more responsible was a problem for which any of us might have paid good money to obtain a solution. Each of us had heard a line similar to the following one from our sons: "Well, the teacher didn't remind me to turn it in." Each of us uttered a similar line to our sons: "It isn't his/her job to remind you to turn in your work. It is his/her job to teach you. You are responsible for knowing when to turn your work in."

Eventually, the conversation drifted from our concerns that they finish high school with the work habits and grades to help them get into college to what we are all assuming hasn't occurred with our children yet. Yeah... sex and substance abuse. It gives me the shivers just thinking about it. Near where we live there is a popular street with a movie theater and several restaurants, shops, etc. It never fails that I see hordes--massive hordes--of teenagers hanging out there on a weekend night. Girls sitting on boys laps, heads together or holding hands as they walk down the street. Oh sure, it all seems innocent enough; however, I can tell you that I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about my son in one of these packs of kids and his arm around some... some... girl!

So, we were ultimately grateful for a problem like a bad progress report and, I think, uneasy about what we may not know about their lives. I think we all felt a sense of relief that we are experiencing the same issues and feelings. A day that was planned to keep our boys connected ended up drawing us closer together.

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