big as the sky

When the Roll is Called Up Yonder

Well, there have been many silver linings since life exploded around here, and one of them is this great little church we found through my sister and her wonderful family.  I really can't say enough about it and how much it has helped the girls and I in our time of need.  This is Bee on our way there this morning.  She's way into her cowboy hat lately and wears it most everywhere.  That hat has been in our family since my oldest was only one year old and we went to the rodeo for the first time.  It's seen a lot of cow herdin' and two stepin' around here, and still stands up to a room full of three-year olds.  Stuff that works, gotta love that.  

See more Best Shots at Melody's as she takes over for Tracey for a couple weeks.  Check out her blog while you're there.  She's an amazing lady with an incredible family.

All I Really Want . . .

I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionalbe ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor.

~Thoreau

All I really want is some peace, man.

~Alanis Morrisette

In recently jumping back into the bloggy world, I began briefly frequenting some of my favorite old haunts and one of them has something called Theme Thursday.  I love stuff like this because it's so fun to see what others come up with (dangling prep, I know, I know).  I thought I'd jump back in for the fun of it . . . and also because this is a hobby you can keep between the hours of 11pm and 1am after the kids are all hopefully asleep. 

Her theme this week was "What I Want."  Easy enough.  As I sat bleary eyed at the computer looking to do a quick post at 10:30 at night, I found myself paralyzed by a tsunami of things and nothing at all.  What DO I want??  

The first obvious choice given my recent abrupt shove into single mother-ness is money.  Money is like an attorney, you mock it until you need it.  It's the biggest stress in my life right now as I aim to support three kids with a graduate degree in social work.  Oh, yeah!  And I'd also like to be present for them as much as possible.  Make lots of dough AND be with my kids.  Can I get an amen!!  It's a conundrum that occupies my thoughts much of the day.  

But beyond money, what else do I want??  

Peace was the second object of desire that elbowed its way forward.  But what the heck does that really mean?  What does it look like?  What does one DO to make it happen?  I'm looking for action verbs here.  And finding peace while the above money conundrum plays over and over in my mind is yet another conundrum.  But, I do know I want peace for myself and my kids.  A quiet knowing that everything is OK.  And even if it's not, it still is.  I'll go hunt down the manual for that one, and let you know what I find.    

Joy was the next model that sashayed down this runway.  But joy is just that right now, a beautiful supermodel that looks great up there but is totally out of reach.  The joy I experience now comes in small, pitiful kernels and is often artificially inflated to make my kids feel better.  It's hard to get to joy when hurt and fear are guarding the door.  And I miss it.  I'm so looking forward to the day when I laugh so hard I cry.  Right now I just do this weird, nervous, scrunched-up face laugh all the time so that I don't cry.   

Then the usual suspects marched forward and I waved to them familiarly.  A pedicure, a massage, a new wardrobe, a couple new camera lenses, Starbucks gift cards, and a boob lift.  Superficial stuff that makes me feel good on the surface and acts as easy targets for the sake of diversion.

Then I started thinking how short and uninspired this list really is.  Money, Peace, Joy, and a Massage?  Who doesn't want these things??  What makes me any different than anybody else??  I may as well say, "Food, Water, and Air" for how boilerplate these wants are.  

So then I realized I don't really know what I want beyond some vague and obvious list.  So I aim to find out.  As Glenda the Good Witch said, "You always had it inside you" now click those tacky shoes together and get out there and take what's yours!!  

I've had the blah's for the last fifteen years and now have the unusual opportunity at a second chance to make the life I truly want . . . if I can find a sitter . . . and figure out what it actually looks like.    

Theme Thursday turned into Mission Get A Life.  Thanks, Stacey.

What do you want?   

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What's a post without pictures?  A boring colorless rant.  So, here's a couple from the week.

I'll first start with a daily occurrence in our home.  My oldest child in some sort of quiet entrepreneurial pursuit during which she descends into a focus that takes her to her happy place.  And where I begin to notice several cabinets cleared out onto the floor and something being feverishly formed.  I love this about her, even though it causes messes that make me hyperventilate.  

Her latest passion is cat toys, and she actually came up with this one all on her own.  I thought it was pretty impressive.

 

That's a lollipop stick on a pen cap with craft feathers glued inside.  She showed up with this as I was nursing little man.  Here she is playing with Charlotte.  I think she's sooo cool:)  There's been a flurry of different ones made and the cats really like them.  

No other photos to share.  Taking them while holding a baby is tricky.  But, we start "Potty Training, Take 2" tomorrow with Bee.  We'll see how that goes . . . it maybe worth a click or two.  

Last Blink

Well, Bee's relaxed a bit with her bedtime routine, only asking for a reasonable few items and drifting off to dreamland a little easier.  One of the items must, however,  be me.  Or Daddy.  Or Meemaw.  Or whoever seems to be in charge and over 100 lbs.  Yesterday at nap I was rewarded with an elusive sight at our house, watching her fall asleep.  I've seen her in pre-sleep many times (spaz out mode), and in post-sleep (so adorable I want to eat her), but have rarely seen her fall asleep.  Is there anything as lovely as that last.  Long.  Slow.  Blink?  I don't think there is.

I would have taken a picture, but my lens is loud and would have awakened her.  A death sentence in our house. 

Big sister was downstairs inventing a new recipe.  It's called "Strawberry Chocolate Honey Milk Popsicles".  Sound good??  I think it's for the five year old palette :)

Speaking of food, I'm on a new eating plan.  It's called the "Eat More Vegetables, Fruit, Whole Grains and Drink Lots of Water and Exercise Some Daily" plan.  Ever heard of it??  It's going well.  The most difficult part is being organized.  My meals are usually eaten at the fridge while the girls are already buckled in the car.  Lots of peanut butter.  And cheese.  And chips.  Not good.  Lots of grilled cheese crusts.  Cut those out, too.  Exercise is usually a quick class at the YMCA, which my oldest hates, but life goes on.   I love my yoga class.  I endure my Body Pump class.  But!  If you are thinking Yoga is the dainty debutante of the exercise world, think again.  I am shocked every time at the level of pain I can achieve while listening to massage music.  Instructor, in a gentle voice, "And . . . place your foot as close to the back of your head as you can.  Breeeeathe."  I am in a silent scream.  But as anything, it takes practice, so I keep going. 

Here's dinner from the other night.  Very easy.  Angel Hair pasta, diced tomatoes (from the can), zucchini (steamed a la microwave), basil (fresh in the plastic container from the produce section), and olive oil.  Yum!  We also had . . . are you ready??  A salad!!  Inspired by my vegetarian friend, Shannon, we are attempting to have salad with dinner as much as possible.  Romaine lettuce (half of a head chopped, bag lettuce is yucky to me), orange peppers, cucumbers, a couple Tablespoons dressing from the fridge.   Welcome, vegetables, to our home.  May you unclog our arteries and decrease our chances of colon cancer while tasting yummy for years to come. 

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Little person gems of the week.

Bee (you kind of have to hear these, but . . .)
*  Her new affirmative, "Yep" (emphasis on the "p", adorable.)
*  Her greetings.  Running, bouncing, screaming, "Mommy!!!!"  She has managed to beat the dog as best greeter of the house, and Daisy has held the title for many years. 

My oldest -
*  "Mommy, these are the three things that are not real in The Lion King.  1)  Lions killing each other.  2)  Lions and hyenas being friends.  3)  Oh, and animals talking."  (the last one got me:)

*  "Mommy, I'll bet Daddy thinks of you as a big heart full of loves."   

*  "Mommy, I love Bee.  And not for pretend.  For real."  (a high complement for an older sis:)

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Thought for the day.

The discrete processing nature of our brain creates the illusion that we are going somewhere and becoming someone, while in fact we are actually just experiencing a flowing stream of present moments. 

Hmmmm.  I think this would have been considered a smart mouth answer to my high school career counselor.  But an interesting concept.  Put another way, "Where are you?  Here.  What time is it?  Now."

Happy Wednesday.

Yoga for Idiots; To Three or Not to Three

Have you ever heard of the game, "Spiderman vs. Superman.  Who would win?"  Well, the first thought flickering through my brain during my first Yoga class in years was "Body Pump instructor vs. Yoga instructor.  Who would win?"  You know, I think the Yoga instructor might have an advantage . . . but I digress. 

Needless to say, I'm not sure I am in the correct head space yet for this spiritual practice, but there's very little about Yoga that is judgmental, except being judgmental.  Speaking briefly, it was an enjoyable class where I cried, relaxed, and writhed in excruciating pain in the space of one hour.   I also noticed I was in dire need of a pedicure -- yikes! 

I went to the YMCA Yoga Level 1-2 class twice this weekend.  The first class, I drank a Venti house blend prior to the class, showed up early, and almost bolted while waiting for class to start.  The instructor was a beautiful, confident lady who's skin matched her hair, and toenail polish matched her skin.  She was flexible and strict.  But she winked at me in encouragement when I yelped in pain once, which was all I needed.  The second class was more easy going, and the instructor ended with a quote, I kid you not, about being industrious with our words.  My first Yoga spiritual message . . . shut it!  I found this very ironic, as will most people who spend any amount of time with me.  I've been thinking about not talking.  So, it's a start.  Will the next quote be about procrastinating?  You must wait to see, grasshoppah.

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I have no pictures to share because, well, they all stink.  I will pull my camera out tomorrow, and start playing.  I have some great ideas, but just need to make it happen.  My funk is gone, and has been replaced with my more comfortable personality mode of dramatic anxiety.  Ahhh, back to normal. 

I've been distracted lately by the life altering question of to reproduce, or not to reproduce.  More rugrats, that is.  This is a very "out of left field" question I pose to myself because I have always been sure that I wanted at least three children my entire life.  I knew very few families growing up that had two children (I come from three), and stared curiously at these families like they were alien beings.  Being the third child, it seemed so . . . buttoned up.  Calm.  Organized.  Quiet.  Weird.  The children were so . . . attended to.  No Lord of the Flies upstairs at their house.  No behind mom's back wedgies, secrets, or negotiations.  They were allowed to, like, be in their houses during the day.  But now, most families I know have two children.  I thought this so odd when I moved to the 'burbs and started my own child rearing odyssey.  I didn't judge these families, didn't look down on them, not at all.  But it seemed more natural for me to make three.

Then last week . . . my brain took off down a rabbit trail and started pondering the thought of two without even asking my permission.  All of a sudden, I started seeing a life with some calm.  Where I could enjoy every piece of my children, crawl all around in every nook and cranny of them instead of sending them off to play.  I started seeing a small career I could have.  Even some hobbies.  Wow!  I started dreaming my dreams beyond motherhood again, which hurled me into space orbiting without gravity.  Completely ungrounded.

So, instead of doing the mentally healthy thing, and sitting with this question quietly until my own inner wisdom guided me to the best answer, I hurled myself in pieces at everybody with whom I came into contact.  My poor, shy neighbor who happens to take Body Pump at the same time as me was one victim.  I don't even know her, and I found myself after class dumping my every feeling on the issue onto her pained face.   People I don't know at birthday parties?  Them, too.  Then two more neighbors.  Then some friends.  I have actually fantasized about bringing together a forum of two-children families and three-children families so we can discuss pros and cons.  What can I say, I'm a researcher, not a meditation person.   When I think of working and being all there for my two daughters, I'm happy with two kids.  When I see an infant, or a family of five at the pool, I'm back to three kids. 

Please know that I am fully aware that this is all gravy.  I am so very blessed to even have this choice.  At least I think I have it.  We've been trying, as in with graph paper and ovulation computers, for seven months and no bambino.  But I think we can.  My husband is taking his usual supportive and laid back, I can be talked into whatever but you are making me crazy with all of your craziness position.  He's no help.  So, as usual, I want somebody to tell me what to do, but don't want to be told what to do.  I want to answer my own questions, but don't trust my instincts.   I think I'll just go enjoy the ones I have and wait and see.  What a novel idea . . .

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Answer to last weeks question, "What hideous thing is this that came from the sofa cushion?"

It was an entire apple.  Complements of Bee.

 

 

Funky Monkeys and Yoga

Sleep walking through the all-night drugstore,
Baptized in fluorescent light,
I found religion in the greeting card aisle,
Now I know Hallmark was right.
~Ani DiFranco

It's been a long time since I posted.  First technical difficulties with the blog.  Then technical difficulties with the camera software.  Then . . . the funk.  As Steve Earle once sang so eloquently "my old friend the blues".  This is something I've been dealing with (along with most of the American population) for decades.  But!  I have gotten much better at taming this bully.  Much better.  I'm actually quite proud of my funk prowess.  Next job interview, I'll say, "Oh yes.  I have a graduate degree, ran a triathlon, and have my funks down from life crushing to mere blips in my life a couple times a year."  OK, maybe not.  Plus, 'job interview'??  Who are we kidding here. 

Anyway, during my funk, which is still sitting in the car outside, not here, but not quite gone, I started reading the most . . . relevant book that I'd love to share.  But first, rewind a few days before the funk and before the book. 

Do you ever hear yourself say something, and then another 'you' steps out of your body and says to the Real You, "Really?"  And Real You says, "Ya, really."  And the Shadow You says, "Hm.  Didn't know that's where we were on that.  Interesting."  Then returns to your body.  Please say you do.  Well, in any event, I do and last week I was walking with a friend and the subject of 'being still' came up.  Probably because we had just ditched the slow, boring stretching part at the end of Body Pump, and I was blabbering on about how glad I was to have an excuse to leave because there's nothing I'm more uncomfortable with than being still and quiet, blah, blah, blah.  This brought up the subject of Yoga.

Yoga and I have met, but are barely acquaintances.  Years ago, I gave a Yoga class to my father when he retired.  He, my mother, and I took the six-week class, and would go to diner after.  My dad liked the dinner part the most.  This might explain some of my unease with quiet stillness.  We are a family more comfortable with, "Oh, waiter!  Another appetizer and more wine, please!"  Anyway, the instructor in the class talked about the mind being a 'drunken monkey' and for some reason that metaphor has always stuck with me.  It's really the only thing I remember from the class, maybe because my mind was entertained by the image of a drunk monkey, and then I stopped listening to the rest of the instruction.  An idea of what we're working with here. 

My next foray into Yoga was when I was pregnant with my first child.  I loved the idea of being all ethereal and bohemian in a dimly lit room with Aveda product smells wafting all around.  Going from career to motherhood, I thought of my Yoga class as a perfect  portal to the earthiness I was about to live.  And I really enjoyed it.  I loved the people, the quiet, the stretching, the smells, the instructor, and the way it had nothing to do with my regular life.  The only part I disliked was the meditation part at the end.  Hated that.  I either fell asleep and snored for all the class to snicker at or lay anxious and annoyed planning my escape while everyone else was in a peaceful trance.  The only reason I didn't crawl for the door was the Southern manners with which I was raised.  How rude.  So I lay there and either stewed or snored.  Never getting one iota of peace, God, vision, or tranquility.  Only anxiety that ended in a fake smile and a "thank you" to the instructor before I bolted for the door. 

Since these short attempts at the Yoga life, I have considered my inability to quiet my mind a character flaw.  I tried meditation several times since and failed dismally.  When I sit, I need a good read, magazine, t.v. show, computer, conversation.  Even a good daydream or plot or plan.  How will I make this?  When will I get that?  What will I eat next?  What is the deal with Tom Cruise?  Not stillness.  Yuk.  Just can't do it.  Then I became comfortable with this character trait.  Gave into it.  Maybe Yoga and meditation are just overrated fads (that are thousands of years old).  Onward with my beautiful American life sans quiet mind, and drunken monkey and I headed toward the sunset together, both a little anxious.

Well, the conversation with my friend after Body Pump was the first time I had worn my inability to do the Yoga boogie without shame, almost proudly.  And that's why the other me stepped out in moderate surprise.  "We've given up on that?"  "Yes, we have, now shut up."  But it stuck in my mind.  Well, for a second, until it was replaced with thoughts about purses.   

Then the funk came, and I started cleaning stuff.  A funk medicinal activity.  I had a magazine stack two-feet high in my bedroom, and began wading through it.  Throwing most of it out, I kept probably three publications out of twenty.  Skimming through those three over the trash can, the meditation thing came up in all of them.  (OK, two of them.  Issue #86 of my Springsteen fanzine didn't mention meditation.  Or Yoga.  But it did have Steve Earl on the cover.)  Anyway, two of the publications I read gushed about the zillion and one reasons humans should practice a thing called mindfulness.  Pff.  Whatever.  Here we go again.  But I couldn't ignore it given my current state of negativity and self doubt.  Another, "Hm, interesting" then they were tossed into the recycle bin.

And here's where the book comes in.  It's a very popular, bestseller that's worked its way through every book club in America called Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  She's very readable, very funny, and very easy to relate to.  The story starts with her divorcing her husband and realizing she doesn't want children, things I do not have in common with her.  I cling to my husband like a tree monkey and always wanted a house full of kids.  But, she goes on a spiritual journey that is so real and truthful, you can't help but identify.  And, of course, the Yoga thing comes up.  Meditation.  Mindfulness.  Again.  Good God.  But she puts it in a plain language that makes it accessible, and her experiences are authentic and very American.  Adding to her charm, she goes on her quest for spiritual enlightenment only after eating her way through Italy for three months.  Love it. 

So, I've been . . . moved by all these unrelated scraps of pop culture coming together like a vortex in my home, to try again.  I have a life so beautiful it's embarrassing.  I manage it well, but it could be so much better, if I could just get this drunken monkey off my back. 

So, stay tuned for spastic-unused-People magazine reading-mommy-brain meets Yoga, meditation, and mindfulness.   Wish me luck!

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On a lighter note, I found this in our sofa the other day.  Any guesses as to what it is?  Answer in next post.