Training

I'm in the midst of potty training. To any non-parent, this is the point where they veer sharply to the right of the blog road and get off as soon as possible. Understood.

But to those anticipating this blessed event or who have recently undertook such an adventure, I find that they like to talk.

My initial thoughts on this journey is that it is a "hurry up and wait" experience, which is somehow simultaneously stressful and boring. Additionally, it's not the kind of adventure where you can say "Time out! I'd like to take a break." Nope. We're on the Concorde to Pottyville and there are no stops or layovers, baby. Strap in.

There are some adorable stages to training. The first being that preschoolers have no shame whatsoever and find underpants somewhat useless. Some of my friends recommended buying special princess or themed underwear for the occasion, but I can tell with a good deal of certainty that my daughter does not care if her princess-clad undies get a rain shower or not.

I did cave, however, when I thought to buy an M&Ms dispenser. Total overkill, I know, but it's novelty and it'll get her attention. She loves it, by the way.

Dan came home yesterday and asked about the progress. Frankly, if you put your mind to the task, you can do anything, I told him. Anyone who knows me and how I bail on projects knows how ironic this is. But she is my daughter and not a project, which helps. :)

The laundry room coughed a sigh of relief at bedtime last night. It was running non-stop yesterday as the floors and some clothing got some "spot cleaning" for lack of a better word.

Grace comes in various forms. I was most thankful for my friend's little daughter coming over yesterday. She was trained just a few weeks ago and showed Eve the ropes. There is such a thing as positive peer pressure. I embrace it heartily.

I have a friend who said that when she taught her son to be potty trained she felt like, and I quote, a "genius".

I don't feel like a genius.

Yesterday I felt excited.

Last night I felt less excited, more like glad.

Today I perch precariously between feeling "glad" and "weary", like a committed mother who loves to see her child grow and learn and try.

I flushed all the other feelings away.

Keeps Going

It's September 11th, 2011.

It's a big day for this beautiful country.

My husband is out of town. Before he left he said, "You know I was flying out of Baltimore on September 11th ten years ago and I'll be flying again on September 11th." He said it in a cavalier way. It left a small catch in my throat but no time to think on that day because, well, my children were up and it was just another ordinary day to us. Lunches to make. Children to clothe.

Today is Sunday. I had all intentions of going to church this morning. What better way to spend such a reflective day?

Eve woke up with a runny, goopy nose and I thought better of exposing the other children to their first fantastic cold of the year. Plus, I want to remain friends with their mothers. :)

So I did what I do best during times of reflection: I cook. Gives my hands something to do while my mind ruminates. This morning I'm making a root vegetable soup that simmers in white wine and chicken broth. It's earthy and satisfying. The colors of the soup beckon fall.

In the background, I have Good Morning America on the television. "America Remembers." Children of 9/11 are speaking about the fathers they never met. The new 9/11 memorial is prominently in the middle of the screen, hauntingly beautiful with its vast dark square holes, memories of the twin tower footprints. It's exquisite.

In a moment of reflection, I realize that I'm immensely proud of America. We could have used that real estate for new buildings, new commerce. But instead we remembered a very important place in our history. We put aside the dollar. Planted trees. Built waterfalls. Felt the names engraved on the periphery of the falls. We refused to forget this humbling, horrible day. We refuse to to let it crush us either.

While I'm simmering the soup and listening to the background of the broadcast, my little Eve is barking. "Wan watch Wild Kratts! Wan watch Wild Kratts," she shouts again and again. She wants today to be like every day. She wants to watch her little program about animals. "Am-mi-mals," she calls them. She has no idea that this day is special in so many ways. I admire her innocence.

Frustrated, she turns on my ipod and begins to dance. "Wan dance! Wan dance," she demands. She wants me to dance with her.

Life is that way, isn't it? Pulled in so many directions. Laughing while crying while remembering while cooking while parenting and wiping runny noses.

Can't contain life. It's bursting forth with sounds and colors and textures of seasons.

Some we don't want to remember. Some we will never forget.

The Quiet

The summer is still here, technically.

But Labor Day has come and gone; with a perfect 68 degree day I brought up my wheat wreath for the door and some little fall decorations to place around the house. It's my way of giving autumn permission to enter my home.

The past winter was so difficult that I told myself no matter how hot and tired I was by the end of the summer, I needed to soak in every last bit. I convinced myself that if I concentrated on each day and enjoyed it to the dregs I would be able to "bank" summer and draw upon it in March, when I needed it most. By July I worried that fall would come and I would be devastated. I so enjoy the sun.

But I'm not devastated.
Granted, I'm not psyched either.
I'm yielding.
You know the way a person dips one toe in the pool first, then a leg, then both legs before immersing? Yielding.

On an emotional level, I bottomed out early this summer. I'm unsure how this occurred, but somewhere between the twelfth time I said "yes" to something that I should've said "no" to, I went numb. I auto-piloted my days until I realized that my daughter Morgan started to say things like, "I'll do this so Eve doesn't wear you out so much, Mom."

Summer became healing for me. Allowed me to get off the grid, off the regimen of the school year. Refocused my priorities.

During this time of withdrawing, I realized that I very, very much miss designing. I don't miss corporate life or putting things in my portfolio... I miss the act of taking a blank canvas or screen or piece of paper and making something out of nothing. So I began to design again.

I didn't let things hold me back. I skipped naps at times. If I ran out of pencils, I used crayons. I needed to get on paper what was skipping around in my mind.

During this unplanned sabbatical, something spiritual has happened.
I'm quiet.
Right here (pointing to heart)... right here is where I am quiet.

I'm learning to say "no" to things that disrupt the quiet, that take me off course. I'm learning to listen closer to the quiet nudgings God gives me...

I'm pretty sure I'm annoying some people who would like a helping hand.

I'm letting go of what people expect of me. It's hard for this people pleaser, but I'm trying.

I'm in love with the quiet.
The still small voice.
God's muse is speaking.

Creative Motherhood

Being a stay at home mother is an amazing journey of discovery. I'm constantly amazed at how often I am amazed. Does that make sense?

I'm amazed at my daughter Morgan as she made her own kite yesterday. After informing her as gently as possible that it probably won't fly and "don't worry we'll find you a kite", I marveled at how she used a pencil and a roll of ribbon for the kite string, attached to a piece of colored chip board. If hope alone could lift this kite, she had enough to send it to outer space.

I marveled less when her younger sister unwound it and played with it like the kitty cat that she is.

I delight in Morgan's highly creative mind. She's resourceful. She doesn't let anything hold her back. She yields to the inspiration that drives her. She doesn't care about timing or impossibilities. She attacks creative projects with effortless energy.

Because of this, my house is not my own.
Craft bins are left as spoils of war: torn open, the contents strewn as if a wild creative animal attacked.
Bed skirts are swiss-cheesed by my scissor-handed daughter who needed white fabric RIGHT AWAY. (A talk ensued.)
There is paint on my daughter's carpet, a half-painted mural on her wall and wax strings are hung artistically on the wall above her bed.
Gone are the carefully chosen vintage Wizard of Oz illustrations I hung with care on her wall when she was a baby.
Gone are the vestiges of anything that matches or looks coordinated.

I don't even open Pottery Barn Kids catalogs anymore. They're totally fake.

Gone are the things that are "baby".
In its stead are little poems written on scraps of paper.
There are occasional "GO AWAY" signs on the floor, evidence of a girl who is learning her boundaries in life.
Her room is a physical representation of her mind: small groupings of play here and there. I don't think there is one square foot of her carpet that can be seen.

When I talk to her about cleaning her room, she melts. Her head bows and she begins to get misty eyed. She doesn't know how to be organized.

She is me thirty years ago. Struggling to be organized. Not understanding why I can't think as neatly as others.

But fortunately for her, she has me for a mother. Organization is my arch nemesis. I hate papers. I can't get rid of things and yet on certain times of the year, the left side of my brain takes the right side of my brain as hostage and I begin to purge vast amounts of things from our house.

I need to breathe. And she does too.

So today, with her permission, I plan on packing her room into boxes.
"Don't put them in the basement, Mom. There are bugs and spiders."
"Don't worry, Morgan, I'll put a lid on the boxes."
"You won't sell my stuff, will you? When you put them in the basement, you like to sell them."
She's right, but I reassure her, "I'll put them in the basement and let you bring them up to your room one box at a time until you find a home for everything. I won't sell them."

The adventure continues. The dance is perfected... the carefully choreographed steps give way to improvisation.

Dear Self

I'm not blogging for anyone but myself tonight. Just me.

Hello, Self-

I know you feel lost lately. You feel confused why the woman who wanted another child so badly could sometimes have feelings of *stop* (whisper)... not wanting to be a mother sometimes.

Grace.

It's not that you don't want to be a mother. It's that you want to think once in a while. A whole complete thought. Not snippets. Real thoughts. Entire symphonies of beautiful, life-giving expressions.

You want to feel energetic.
And smiley and smart and godly and loving.
And sometimes pretty.

So let's start with some beautiful thoughts of the day:
- Morgan's laugh... It's like the music of rippling water. It giggles and gurgles as she lets out her joy. Beautiful.

- Eve, first thing in the morning... She always compliments what you wear: "Nice sunglasses, Mommy," she says of my reading glasses. "Nice neckwace. Nice hair. Nice skirt, Mommy." She's full of things to say.

- Is there anything more beautiful than being married to a man who will willingly set his tempo to yours each day?
Let's go running.
Let's read together.
Let's have coffee.
Let's just talk.
He's there, setting aside his desires; listening to the beat of another's thoughts and desires.

There are still sadnesses in the world.

Your parents will not remarry each other. That is sad.

Your family lives far away.

And things break just about every day during this season in life. Maddening.

But keep carrying, on, Self.

Keep finding reasons to have parties.

Keep sewing and designing and decorating.

Keep baking buttercream frosted cupcakes to eat after a super healthy salad.

Keep running and napping and laughing.
And for goodness sake, keep showering. It's not a luxury.

It's a season of life. It's okay to feel overwhelmed by the mundanity of it at times.

One day your orthodontics will come off and you'll smile more.
One day your youngest daughter will stop challenging you on every front; she'll want to get dressed on her own.
One day you'll have more time for running, though you'll probably enjoy eating cupcakes more.

Make sure you find the reasons you press on as a stay at home mom so that you don't lose heart.

Peace.

Coneflowers

This post is for my sister, Becky... who takes whatever life gives her and makes it into art.

With a few snatches of time, some moments I stole away... I cut this lino print.

When I'm cutting a lino, I have a rough idea of how it will look, but it really takes a life of its own. A line that I meant to cut into a flower turns into a grass like shape. On top of that, everything is cut in mirror image so that the print is pulled to reflect the true image.

It's a good exercise... to take a delicate drawing, flip it to its mirror image and take a chisel to pull out the most important features of its character. Forces me to think, "What matters most in this image?"

There's a message there. I'll let you draw it out for yourself. :)

Enjoy. I sure have.

Pool Day

Warning: There will be no pictures on this post. None. None whatsoever.

My husband went on a camping trip this weekend with some buddies. I'd like to tell you I was jealous, but camping falls into the vacation category "what to do when you want to appreciate home more". It's a category I reserve for the worst of vacation ideas.

But I digress. I decided to take my daughters to the pool today and learned a great deal that I'd like to share with the wide world of bloggyville.

First, it took about one hour to get ready for the pool. We had to find the pool passes. And grease up the kiddos with sunscreen. And find the pool diapers. And pack drinks. I have no idea why it took that long.

Upon arriving at the pool, I discovered that the baby pool was under maintenance. Bugger. No worries, I'll let Eve test the zero-depth entry of our pool.

I learned something new about Eve today. She likes to jump in the deep end. She has the common sense of a tadpole and the energy of a caffeinated cheetah. I turned my head one second, then turned it back to find my Eve under water. Not swimming. In the process of drowning. So I scooped her up and encouraged her to swim in the non-drowning end of the pool.

At one point Eve bolted from my grasp circumference. I found myself reluctantly jogging after my toddler (who was laughing) while I recalled why working out earlier in the year would have been better than now. Let me know when they make Spandex full-body bathing suits, would ya?

One particularly funny moment was when Eve *desperately* wanted "icicle" (popsicle) and stood in front of an older girl who was enjoying a popsicle and smiled her prettiest, dimple-est smile at her, looking alternately at her popsicle and the girl's face. I swear that if that chica turned her head, she'd find her frozen snack snatched from her grasp while a 2 year old ran away laughing with her mother on her heals.

Shortly after, it was time for us to leave.

Upon re-entering our house, all hell broke loose from Eve's pool diaper. I found Eve crying and sliding on the hardwood floor, repeatedly falling in a wet, diapery mess. I thought of how tired I was having such melodramatic transitions from house to pool and pool to house. I mean, why can't it be like NASA? Don't they prepare their astronauts for re-entry into earth's atmosphere?

I'm unsure what perks come with this transitional assistance, but I would very much appreciate the same foresight: a cold drink upon re-entry into my house, followed by a comforting grandma figure for my over-tired cheetah daughter and gentle classical music flooding my mudroom, so as to give audible clues to my daughters as to how to behave.

You can see I've had too much sun today.