Grouchy Mama

There is one month of school left.  We are getting to that time of year when getting the kids to bed and getting them out the door to school in the morning is getting old.  I am grouchy.  I am the task master.  I want some order and routine to the schedule so that I don't have to be the bad guy.

We have two very verbal children and left to their own accord they would spend the entire morning in the bathroom brushing their teeth over a hardy discourse on recent iphone operating systems.  Enter the evil Mama who repeatedly blurts out the time of day.  It's 7:59.  It's 8:01.  It's now 8:04!

I didn't budget 7 minutes to tie shoes.

Ditto for bedtime.  You are using up your reading time.  The dentist says to brush your teeth for two minutes, it has been 17 and you are still in the bathroom.  What are you doing?  There are only two pieces to the jammies.  GET THEM ON!

Grouchy Mama.

Then they are gone to school and twenty minutes later I miss them.  I'm ready for them to get off the bus so I can start the next round.  Sit down to eat.  Sit DOWN to eat your snack.  Sit.  Down.

It's time for pi-an-o. . .

What?

How many times can one girl go to the bathroom.

What is it that I really want?  What is the root of my discontent?

I really want time to be elastic.  I want to not be in a hurry.  I want the kids to stay on a task without me having a cow.

Surely I can't be the only mother to ever have these feelings.  And they are good kids and I'm a well organized mom.

I may have to lower my expectations.  At least about the elasticity of time.

I don't want to look back and have been too much of a Grouchy Mama.  I'll try to turn it around.

I'm not giving up on bedtime.

After the Storm

My mom came for a visit this weekend.  We spent some time in the greenhouses and out in the garden.  A lot of time.  She de-chived my perennial bed.  Those cute little chives had seeded themselves into every nook and cranny and were threatening to choke out every decent plant in the garden.  This involved digging up each plant and sorting out the roots and putting the good roots back into the soil

In the life of the garden the chives and other noxious weeds are a cancer.  I've spent many an hour out there considering the metaphor that the weeds are a cancer and I am a surgeon removing them from the healthy cells of the body. Round-up is like chemo, it gets the job done but you are bound to do some damage to the good plants to save them from the bad.

We planted 11 new shrubs and two new trees.  Everything is coming up so beautifully, all the ferns and hostas.  The evergreens are all getting their cute little new growth.  It's really the best time of year.

Saturday night the storm sirens ran.  Sirens in Eagan are a little skit-zee.  Officials have been known to sound them for a high pollen count.  But, you never know, this could be the big one.  I heard my mom get up and go down to check the weather on the TV.  Thunder and lightening shook the house and the wind and rain came and it was one of those where you feel like the house is going through a dishwasher or a car wash.  My heart sank.  All the little seedlings are just making their way out there and we give them this.  I listened for the hail which luckily did not come.  I looked out the windows and saw the trees blowing sideways.

The trees amaze me.  There is an oak tree.  You couldn't move it with all your might and if you hit it with the car the tree would win.  Yet, there he bends completely over in the wind.  I don't get it.

Sunday morning I headed out still in my jammies to access the damage.  Some sticks and leaves around and those little maple helicopters were everywhere.  But no tree uprooted and even the little ferns were mostly okay.

Resiliency.

Amazing resiliency.

Granted, it wasn't the big one, thank goodness.  The sun shines and the rainbow comes.

In 1998 Eagan lost 10,000 established trees in one storm.  We were just married and I had just moved here.  As we drove through the wreckage I worried that maybe Minnesota wasn't such a great idea.

Everyplace has it's storms and every life has it's storms.

Every garden has it's weeds.  The weeds will always be there.  I must, must, must remember that to enjoy the garden you have to see the flowers and look past the weeds.

And little by little our roots grow deeper and we are better able to withstand life's storms.  Like the tender ferns and the giant oak trees, we too can be resilient.

Stardust

This one goes out to my dear one, Casey, who sits in a hospital room alone with her dad in Tucson, Arizona, far from her home and family in Houston.  Her dad had emergency surgery to remove a mass in his throat.  He's breathing through a tracheotomy and fighting pain.  He is sedated for the most part.  She sits there, and God knows I remember what it is like to sit there.  Hours and hours go by.

Our stories are very different.  But, a daddy is a daddy.

Her dad was a big executive at General Electric but things don't always go the way you plan and Casey ended up working her way through college and law school.  Her story is not mine to tell, but it hasn't been easy.

Sometimes it is difficult to see the original person God made.  Sometimes it takes some digging to get back to the ousia of the person.  That is the word Madeleine L'Engle always uses to describe the actual person, as they truly are created before the ravages of time and mental illness or substance abuse.

Tonight, I'm thinking of a man I grew up with in Eldridge, Iowa, Casey's dad, Chuck.  He was so cool.  They drank wine with dinner.  We drank milk with dinner.  He drove a GT.  We had a station wagon.  He was funny and kind and teased me, just like my own dad teased Casey. He listened to Willie Nelson's Stardust album with the lights down low.  They went on ski trip vacations. He and her mom were a sexy couple before I knew what a sexy couple was. He was larger than life.  His smile was a mile wide.  He would laugh. He was something else. He had a big pool table in the basement and blew up photos he had taken of Casey and her brother and framed them above the leather sofa.  He loved his family and his God.  Things don't always go the way you planned.

In my church confirmation class, I now believe that we wasted a lot of Saturday mornings debating who would and wouldn't get into Heaven.  What about babies that die before they are baptized?  What about teenagers who commit suicide?  What about people who suffer from mental illness?

Any God worth believing in has these things completely in His control.  I should have slept in.

God Promises us a right and beautiful mind. God promises us healing.

Some people just don't receive it until they meet Him face to face.

Little Charts, Big Progress

The practicing parent needs an arsenal of practice tools.  In the same way that a newly scented countertop spray makes daily cleanup more fun, or switching out a pillow brightens up the same comfortably worn sofa, new practice ideas can breath life into our daily routines.

I have been printing out these little charts the last couple weeks.  Each child gets one chart per day.  I tweak the contents daily as needed.  I use Microsoft Excel, and set the boxes to half inch squares.  The charts are 3 x 5 cheap white notecards.  I set the paper size and feed them into the printer and they pop out the other side.  I save the file, but I don't save the changes everyday.

In my mind, I know that the chart should take a certain amount of time.  That is, if the child is focused and productive.  Otherwise, he will need to come back later to finish the chart.

I come to the practice ready to go, knowing what we need to do, but the child gets the choice in the order and how relaxed or efficient she wants to be.  When the focus is gone, we are done, but we come back later to finish.  Sometimes they finish the chart without me, and that is okay too--I can listen from the laundry or kitchen.

I hope you like the charts, and if you would like one, email me and I'll send you an attachment with a blank chart.  You'll have to buy your own stickers.   Since my kids get a reduced rate of tuition (wink) I splurge on stickers for them.

Mrs. Smith, I Don't Know How You Do It

Bill and I have a little joke.  When he is on a trip and having a fancy dinner out, probably chances are high that something not so great is going on at home.  Likewise, not so much lately, but it used to be all the time, when I would leave town, one of the kids would throw up.

So, he texted me from Las Vegas this afternoon that he was checking into a pretty fancy hotel and I should expect to get out the throw up bowl.  Well. Mary is asleep on the couch in the piano room with her blanket and her throw up bowl.  She got that funny tummy feeling right at bedtime, when I was headed in to practice.  I said she was welcome to feel sick there on the sofa, but I had to practice the anthem for tomorrow morning.  She drifted off to sleep without throwing up.  Tomorrow morning I was planning a test run, of leaving the two kids home alone for an hour while I go to church and play.  Then I'll come home and get them ready for the second service.  I'm not sure how that will work if she isn't feeling good.  There isn't a plan B.   The anthem for tomorrow is called "The Gift to Be Simple."  I couldn't agree more, but some days life just doesn't turn out that way.  It isn't exactly simple running back and forth to church all morning to play "The Gift to Be Simple."   See, I made myself chuckle--things must not be too bad. . .

Thursday night was the Deerwood 5th Grade Band concert, under the direction of Susan Smith.  I had the pleasure of attending twice, once in the afternoon and once in the evening.

What a nice show.  Fifty-eight kids all started an instrument last Fall and in eight months they sound pretty darn good.  I don't know what a fifth grade band usually sounds like, but I'm told that this group is especially musical.  It doesn't surprise me--I can't even name all the kids in that grade who are so sharp.  It is an awesome group of kids.  They play half a dozen songs as a band and then Mrs. Smith pulls each section out for a feature.  Of course the percussion ensemble was my favorite.  Calvin, Maxim, Ellie, Jack and Eva all seemed to be having a really great time playing a piece I understand Mrs. Smith procured just for them.  Cool.

I also loved Louie, Louie.  A handful of kids came forward to improvise a solo.  Now, I know we weren't doing that at our second band concert.  Calvin didn't get to improvise.  That's because he got to play the drum set.  It was a pretty long song and I could hear him getting a little tired--but I was really proud of him.  Those tom tom fills were pretty impressive for a little ten-year-old kid.  I fear that like others before him,  the decisions that will have to be made down the road will be very tough.  Calvin is one heck of an improviser--I heard him play F Blues last night at piano group.  But it is very cool to play the drum set too.  As much as I would be tempted to sway him, I know that in the end he will have to decide what roads he takes.  He might turn up like those kids in college that I always hated because they were drummers and then sat down at the piano and blew your mind.  Very annoying. . .

For the final number, they played Lisa Schoen's Deerwood School Song, arr. by Susan Smith.  While Mary sang her heart out next to me, Deerwood Alumni and parents were invited to bring an instrument up to join the band.  Principal Haugen brought up his trumpet, Mrs. Sipes her saxophone.  Andy Moon brought his trumpet too.  Last but not least, my hubby brought out his tenor.  He stood in the back with the percussion and they all played "Deerwood, you're the one. . . "

I did note, that my husband was the only was the only one who was wetting his reed three songs ahead and it took him forever to adjust the ligature on the mouthpiece that once belonged to Eddie Daniels.  .  .   ahem. . .Bill . . . it's only the Deerwood fight song. . . I guess being meticulous about the details of the horn is how he gets away with NEVER practicing.    We all have our type A moments.    Calvin was beaming to stand and play next to his Daddy.  Someone asked me why I didn't bring my French Horn.  "Weren't you a French Horn major. . "  I suddenly felt like Peter with the rooster crowing.  No.. . .no. . . me?  No.  I denied it three times.   Truth is, in a fit of musical rebellion, I sold my horn for rent money.  Several months worth, I might add.

At risk of writing way too much tonight--we could have chosen an arts magnet school, or a private school, but we made the commitment to support our local public school.  What a blessing, it turns out we got this awesome little school where the principal gets up and plays on the band concert and two thirds of the kids are in band and music is totally lifted up and celebrated!  I sat behind a group of teachers at the afternoon show and after every song one of them said, WOW.  And they meant it.
That makes all the kids sitting there believe that music is cool.

Thanks, Mrs. Smith. I don't know how you did this, in one hour long morning rehearsal each week, but you did, and it was lovely.

D E E R W O O D  Deerwood!  Deerwood! Yay. . .. Deerwood!

Facebook Friends

Even introverts get lonely sometimes.  Bill has been flying to Denver every week and I find myself checking Facebook more often, seeing who is out there in the world and what are they doing?

So and so has 537 friends.  Wow.  I only have a few.  There should perhaps be another category, Facebook Acquaintances.  Those people we have met, but have little or no true affection for.

The truth is, we only have so much time and relationships take time.  I barely have enough time to take care of my family and teach and of course squeeze in some practicing and gardening.  Spending quality time with friends often gets put on the back-burner.

In the sixth grade my best friend Casey moved away.  This sent me into a clinical melancholy.  I'm still not completely recovered.  With the wisdom of a child, I knew that things would never be the same again after that.  She is still my forever friend and we visit and text from Texas to Minnesota, but it isn't the same when you can't drop by and chit chat or go for a quick coffee.  Visits take planning and it costs a lot to get there.

When we lose a friend our lives change and not always for the better.  This spring there is another  friend I am missing.

Different friends have different functions in our lives--any friend worth having understands something about you that no one else completely gets.

Some words from Mark Nepo's The Book of Awakening:

Honest friends are doorways to our souls, and loving friends are the grasses that soften the world.  It is no mistake that the German root of the word friendship means "place of high safety." This safety opens us up to God.  As Sant Martin said, "My friends are the beings through whom God loves me."  There can be no greater or simpler ambition than to be a friend.  

We all need a few good friends we can be safe with, knowing, as my precious sister always says, they they will sort the grain from the chaff and turn us back to our very best selves.

Here's to special friends from the past, and the good friends we have now, and the friends who are out there waiting for us.

The Best and Worst Parts of the Weekend

Don't worry friends. . .  these are not my cats.  Bill and I have taken the car/cat pinky swear.  No more cats, no more cars.  He brings home a 1967 Cadillac to fix up and I'm getting one more fuzzy friend.  Likewise.

These are the new kittens of my friend Yelena in Houston.

When you write a blog you hope maybe in some small way if only occasionally some small good might come of the words on the screen.  I fear that I have been a bad influence on Yelena.  Notice the blue blanket on her hitherto unblemished leather sofa.  In March, when I said, "You ought to get a couple kittens," I didn't really think she would.  She tells me the kittens have brought so much joy she isn't worried about her curtains and sofa and carpet.  Yelena, I'm so happy for you!  Thank you for sharing the pictures. Those kitties are adorable and I hope they mind their manners for you!

The best part of the weekend was getting the news that both Calvin and Mary were selected from kids around the country, on all different instruments, to play on the honors recital out at the Colorado Suzuki Institute in June.  Good job kidos! Next step? Find a doctor who will give me a valium prescription.  Just kidding.  I'm getting much better. Just between you and me, when Calvin played on this recital when he was five, it stressed me out.  I mean, just a little. Understatement. I swear I never lost it. . . even when he started skipping the B section on Happy Farmer two days before the recital.  Even when day of the recital his masterclass teacher at the camp suggested a different tempo for the little piece.  Even when he was more interested in the backstage lighting of the theatre and the brand-name of the practice room pianos than actually playing through the piece during dress rehearsal.  But--the little twerp got up there on that big beautiful Vilar Center stage, did his little bow and rest position and hunkered down on that Steinway and nailed it.  Schumann rolled over in his grave and I narrowly averted throwing up over the balcony unto the velvet seats below.  All's well that ends well.

That's why I had both kids audition this time.  No sense setting limitations on my stress level.  I think I'll plan some bathroom remodel project for the week before and see just how far we can take it.

That's my Minnesota way of saying I'm proud of my children.

The worst part of the weekend was Mary running to get her "da-da" that is her security blanket and her giant stuffed bunny and crying out in designated meeting spot because the kitchen was on fire. Smoke billowing out the dishwasher and under the sink.  The school has done an excellent job with fire safety education.  She wouldn't come back inside for an hour.  I hate it when this happens--the smoke/fire thing.  See blog entry from January 2011 and you will know that this dishwasher doesn't owe us a dime.  Bill has fixed it more times than I can count.  He looked up the price for a new motor and racks and handle but I have to say once an appliance has been on fire I'm just not that committed to it anymore.  I had the fire extinguisher in my hand ready to go, but cutting the power seemed to do the trick until Bill got home. He used my panicky phone call as an excuse to drive his car home really fast.  Turns out a melting motor just makes a lot of smoke . . .

You may wonder how this could lead to me buying a new dishwasher, oven and fridge today at the appliance store.  It just did. You may think less of me, but I just really love my kitchen and I can't stand the thought of mismatched random appliances.  Money can't buy love and it can't buy happiness but it can get a package sale price on three lovely new matching kitchen appliances.  Appliances that I use all day everyday. Perhaps that is some form of happiness.

That is my Minnesota way of saying that I feel guilty about the new purchases, but I really love them.

Our old appliances are 11 years old.  The fridge and the oven have some issues, but the truth is I was just ready to move on.  Friends are taking them. The dishwasher will rest in peace.  It ran about 4017 times.  Calvin wants to save the handle for sentimental reasons.  I can't imagine where he gets that. . .

"That's the Dish W, it's not for CALVIN, not for me! That soap is NOT for Calvin, it's a no no. Not a toy."  I can hear the little toddler voice like yesterday.  Rest in peace little Jenn Air, you washed sippy cups and little trays that held grapes and cheese and cinnamon bread. Those little dents are from the little ride-upon firetruck crashing into you more times than I could count--with the siren wailing.

Bill?

Bill?

Is it too late to order the motor?