Out of Body Experiences

Clouds on Fire
~ Rental Ready Response ~
on the way to town

I wanted children.

Why?

Got children and sometimes wondered.   Why, that is.  Or so I told myself when I walked the floor with a nap-resistant baby, patting, bouncing, and carefully laying them in the crib just a split second before they woke up crying.  Warm, soft, Mommy versus cold, hard bed - what is so hard to understand about that? So we tried the blanket trick where you wrap up the baby and it is all warm - no chilly surprises.  That didn't work either. By the way, why did I not hear from those other moms so eager for me to join their ranks about doing loads upon loads of laundry for the rest of my born days?

What is the best thing about having children?   Someone to surprise me over and over: smarter, funnier, more thoughtful, wiser than I could ever have imagined.  My two-year-old wanted to go to school, so he put his coat on upside down, and walked down the street to the end of the block across from the school.  Having arrived at his Rubicon, he sat down on the curb and cried.  When I finally noticed the house seemed too quiet, I looked out the window and watched a police officer driving slowly down our street.  One of the times I was especially aware of my heart walking around outside my body was when the patrol car stopped and the officer passed a diapered, bare legged child in boots with the hood of his navy blue coat hanging upside down behind his chubby little legs, to the waiting arms of his daddy before my horrified eyes.

Thankfully it was not terribly cold weather, but I am pretty sure that was one of the top ten world’s worst mother moments for me. Not only had I gotten so involved in my morning activity that I completely lost track of him but, being embarrassed, I totally missed my cue right there for a child ready and more than eager to learn. Okay, giving myself a break on that one.  He was only two.  Three years later I did a much better job on the first day of school.

What is the most difficult thing about having children? 1. Potty training. 2. Interruptions:  “Seriously?  You have to go potty now?  Right now?”  And dreading the answer but thankful for the warning ahead of time, but just not quite far enough ahead of time to find a rest stop, or the Home Depot restroom on the far end of the store.  May I suggest centrally located restrooms - of course they would get used more.  Anyway, it was worth a try, I guess – the warning, the panic, the mad dash to the ladies room, because occasionally we made it just in time.   Sometimes I chose to hand the kid off to Dad because I was just tired of being the mommy.   Two parent families are a good idea.

Now that I'm a grandma, being a mom has so much to do with remembering time went by as fast as a kid on a Hot Wheels bike.  While I was fairly bursting with joy and amazement, I could not talk about it because I sounded like a living, breathing Grandma's Brag Book bursting at the seams – not the worst thing about being a parent, maybe, just slightly uncomfortable and awkward when someone feels compelled to both roll their eyes and also one-up you.  “Here is my world, and I love it but I can’t share it.  Protocol.  Sorry.”  Here is some advice: Talk to grandma.  She will believe you.  But not too much because she will worry.

Maybe my kids are not smarter than any other kids, maybe they are smarter than some. It did not take too long to figure out that all mothers think their child is brighter and/or cuter, happier, funnier, stronger, bigger, braver, more petite, graceful, musical, well-adjusted, ambitious, you-name-it, than any other child, but I got to see the most delightful discoveries right when they happened.  I was the one who went searching for my good spoons, which had declined in quantity from twelve to six, in the sandbox and wondered what creation was so important that it required parts of my best table settings.  I was the one who cleaned the dried yellow drops on the bathroom wall.   “Seriously?  Is this swath of yellow droplets on the wall what I think it is?” I asked Daddy.  He knew exactly how it happened, and why.  (It seems this is not unusual, judging by his knowing nod when I pointed out the incriminating evidence.)   A wall redecorated in dried urine may be perplexing but a collection of dried boogers is simply disgusting, and more difficult to remove.  I suppose it never occurred to anyone to ask for a box of tissue.   And it never occurred to me that they had the snot scared out of them by the spiders and earwigs in the open ceiling joists and the poor condition of the walls.  Remodeling came along later, and that was a good thing.

I learned to love my kids out loud when we were alone.  I could admire them, honestly believing in their (mostly) superior character.  I did not really need to pretend that I was not delighted when it was in my job description to hang up a pile of tiny wet snowsuits and beneath them to line up pairs of miniature snow boots while pondering, and yelling about, the unsolved mysteries of missing mittens. Was I failing to teach them responsibility the moment they came in the door if I picked up after them?  I had no interest in saying anything that would dull the light in their shining eyes and rosy cheeks as they sniffled their way toward to a cup of cocoa while telling me a story.   I would like to think I got beyond pretending to be disgruntled that they came running when they got hurt doing something they had been warned not to do.  Nah.  Didn't happen.  Before they physically outgrew the tendency to come for the healing power of kissing and making it better, between bathroom breaks and tree climbing, between chores, responsibility training and power struggles, we were living the dream.

When I had to clean up a pitcher of red Kool-aid spilled smack-dab in the center of the green living room rug I had to admit that while such a feat was impressive in its aim, the carpet cleaner’s bleach was more impressive, a devastating direct hit, considering our carpet budget for the next ten years had just been spent a few months before.  Still, I was not-so-secretly proud of their joyous ambition when a morning spent setting up a lemonade stand and flagging down generous customers was worthy of detailed reporting at dinner-time.  When we went to the bank with the coins, we knew exactly how much the deposit would be.   I was becoming a teacher - painful process, sometimes - but I got better at it and learned to love my job, even though I forgot to check the backpack for a homework packet until they were headed out the door to school.  Who says school is the only place you can learn and only teachers teach?

Those days, while standing in the kitchen making more Kool-aid, my heart was out there on a street corner hoping for kind customers who would overlook the probability of a few germs while they ate flavored ice cones and drank too-sweet lemonade – and later when my heart went off to college, and then it came home again where for a few days my heart was just about as content as it could be.  And then it left again and went off doing who knows what; risking life and limb I suppose, never mind stepping on a crack and breaking Mother’s back.  Just try not to break her heart – it’s already walking around in three pieces, the whole being the sum of its parts, of course.

   

I “needed” permission to love my children out loud, gloriously; to glow with pride and joy over my pride and joy… so Young Mothers,  I would like to give you permission to love your children out loud, just in case you need it, and while I am at it, I’ll pass along a piece of advice I got.  Sleep when they sleep.  Do not try to get all your work done when they are napping.  Go nap with them. It is our version of “cobwebs be quiet and dust go to sleep.”  Was it there that I learned the trick of getting cooperation was doing the task with them?

Wonder full, special little human beings, are they not?  And in case you are wondering, yes, they are smarter than you, so get used to that feeling, and not just smarter, but fascinating and intelligent in ways different from you. They still need your guidance, although less and less if you’re doing it right.  They also need your acceptance and validation, however imperfect they are or you are - even if they refuse to eat the sandwiches you loved as a child.  There is something in them that is so amazing that it’s like a ringside seat on watching a plant grow – a miracle.

Sure, they will remember the meanest-mom-ever-moments and your ridiculous rules, especially the times they had to vacuum the car three times before it got approval and when you had no good reason not to agree to the plan to become a drummer in the marching band and but you (I) still refused to give in because it did not match, in my mind, her feminine and dainty, slender body type. She had two brothers, for Pete's sake, and could bike the jumps just as well as any of the neighborhood kids.

You will remember emergency room visits when you couldn't watch the stitches, first place medals and participation ribbons, neighborhood bullies, rare moments of sibling solidarity, getting outvoted on cutting down the climbing/crab-apple tree when no one liked cleaning up the apples in the fall, and when they stepped up to the plate all by themselves and hit a double header on a difficult assignment.  It is tough when they face the big battles and you know you can’t do it for them.  All the moments you failed as a parent flash before your eyes, so you know it’s up to them to deliver the goods.  You protected them sometimes, failed them miserably, rooted for them like any good soccer mom would, loved them always – it is your heart out there on the field taking a beating.  Those are the moments when you know you are the mom and always will be.

Kitty Nap - Labor Day

Lots of Peaches

Chia Seed Raspberry Jam

Jam servings sized for two ready for the freezer.
Also, not pictured: Heart Shaped Raspberry Banana Ice Cream

New Shed Doors Built and Installed

Not All Fun and Games
Spray-priming the rental deck

Seen in Passing

Last Day of Summer Canopy

Variegated Leaves

Yellow fluff tree at the LDS Church

Yellow on Blue

Sun Star 

Pun'kins

Shopping without a list.  What do you remember? Go!
1.  Milk
2. Wow, Price of bacon.
3. Do we need bread?
4.  Mayonnaise!  Score!

Peach Pie and not pictured:
 Cranberry Peach Tart, Peach filling, Fresh Frozen peaches for topping.

Fresh Tomatoes from the Fruit Stand for Pomodori Al Forno
forgot to turn off the oven