Teaming Up for Fun

In a never-ending quest to team up and share our gifts with one another, my dear girlfriend Peg Windisch and I worked together to create an article about her non-profit organization, We Are Coaches. The organization is committed to "help empower children to grow the kind of wings that will serve them, and the world, in adulthood." The article appeared as the community non-profit spotlight in the August 2010 issue of Natural Awakenings magazine, a local San Diego publication. The article can be read here.

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Melt Me

So my ten-year-old guy says to me this morning as he's buttoning his shirt, "Mom, you make my life easier." Then he counts with his fingers, "You wash my clothes, you give me food, and you just love me." As we're hugging he says, "You just help me get through life."

Wherever you are, my future daughter-in-law, you're one lucky girl.

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Right in the Kisser

My ten-year-old comes into the room and plunks on the bed. After a heavy sigh, he says, "My insides feel lonely."

I love the images this child brings up when he tries to express himself in words the best way he can. I immediately turn to him, trying to read the emotion in his face.

Again, he laments, "My heart feels empty." Oh, the saga of a sad little boy. I stand up to go to him, wanting to take him into my arms and hold him, filling up all those empty spaces with the totality of motherly love.

I lie down next to him, and start to draw him close to me. He pulls away and says, "The computer always makes me feel better. Can I go on it?"

R-i-i-i-p the gentle music.

After some wrestling and laughter, he is sent to finish up his chores before getting on the computer. I lie there thinking, "What have we come to?" I know I am not replaceable, but it still makes me want to take a fist to our technology.

"One of these days, Alice. Pow! Right in the kisser!"

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Leave the Light On

As he often does, my ten-year-old son asked that I leave his light on low as he climbed into bed. I told him I was tired and did not want to have to turn it off after he was asleep, but still I complied.

As he settled in, he mused, "I don't know what I am going to do when I am a grownup. I'll have to get a timer or something."

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Dear Abby

Dear Abby,
Why do I put my attention to the trivial, while the important stuff gets lost? Why do I spend time with people whom I hardly know, and let time pass without hailing those I love the most? I am like a horse with blinders on, seeing only the immediate steps in front of me, losing the landscape around me. Do you know why, dear Abby?
Stymied in the Southwest

It is so much easier to attend to that which is in front of my face, than to continually examine what is important in my life and attend to it accordingly. I can think of no other reason why I do not pick up the phone or mail a quick note more often to the people I love.

Blessed are we who are fortunate enough to have loved ones willing to carry the load. I have several of these forgiving souls in my landscape. They reach out to me, and put themselves in front of my eyes, and get my attention. I prance and whinny, and playfully step along with them awhile, until they recede again, leaving me to focus once again on the brambles under my feet.

There was this particular little girl. I first met her as she peeked around from behind her father, big dark eyes full of uncertainty. She was six then. Not long afterwards, we found ourselves at a restaurant. Her father was apologetic as his daughter was defiant and rude. I understood that she did not want to share her Daddy with this strange woman. I got it. After dinner, we went to sit at the beach, and rudeness gave way to giggles as we sat and drew pictures on each other with the charcoal bits from a beach fire. Our relationship began.

Within a year, this little girl became part of my daily life, as her father did. We were a team, the three of us, exploring the landscape of the county. We often found ourselves in nature since we were young and broke, and the countryside was free. Our favorite path through meadows and gullies is now a freeway corridor. But I'll never forget our secret waterfall where we would picnic and navigate the boulders barefoot. We were becoming a family.

Snippets of memories. New Year's Eve at the Sycamore Inn. (She and I made a country inn at my apartment, complete with check-in and dinner. We spent all day setting it up. Her dad rolled his eyes at our goofiness, but bless his heart, he played along when we were all ready.) For her eighth birthday, I bought her Lee Press-On Nails. She might as well have won the lottery.

At nine, this little girl became defiant again. Maybe it was the ring that made me act differently. Maybe the prospect of actually becoming her mother made me think that I was supposed to be in control. Her ninth birthday with all her little friends around was not a proud moment for us. She was rebelling and I did not know what to do about it. I felt a child myself. What did I know about being a mother of a soon-to-be preteen? As it was, I never found out.

Love does not conquer all. Or maybe it does, but he and I did not possess that kind of love. Our team of three became two and one again. But I could not bear leaving behind this sweet dark-eyed little girl. Her father and I remained friends, and she and I evolved to have our own relationship, separate and unique. I drove miles to pick her up from her grandmother on weekends. We would have girl chats and do each other's nails. I yearned to teach her, my first feeling of homeschooling I imagine. I can still hear her chanting her multiplication doubles and state capitals. "Shy Anne, Why Owe Me!" I even taught my own daughter years later, "What is the capital of Alaska?" She would answer as my dark-eyed little girl once did, "I dunno. D'you know?"

She and I continued to be close through the next few years, as I developed a relationship with the man I would actually marry. I told him that this little girl would be a part of our lives, and he always supported that. He knew that I had promised that if anything happened to her father, I would become her legal guardian if she asked. We had that understanding as we planned our wedding with our twelve-year-old flower girl.

As it were, she made it to adulthood without incident. Soon after we were married, my little girl moved a short plane flight away and proceeded to grow up. I was able to visit quite often because my work took me there quite a bit. She also flew down to see her grandmother, so I was able to see her then. We continued along.

I think my blinders went on when I had a daughter of my own. Not that my daughter replaced my little dark-eyed girl. There was room enough for both in my heart. It's just that when the life is being sucked from you, you tend to get distracted. Then I had another child. My life was full of joy and brambles. I never forgot a birthday or a Christmas, but there was so much to do, what with applesauce and diapers, and later with schooling and playdates. I was so thankful that my dark-eyed girl continued to visit about once a year when she would come down to see her grandmother. Through her efforts, she developed a relationship with my two children, and they adore her.

Just last night, in fact, she was here. She had come down to be a bridesmaid in a wedding, and had taken the effort to spend time with me and my family. I was stunned by her beauty. She has grown into a gorgeous woman of twenty-eight, as lovely on the inside as out. But something about this visit was different. She thought maybe I was different. Or maybe it was seeing her and my daughter the same height, acting like sisters. Whatever the difference, I saw my dark-eyed little girl as a full-grown woman, and we connected as we have never connected before. It was a wonderful but short visit, since she had to drive off by four in the morning to catch her plane. So we said our goodbyes before going to bed. When I awoke, I found that she had left her bridesmaid's bouquet for us, three dozen white roses.

She is embarking on beginning her own family, with a lovely diamond on her finger. She is full of hopes and dreams and self-examination and growth. I want to walk beside her as she enters this stage of her life, and I am so thankful that we have come to this point together.

The blinders will be coming off so I can see the love around me, instead of worrying about the brambles underfoot. Thank you, my dark-eyed girl, for being one of those forgiving souls in my landscape.

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Reflections on a Mother's Worth

I remember asking my mother a question when I was still in awe of my new baby daughter, "Mom, did you love me as much as I love my baby?"

I have replayed her answer often these past years. "Of course I did." Simple as that. But I am still comprehending the magnitude of that answer. It tempts me to truly feel worthy.

How pleasant it must be to be in the position of a grandmother. The mother labors to dig a path for her children, struggling to keep pace in front of them, every once in awhile turning around to corral them back on the path. Meanwhile, the grandmother is strolling alongside the children, holding hands and picking flowers. Every once in awhile, the grandmother provides advice on the shoveling technique, but no gloves are offered. When the mother complains about the toil and hardship, the grandmother holds up her palm to show her own hardened calluses in sympathy.

So why is it so difficult to understand that my mother loved me as much as I love my children, and as much as I see that she loves her grandchildren? Perhaps it is because I have come so far in life without truly appreciating what my mother has done for me. Maybe it is easier to question that love than to feel the guilt. But there comes a time when every mother must face the truth: that indeed, her own mother felt that love, lived that love, and suffered that love.

It is necessary for young children to be ignorant of their mother's sacrifice. If our children comprehended how much they put us out, they would probably implode with guilt. That is why motherhood has acquired the reputation for being a thankless job. But as adults, we can and need to understand. It is part of the maturing process that every woman must go through, whether she has children of her own or not. It is just that having children forces the issue.

No wonder a grandmother loves her grandchildren so much. She knows that those children are responsible for the newly-formed painful calluses that cause her daughter to finally look back at her mother with understanding, forgiveness and true appreciation.

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First Class Boy

There was a time when my children provided me with all sorts of humorous fodder to fold into a story that grandparents would find amusing. Now that my children are older, these opportunities are fewer. My nine-year-old son, however, being the innocent constitution that he is, will probably give me a few more years of laughter.

Oh how excited he was to receive a package from a stranger. He opened it to reveal the contents, showing me a small bag of about a dozen flat yellow Legos.

"Daddy got me the Legos I needed!"

Not sure why he would be so excited about these generic Legos, I asked him what he was going to do with them. He proceeded to explain all about something concerning something. My husband and son have a super secret Lego thing going. I rarely ask.

He was still talking about his package as we pulled the garbage bins in from the curb. He told me how Daddy had the man who sent them write his name on the package.

"And Daddy even had him send it FIRST CLASS!"
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