You Dress Yourself, But You Can't Dress Your Baby

                                                       Scorn - Tomas Rowlandson -  1800

 It is so, so hot.  I look around my small and sweltering basement apartment.  I scan the packed room.  A playpen (where the baby slept), kitchen table, book shelf, rocking chair, computer desk and a tiny TV/VCR on a table Sam brought home from the pawn shop where he used to work.  All these things are flanking the walls while filling the room.  It is July, and there is no air conditioning.  We (Sam and I) had been using a spray bottle at night, dampening our sheets with cold water in an attempt to cool down.  Unable to sleep, Sam would check the thermostat;  "Eighty-six degrees in the middle of the night?"  

But now it is midday.  I need to get out of this sweatbox and I have the car.   Looking at my sweet, dewy baby, I get him ready for an outing.  I change his diaper, and that is all, because that is all he was wearing. (Baby is hot, too.)  Strapping my beautiful, smiley, little boy into his car seat, we set out.  

I would often take drives to look at possible places to live, and dream of the kind of house I might have some day.  Maybe.   Sam and I had been searching for condos, tired of paying rent.  Maybe we could build some equity?  Maybe we could find a place that is a little roomier? Invariably, I end up in old, treelined neighborhoods with beautiful brick houses that we certainly couldn't afford now, and might not ever be able to manage.  I would drive slowly and dream.  I like that walkway... I would plant flowers just like that... Those windows must bring in lots of light, etc.  My baby was always up for a drive while I dreamed.  He was an easy and cute companion.  

My car was also without air conditioning, and on this summer day, the rolled down windows are providing little relief.  I pass a grocery store.  Drawn to the probable air conditioning inside, I am already feeling relief as I pull into the parking lot. 

Unlock Baby from the car seat. 

Wrap my hands around his bare chest. 

Scoop him up.   

A fleeting thought comes over my conscience as I do this: perhaps I should have at least put a onesie on him? 

I cradle my little boy's back as he sits on my hip, and we walk into the cooled building.

I had just strapped him in the grocery cart, feeling thankful for the cooler air, when an older woman approaches me, talking. I think she may be Russian.  Her words sound Slavic, anyway.  Her body language is eager and her eyes are angry.  It takes just a moment for me to realize she is chastising me. Speaking (quickly), pointing to the "baby", touching his bare skin, then hugging her body, pretend-shivering.  Next, she is pulling at my short sleeved shirt with utter disgust.  What I heard from her scalding, broken English; "Where are his clothes?"  "Why don't you dress your child?  You dressed yourself and don't bother dressing your child? It's cold in here for a little body. You buy food, but you don't buy clothes for your child?  What's the matter with you?"

I can't remember if she actually said, "You are a bad mother."  Maybe it was, "What kind of a mother are you?"

She walks away with hand motions and harrumph.  

The shame.  It washes over me like a bucket of boiling water being poured over my head, soaking through to my gut.  As I stand there, looking helplessly at my poor child, all the typical responses of that emotion come flooding to the surface.

I want to fight. 

I want to give that lady a piece of my mind, and all my excuses (so as to change hers).  

I love my child more than anything. 

I take care of him, clothe him (usually).

I should have put clothes on him.  What was I thinking? 

I don't know what I'm doing. 

I am all alone.  Every day.  Winging it.  I have no idea. 

This poor boy.  

I don't know what I'm doing. 

I want to hide.

What kind of a mother am I?

I answer myself:

A lousy one.  

Suddenly, my happy baby looks so deprived.  So...naked. I realize he is being raised by an imbecile; a young, dumb-headed girl.   Oh, I love my baby fiercely.  But when it comes to caring for him?  Poor boy.  My poor, poor boy at the mercy of my incompetence. And that mean, old lady just called me out in front of God and all the patrons at the Albertson's grocery store. 

****

I woke this morning with a desire to write.  As I searched in my mind for ideas;  (anti-racism, teaching, book reviews, star trek...) this memory surfaced out of nowhere.  Of all the blasted things -  

Upon reflection, I realize that the confrontation at the store brought more than feelings of incompetency to the surface.  I felt profoundly lonely and lost.  I have always had wonderful support, but this motherhood responsibility was mine, alone, to navigate. I truly had no idea what I was doing.  I managed to keep my baby alive and happy, but most of the time I was in a panicked, puzzled state, wondering what to do about...anything.  As a new mom, I  felt pathologically insane and it just hadn't been diagnosed yet.  Now I know more about postpartum depression, but then I just scoured my one parenting book, and worried.  He was so colicky at first (panic).  I could not satisfactorily swaddle or get him to use a pacifier (failure). I couldn't figure out how to nurse him (neglect).  I was always fumbling (proof of inadequacy).  And then, there I was, fumbling in front of the whole wide world, looking at my baby and trying to see if he was shivering.  If he was cold and unhappy and I didn't even notice.  How can I not know to dress my baby?

My only peer, the only young mother I knew at the time, was my sister in law.  She took to motherhood naturally.  Being the oldest girl of a large family, she was used to caring for babies.  She had cute clothes and bows and a nursery.  She seemed to have enough energy for photo shoots and sewing.  Motherhood isn't easy for anyone, but it didn't seem to be a mystery to her.  I realize now what a blessing it was to have her example.  Seeing her not panic when her baby cried taught me that it didn't mean I was automatically ruining my child when mine did.  Babies cry.  She would talk about the stages (teething, for example) as if it would pass, and that I wouldn't be sleepless forever. She also relished the fun, fleeting parts while she could.  (I may have missed it, not knowing how quickly each stage passes.)  I got to see her move forward confidently with her life, developing skills and hobbies,  nurturing her role as a mother.  She took charge with that swaddling blanket and with all of motherhood.  In so many ways, she shined a sane, faith-filled light on motherhood.  But on days like that hot day, I shrunk back into a dark place, pushed in by that self-condemnation that comes with comparison.  The shame of all my lacking. And now I had a real life accuser to snuff out any doubt about it. Oh, how she crept back into my mind over the years.  And still.

 I seem to remember walking defiantly in the store for a minute, but then decided I couldn't bear the shame anymore, and left.  Sometime later,  I went to my mother in law's house. (Perhaps I was teaching piano lessons to her younger children?)  I do remember being self-conscious there about my almost naked child.  I think she looked at his bare body and said something about it being a hot day.  I remember telling her about what happened at the store.  I'm sure I was defensive.  I remember her listening.  I don't remember feeling judged by her, even though I know my mother in law would never, ever have taken a baby to the store in just a diaper. 

It's not the most neglectful thing a mother can do, I know.  However, it is very embarrassing to think that I sometimes don't have common sense about things.  (It's hard to even type it out.  Pride is another failing.)  But, I didn't.  I was kind of a mess. 

What would I say to that mom in the store now?  If I saw her standing there, dumbfounded, looking at her cute naked baby as he looked back at her.  Knowing how scrambled her mind was, I would put my arm around her and say, "Look at that darling baby and smile at him.  Look.  He is o.k. and you are o.k.   He is a cute, healthy baby boy.  If he looks cold, you'll go home and take care of it.  Just like you tried to take care of it when he was hot."  

It is possible that my mother law said as much to me. 

I was 22 years old then. That baby is 22 years old now.  He's just fine.  In fact, he turned out to be this wonderful, beloved human being despite, and maybe because of, my shortcomings.  

There.  I wrote something today. 

Monday's Memoir: Mercy Me! (Mercy You.)

I went before the King
bowed, begged, pleaded
pure in intent, hope
despite knowing the impossibility
of restitution in even a lifetime of servitude.

I asked

and all was forgiven.

all.

but when I returned to my day
I noticed, like a piece of food stuck in my teeth,
a gnawing irritation.
an injustice, which

every so often I would pick at
and my irritation would grow.
my soul would burn
with self-righteous entitlement, for

I was right.  I had been wronged.
There was no relief, no changing this.

It wasn't until I told the first story out loud
(about my insurmountable debt that was forgiven
by that great King)

did I see it.

How could I miss it?

What does being right have to do with anything?   
When mercy has been poured over me in full abundance, 
surely I have some wealth to share.

I am no widow clutching her last mite,
no
this mercy, this forgiveness?
infinite

I laughed inside at the thought - the ease of letting it go.
I was light.
I was free.
I was sorry for my blindness.
Best of all, I was filled with love.
and so it was  
Mercy bestowed to me, in even greater proportion.

That was a sweet Sunday.
That was yesterday. 

{Matt. 18:21-35}
 

Monday's Memoir: Practicing for the talent show april 2010

When I am home and all alone I dig through old things and take the time to remember.  This is what I found while rummaging through my computer.

Am I wrong, or did my my daughter make an adorable 8 year old?  She is most definitely one of the sweetest parts of my life.

Monday's Memoir: A Girl With A Solid Constitution (another long one)...

 A fat baby I was.  And it was many, many years before my hair grew past my ears.  I was often mistaken for a boy, and my dad rarely corrected the assumption.  Someone would say something like, "Is he going to be a football player like his dad?"

My dad would just reply, "I hope so!"

My dad raised his girls to be tough, not boob or whine and we were to repeat often the phrase "self sufficiency" whenever a new skill was to be learned.   My parents let me be free to love what I love, whether it was "gender appropriate" or not.  My mother would let me wear the baggy sweatshirt and the super frilly clogging slip while riding my big wheel, barefooted, in the rain  (this is me to a T, by the way).   And when her co-worker had mistaken me for a "poor little polygamist girl" - my mother just laughed.

For this I am grateful.  But in certain social situations, I was awkward.

So when I ran across this photo of me laying on a couch that belonged to my boyfriend's parents -the couch that in a few minutes from the time that photo was taken I would soundly break - I got that awkward feeling in my gut that so often plagued me growing up.  

I broke that couch wrestling with my boyfriend.  I do not use the term wrestling as a euphemism for making out, either.  We were wrestling, half nelsons, the whole bit.  Once I made his ear bleed.  Once we broke his parents couch.  And he was my boyfriend.  

I look at that picture and get that awkward and embarrassed feeling in my gut.  Not just because we broke the couch, but because I think his family thought it was really weird. 

Other examples of this:

THIRD GRADE:
when the girls were playing tag with the boys and giggling and getting tagged (on purpose, some of them)  - I remember chasing a boy, grabbing him by the back of the collar and with a good twist and firm yank, he was eating grass.  My technique was solid and fostered consistent results.  I was on a roll.    By the fourth boy I was on top of the world.  I was killing it at that game. Surely these boys would be impressed with my mad skills, I thought.  I wanted them to be impressed.

"Ha!  TAG!"   I remember one boy looking up at me from the ground like I was crazy.  After that I wasn't allowed to play anymore.
 

COLLEGE.  (Yes, College):
I fell in love with my T.A. in college.   So when an extra credit opportunity came up to go fishing with him at Strawberry Reservoir, I was all over it.  A chance to be closer to him.  To hopefully impress him.  Here is what that morning looked like:

(The bald shirtless dude would be me)

 It was me, my dreamboat and a darling little blonde in a canoe (yep).  I was wearing my dad's team building work shirt that had a cartoon drawing of the Star Trek Enterprise on it, and some baggy jeans.  Hair was likely in a bun, hair whispies like wings fluttering at the side of my face.  She was wearing something more feminine (not her dad's) and a cute, perfect, bouncy pony tail.  

We both caught fish, but being the self-sufficient girl I am, I determined to do it without help.  Which I did.

And then, when we got to shore and Dreamboat T.A. showed us how to gut a fish, I determined to do it on my own.  Show him how I'm not a wimp, that I can take guts and get a job done.  As I began scraping out the innards with my thumbnail like a pro, I looked up to that adorable man expecting to see adoration in his eyes.  But what I saw was him leaning in close to help the squealing, but smiling, bouncing ponytail girl gut a fish.

He was smiling, too.  Once again, I thought...huh.  I think I am missing something, here.

Later, I participated in another extra credit project in which I spent eight hours digging fence post holes under a hot sun - digging with all my might for my beloved T.A.  He did finally acknowledge me.  "Wow, you're a really hard worker", he said.  I was flattered and smiled my biggest smile, but I would have liked to have been asked out.    I wasn't.  Of course I didn't realize all that work left me with a serious dirt mustache until after I got home.

In the end, I married the boy I use to wrestle.  He understood me.  He liked the way I was/am. 

As my mother in law has said, "There's a lid for every pot."

 Thank heavens.

Monday's Memoir: (I need a scanner for these pre-digital memories)...

Sam and I had looked several months for a place to live. To buy.  A condo, a small house, something.  It was difficult to find something the right size/location/price range for a family with a small baby and a husband who was working full time and going to school full time (with a few years left to go).  I was working occasional Saturday mornings, but we were young and living on love, as they say.   We ultimately decided that maybe we should continue renting for a while.

Through a family friend, I found an apartment to rent that was chee - eep.  It had two stories (yes, space!) and was in decent shape (I guess).  One side of the townhouse was a very busy, loud road and the other side?  A dark, somewhat hidden (spooky) alley.

But there was Space.
And rent was Cheap (did I already say that?). 

I was sold.  Having a colicky baby in a one bedroom basement apartment was extremely stressful.  The idea that I wouldn't have any neighbors above me AND I had a room where I could let baby sleep in a room seperate from the t.v./kitchen table/computer and with a door to close was the ultimate find.

(And the rent was CHEAP.)

ahem.

My husband hated it.  For 4 years he endured that place.  I felt it was Providence that we landed the place when I found out less than a year later that I was expecting twins.  (You know.  Space. Cheap.  In case you forgot).  He wasn't convinced.  Sam would have preferred... nice looking.  Not falling apart all the time (consequently cheap rent meant landlords who were VERY reluctant to fix things).  The semi trucks and sirens outside our bedroom window all night long weren't a huge selling point, either.  Which I guess I can understand (haha).

It wasn't a pretty place, but I was determined to make it clean and organized and I did a pretty good job at certain times of obtaining domestic bliss here and there.  Which is saying a lot for a gal like me.  I have a vivid memory of an evening cleaning routine that involved loud music, my daily allotted 1 can of diet pepsi and a lot of getting it done (including ironing).  Sam was working the swing shift, so it was just me and my little 9 month old side kick those evenings.

But that's not the memory I wanted to post...

I have in my mind a vivid picture of one particular moment while living in that apartment.  I was changing the sheets on my bed.  Young Ed, about 9 months old or so,  had learned how to pull himself up along furniture and walk along side it.  He was at the other side of the bed watching me work.  As I threw up the sheets and let them fall to the bed, the material brushed that sweet little boy's upturned face.  He blinked fast and smiled big.  So I did it again.  And again.  We laughed and it was a moment of pure bliss.  I was so crazy for that kid.  For that smile.

 I was caught up in my mundane tasks and a sweet little boy turned it into magic and fun. 

I hope to never forget that image.

Monday's Memoir: Happy Birthday To You.

You took me to the mountains.
It was the end of your day.  The end of your youthful bliss, you said.
I laughed.
You were serious.

We stood against a smooth, limestone wall.  You said we should go up but I didn't see how it was possible.  At this point in my life I scaled only things that came with obvious routes...Stairs...Colorful climbing holds...Clunky slabs of rock where nature had placed it's obvious route to stepping and grabbing.  Approaching the silvery smooth wall, I voiced my apprehension.  This was not possible.  Where do I step?  What to I grab?  "To scale a smooth slab, you must use your whole body and friction,"  you said.    "It will work."

I was amazed how gently I could go up and up without brute force or grunting, but by keeping my body up against the rock and stepping as carefully and deliberately as I could.  As I climbed, a small waterfall trickled down beside me.  It was all so beautiful and I was actually doing it! 

It was at the top of the falls where you showed me dusk in the canyon -  how it slowly falls like a cool, draping organza, blurring the lines of the trees into the hillside.  The jagged edges of those giant mountains blending softly into a dulling blue sky.

And as I laid down, the rock warmed my back.  I, too, was sinking into it this sun-soaked granite.  I was blurring into this sky line.  This day.
I was so happy.

You were so unhappy.
I reminded you that it was your day.  A day to celebrate! But you did not feel like celebrating.
You felt like pontificating.  "It is the end of my youth!", you said.  "What's to celebrate?"

I laughed again, which I don't think you liked very much.  But, I couldn't help it.
There was a light in your eyes as you spoke.  While the sun dimmed, your eyes burned with a color I had never seen before.  I was convinced that you were alive as ever.  "This is only the beginning," I said.  "Now you can really make a life.  Your life.  Your choice."  You agreed, but reminded me that the stick must be picked up at both ends.

I conceded and did my best to mourn with you.  Bury sadly with you the end of childhood and careless freedom.  Feel with you the weight of impeding responsibility,

but,
 
For me that day was an awakening.  I had breathed in a new life, beheld a vision of landscapes and beauty I had never before dared to consider.  It was a gift that you gave me.

And, Dear Friend, on that miserable birthday of yours... that's when I knew it was you.  

Monday's Memoir: A Draft I Wrote Two Years Ago

March 2010:

Eddie Sits On The Couch With His Feet Propped Up.

His face resembles his dad's. It's a pensive expression, one that always leads to a thoughtful remark.

"You know Mom, I'm so glad you aren't one of those moms who hangs around in their pajamas all day.  Because some moms do that you know."

(He says this while I'm sitting at the table, at my computer. I think about when I actually got dressed today...was it 12:30 or 12:45? I know it was somewhere around the twelves.  And then I began to wonder what time I might have gotten dressed, if I hadn't needed to go to work that afternoon).

"Um, yeah...sure." Is all the answer I could muster.

I'm thankful to have a boy that chooses to see his mother in the best light.  

MM: Simhasana and Other Things I Was Too Timid to Try

there was a boy
he was cute and a year older 
he smiled big and asked me to dance
i was only 11


it was so terrifying
i ran out of the gymnasium
and hid in the hallway, my knees knocking
i couldn't make my knees stop

his friend pled with me to go back in
"he really likes you"
"you'll hurt his feelings"
this did not put me at ease
i just left him standing there

it was because i really liked him
that boy with the big, handsome smile
he never spoke to me again

not even when i was sixteen
and hanging out with his sister
i slept over at their house
she was into yoga and tried to teach me the lion's pose
eyes rolled up, tongue sticking out
it was too intense for me
i was curious, but declined giving it a try

i couldn't sleep that night
i wanted a chance to say i'm sorry,
that he misunderstood my reaction
when he came home all I could muster
was a faint "hi"

i was invisible to him
he was cuter than ever
i kicked myself all night long
for being such a scaredy-cat

{Simhasana - The Lion's Pose}

Monday's Memoir: Slumped with Burning

Louis Lang,  The Invalid

it was nearing october
in a new, old house
my children so young
twins still in diapers and needing a lot of attention

i was ill - a firey fever left me near comatose
utter agony on the couch...
delirious
no medicine
getting worse by the hour
didn't think to get up and call anyone
Sam was gone, can't even remember where

the kids were so hungry
rummaging for bread and whatever
they ended up eating the whole loaf that day
i remember thinking, at least they've had food
they are still alive
it will have to do

and then wondering how on earth
i would rise to change those diapers
i don't know how long it took me
it was a little surreal
it was the feat of the day, diaper changing.

as the day darkened
loneliness and paranoia for my babies overcame me
what have i done?
i realized while laying there,
i don't take care of myself very well when i am sick
i wait too long, let it get too bad

next time, if there is a next time (i dramatically lamented) -
i will nip it in the bud
or call somebody for heaven's sake
for my kids' sake

blurry recollections of a dark day
during a most beautiful time of year.

Monday's Memoir: An Enchanted April...

On our fourth anniversary I was a living, footslogging caricature of a pregnant woman.   Every pregnant woman feels carnival conspicuous by their eighth month, I know, but in my case I think it was true.  I saw enough gaping expressions and heard more than one gasp  from strangers during that hyper-gestational period of my life to know, that I was indeed, a spectacle. 

My mom gifted Sam and me with a night out and babysitting for our (then) two year old.  We went to a restaurant we liked and while we waited for our food we began doodling on the table cloths.  They were paper table cloths and the waitress provided us with crayons (so fancy!).  Our doodling evolved into mind mapping out our near future as we anticipated our change from having one child, straight to three.   I expected that having twins would mean an inevitable brain shut-down (a somewhat accurate foresight, to my credit) and so I was determined to pre-arrange every possible detail, including names.  We scribbled out some name ideas for those babies who would surprise us by coming in only a few days and 5 weeks early.

That was an enjoyable evening.  The whole night was magical and sweet and I may have forgotten about it had I not found that paper table cloth in a box while cleaning out the storage room recently.  I forgot that we had saved it.  When I pulled it out of the box, my mind flashed back to a warm spring evening.  We were standing behind our periwinkle Eagle Summit, Sam placing the folded table cloth and our leftovers into the trunk.  I remember we were smiling.  And sweating profusely.  And breathing laboriously.

Okay, maybe that was just me.

Not So Shining Moments...

It was 13 years ago.  There was an old woman, fixed up and artsy.  She was a distant relative (through marriage) who happened to live nearby.  She suddenly appeared in my life when I gave birth to my first baby.

One or two mornings a week, I opened the door to a most friendly greeting.  Soft white hair in an up-do.  Fresh lip-stick. Bright painted eyes.  A jump-suit.  On her way to a weekly exercise class, she would stop in, bearing something she found in her home that I might be able to use.  Herbal tea, a plastic sheet to protect the crib mattress, brooches made of tiny watch parts and other beautiful things which she pieced together with her own hands (she would have made a killing if Etsy had existed back then).   She'd ask how I was feeling, how motherhood was going and offer words of encouragement.  I liked her.  She was vibrant and friendly and creative. 

Still, I was shy and very uncomfortable with the visits.  I also was very uncomfortable with motherhood.  Here was this precious little boy which I adored - but I had no confidence in my abilities to care for him.  It was a monumental learning curve, and I was struggling.  Alongside this handicap,  I did not posess the skills to be an adequate hostess.

And yet, every Tuesday (sometimes more often) this sweet woman appeared at my door - always fixed up,  always bearing gifts and a smile.  I'm sure I was polite.  I knew how to smile and be friendly...

My regret?  I never thanked her.  I mean, I'm sure I said, "thank you" when she handed me her weekly gifts.  But, I never fully opened the doors and invited her in for a visit.  I even minimized her offerings, inwardly chuckling at the "leftovers" she brought me.   I never thanked her for her time, her willingness to give to some young mother she hardly knows. 

I am so ashamed to even think of it, it's difficult to type it out.

***

How many people do that?  How many people take what they have, make a little time to visit someone they hardly know.  Check in.  Smile and share.  Try to connect and help. 

She was an angel and I was clueless.
I missed an opportunity of gaining a friendship with a truly interesting, kind and beautiful person.

I write about this in an attempt to cement a few things I've learned from this experience: 

-It's too late to thank her now.  These small opportunities are fleeting.  Maybe someday I will get the chance (I hope).

-I don't want to miss another opportunity to grow a friendship or express gratitude.

-I want to be a better example to my kids by being more like my angel visitor from years ago.
 
-The next time I am cued that I behaved badly (because I was), then I hope to be humble and hurry to make it right, before it's too late. 

The tea is gone.  The sheets have been given to someone else.  And she's gone.   But I know I still have that brooch in a keepsake box somewhere.   I am tempted to dig it out.  It would be a pretty little reminder to be beautiful like she was and to never miss an opportunity to show gratitude, or make a friend.

Memoir

 {day 18}

she looked in the mirror
she was working on her 26th year

she saw, in her round face,
a flower in it's fullest bursting bloom
a physical pinnacle

she half-wished, looking into her reflection
she had made better use of it -
it had been a life of capricious tending

she sighed. 
shrugged her shoulders.

after all

these five years plus, she had put away childish things -
not much time to worry about
youth and beauty and fleeting concepts like, "prime"

she turned her head from side to side
eyes fixed and calculating -
a voice inside her warned,
'this is as good as it is going to get'
which she repeated aloud

she shook off the moment
walked away from her youthful face.
she thought she had accepted the reality of it all-
that she would be okay with it.

ah, yes

it is easiest to accept the inevitable wilting
on that florid day
when you are the fieriest bloom on the bush.


(Happy Birthday Dear Tim, who is sure to be out on a run about now, and looks decades younger than he actually is!  Love you, Dad)

Stiff, Clean Laundry...(A True and Simple Story)

She (the daughter) was in trouble and was displaying a very poor attitude. So, I (the mother) brassed onto her eardrums and told her to take her friend home and then go to bed, her day was over.  She stood there, glaring and nettled, then turned and left.

I stood there alone for a moment, watching the storm door gradually closing.  It was then that it happened.  I knew what to do.

She would not go to bed upon returning.

Instead, she and I went into the backyard to gather the laundry which had been drying on the line.  I taught her how to fold the tea towels in half, then into thirds.  The larger towels had stiffened in the hot August air and together we shook and softened them up a bit.  We talked and laughed, snapping the stiffness into something pliable, wrappable.

As I watched her fumbling, folding, smiling - I wondered at the strong emotion I felt.  It was a kind of relief from an almost impending doom.  Like the wind from a racing car which zooms by,  touseling your hair just as you yank the wandering toddler from the street.

(Please don't misunderstand my metaphor.  I am the clueless toddler.)

You see, someone's mother whispered into my ear today.  Told me to stop yelling and just do a little work side by side.

For once, I listened.

And the reward?  My daughter's expression was happiness.  She said to me, "Thank you, Mom, for teaching me how to do this."

After, we went inside and made dinner together. 

***
My life, perhaps, is so simple that I must create substantial meanings in small things in order to feel that there is some great purpose to my easy life.  This thought often occurs to me and is what usually prevents me from publicly writing memories like this.

Or perhaps, every once in a while, I am actually seeing things as they really are.

Either way, I felt a moment of peace in motherhood.  A moment of clarity, purpose, and a sense that I did right by my girl.  And that is my greatest ambition in life, 

To do right by My Own.


(Thank you, Mom, for teaching me how to do this).  

day ten: Childhood Memory

"A true friend is someone who knows all about you and likes you anyway." 

 -Christi Mary Warner

I had no idea how I was going to pull today's challenge off...until I was folding laundry a few days ago.  And then I pulled it out of the dryer.

Today's photos is of a gift, given to me by my cousin Melinda, for my 15th or 16th birthday.   It's a pillowcase. 

When I opened it, Nanette (my aunt) laughed and said, "it's perfect!"  "So true!" My cousin chuckled in agreement.  She found a gift that had my name all over it.

Except,

I honestly didn't get it at first.  Did they really think this described me?  Really?  I had no idea.  Somehow this piece of fabric became a mirror that showed me an aspect of my personality I was too self-absorbed to notice before.  As I considered the possibility,  I realized;

Melinda was spot on.   

And I'll keep this gift forever.  Makes me laugh.  I wish I could say it shut me up (because sometimes I really should)  -- but who are we kidding?

***P.S.  Eddie saw this post and said, "Hey!  What's my pillowcase doing on there? I love that pillowcase."  

Ha!  

"But If You are Lucky, You Will Love and Be Loved"...

[Halloween 2011]

It only took Sam and me three years to forget our anniversary.  There I was with my baby at the grocery store checkout stand, well into the afternoon, digging through my purse to find a pen.  "Aha!" Having found it, I began filling out a check.  I asked the cashier what the date was.  "April 25th" she said.  "NO WAY!" I exclaimed, wide-eyed and incredulous.  "It's my anniversary today and I forgot! We both forgot!"

 "Oh, really?" She says, with a look that tells me she doesn't really care and she thinks I'm weird.  And loud.

When I got home I called Sam at work.  "Can you believe we forgot?"   I took his silence to mean that he was wondering if I said "we forgot" or "you forgot" before responding...

I think we did end up getting a sitter and going out that night.

It only occurs to me now, a solid decade (plus) later, that he may have actually remembered.  Maybe that's why he was silent.  Maybe he was testing me.   I mean, he's not the testing type, but I don't know.   I think people kind of do that early on in marriage, test things out.  See how it goes...what the standard is going to be.  Sometimes you do things proactively, sometimes you just watch and see what the other person does.  And then you decide subconsciously that, that's just how it is.   

Perhaps this is why we've never really made a huge deal out of our anniversary.  I kind of figured he might do the grandiose thing and he figured I might.  Evidently, it was okay that neither of us did.   Don't worry, I'm not going to say anything sappy like, "we don't have to celebrate our anniversary, we celebrate our marriage every day" - Because that's just uppity gross.  I mean, it's a good ideal to live by I guess, but anyone who makes such a claim is subjecting themselves to gag-responses from the married masses.  Or at least from me.

Not to say our marriage isn't a big deal.

'Cause it is.  I mean, I managed to snag this handsome fellow;

Maybe this year I'll have to plan something a little bigger...not much, just plan ahead a little. For fun.

After all, I'm not married to precedent.

A Day In the Life (as a teenager)

Early on in our friendship, when we were in high school, Sam would come over and sometimes we would watch the sunset.  My parent's house - being up on the mountain and being the house that ends the street- had a mostly unobstructed view of the mountains on the other side of the valley.  It was a great way to spend a springtime evening.  One time, I remember sitting next to Sam on the bench out on the porch.  We had opened the windows so we could hear the music coming from inside the house.

Woke up. Got out of bed.
Dragged a comb across my head...


We sat there in silence for a while, listening to the music.  And then I worked up the courage to ask him a question.  I approached it with all the weight and soberness such a question merits.  I turned to him and said, "Sam?  Have you ever killed a man?"

This is where I expected him to laugh or look confused or worried or something.  Instead, without even flinching, he responded as matter of fact as if I'd asked him if he had ever taken Ms. Stone's English class;  "No.  Not that I know of.  Have you?"

"Well... " I said sheepishly.  "...I don't really want to talk about it."

"Really? Okay," He said.  And shrugged it off, like it was nothing.
"I was just kidding" I confessed, not knowing what to do now that my tease had been foiled.
"Oh yeah?"  (Now he's just confused).

And so what I thought was going to be a joke has left me a little worried.  What kind of person thinks that kind of question is NORMAL?  Who is this guy?  I couldn't tell if he's on to me or joking or what.

I still can't tell a lot of the time,  but I know one thing.
I like it.

Summer 2010, A Quick Memoir...

Solve:

Take a very average lady +
(what felt like) Teeming responsibilities +   
Crammed into a few weeks time?
____________________________________________

{About 4 hours.  That's how long it took me to notice...}  

Now that I look back on it,  It was one of the best summers to date!

10 Words

          she
          told
          everyone
          it
         was
          a
         miracle -
          she
          believed
          me

Mary

Today my aunt Cindy posted these photos on facebook:

It's my grandma Mary.  She had a great smile.  She could be a tease.  She never put up with any "boobin'" (whining).   She gave the best hugs.  I've been missing her like crazy today.  Every once in a while I will really get lonely for her.  I found this draft that I wrote about her over a year ago.  Just stuff I wanted to remember.  It probably won't be interesting to anybody but me, but I wanted to post.  And if you knew her and can add to the list, I'd love that!

 Feb. 2008:

Today, while I was in the shower, I began thinking of my grandma. I could see her face. I remembered the feel of her "squeeze". I thought of how crazy she was for us little grandkids, how much she loved squeezing babies...she would have been so crazy for my kids. I really, really miss her today.

Things I loved about Grandma Mecham:

* the way she squeezed so tight, and always needed more than one hug when greeting (at least three).
* the way her house smelled.
* the soap she used in her bathroom. I've never been able to figure out what it was, though I've smelled it a few times since.
* Her sewing house ( a tiny one room house where my great grandmother used to live-turned into a sewing house). Large spools of thread every where. Silky fabric I loved to touch. She'd make jammies for us, and matching jammies for our dolls. She made silky underpants, and would mark them with our age, I felt like such a big girl.
*I remember going to Safeway with her once, and to 101 Dalmations in the theatre.
*I remember the plastic toy box, there was a book, Strawberry Shortcake Nursery Rhymes, I liked that book, I loved reading poetry when I was a kid.
*Watching HeeHaw on her TV.
* Mountain landscape wall.
* Junk Drawer. I loved fishing through that.
*Watching grandma with the "buzzer", cutting Mary's (my sister's) bangs. I remember Mary's cute little face scrunched up because the "buzzer" tickled. (I was always curious and little jealous that I never got to try it out).
* Getting my hair washed in the sink with the sprayer.
*Bacon, eggs and sausage, toast for breakfast. the large wooden fork and spoon on the wall. Wallpaper was cream with orange somethings-what were they? fruit baskets, little cornucopias? I can't remember.
*Ribbon jello.
*Fancy cakes for our first birthday.
* Her laugh.
*Eating strawberry short cake on the front lawn.  I loved everything she cooked/baked.
*Running around among the giant willow trees, burying the dead bird that my cousin Kimmy and I found.  We fought over how to spell "grey/gray" on the cardboard gravestone we made.
*Sleeping in the guest room with the white, rough quilt.


She was gone too fast.

Unconscious On A Toasty Summer Afternoon

I was home, standing next to the window that invites a full, late sun into the room.  It seemed that the sun brought with it the heat and light of an entire day.  It always does this.

I was standing there singing my song, feeling the heat on my face.

I could see the words coming out of my mouth as I sang.  They strung together and twirling like a ribbon, they fell onto the table beside me.  Then the ribbon of words slipped off the table and coiled onto the floor like a snake getting ready to strike.

So I ran.
And the words chased me, darting at my feet - the pronged tongue licking at my heels.

Before I was bitten, I woke up.
Refreshed, but unwilling to finish what I started.

*Artwork:  At Rest by Pino