Sibling Lovelry

02 Aug 2012 3 Comments

by Deb D in Just Life, Parenting Tags: , , , , , ,

When my son, AKA Beagle, was four years old, husband and I announced that baby number three was on the way.  “I want a brother,” Beagle announced with conviction, as if his wanting was enough to manifest a baby boy.  He already had an older sister so…..we broke the news gently.

“We do know what the baby is,” I admitted.  His face lit up with anticipation.  “It’s a girl.”  Instantaneously, Beagle’s head dropped with a thud onto the table in despair.  With face buried in forearm, he lay silent.  While older sister, AKA Principessa, danced in celebration, I attempted to explain to the top of Beagle’s head that we didn’t get to choose.

Silence.

I added sugar-coating like the fact that he would always have his own room as the as the only boy.

Silence.

I assured him that he’d be a great big brother.

Silence.

Then Beagle raised a single hand in the air, head still down, and solemnly replied, “I’ll be okay.”

Beagle was more than okay.  This is a picture of him when Peach arrived.  Could he be any more smitten?

As it turned out, Beagle and Peach formed a close bond.  He adored his little sister and she him.  Eventually though, the novelty wore off and he went his merry boy way.  I feared that their lack of common interests would prohibit a close relationship between them.  But when Peach turned six and couldn’t ride a bike without training wheels, Beagle stepped in.

It was a casual summer day when Beagle marched in the kitchen and accused me of negligence.  “I can’t believe you haven’t taught Peach how to ride on two wheels yet.  She can’t start First Grade on training wheels!  Leave it to me.  I know what I’m doing.”

Staunchly determined, Beagle grabbed a fistful of lollipops for reinforcement and headed outside.  Honoring my promise not to interfere, I watched from the window.

Like a pro, doting older brother ran up and down the driveway holding the back of Peach’s bike while shouting out instructions and encouragement.  Within the hour, Peach was riding solo with big brother running alongside and cheering.

Beagle strutted back into the house, chest puffed up, and declared, “Mission accomplished.”

I was reminded of that favorite story today, three years later, when I sat poolside watching Beagle teach Peach how to dive.  With characteristic patience and sensitivity, big brother devoted his afternoon to imparting this new skill.  All the while he exchanged secret smiles with me, each of us enjoying the process.

These are the kinds of moments that make my mother heart swell with joy.  These are the shreds of hope that restrain me when I want to choke the next child who fights with a sibling.  I need these reminders from time to time to balance the sometimes excruciating task of establishing family harmony. Like, for instance, several weeks into summer vacation.

Today I decide that I can rest peacefully, knowing that no matter how much my little ones bicker and compete, they do love each other.  When the rubber meets the road, they travel together.

I suspect that when I’m old and gray, and my children are grown, they will continue to have their differences.  They may even try to involve me for peacekeeping.  And I will sit back in my rocking chair smiling at their sibling lovelry.

The Sweetness of Clarity

24 May 2012 3 Comments

by Deb D in Just Life, Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

Today I was blindsided by chaos.  I imagined it would be a mostly ordinary day – kids to school, Mom to work, and husband on a rare business trip.  Silly me.

The drama actually began late last night when teen daughter waged a war against chores and chicken for dinner and all things parent.  Poor husband sought consolation, “Can you believe her?! ”  To which I responded with my go-to justification, “She’s a teenager.”  When rational explanation fails, this single fact makes it all better.  Teenhood is not a permanent condition.  Doors were slammed, lights flicked off, and sleep was welcomed.  Tomorrow would be a new day……A day that began too early.  Midnight to be exact.

Like Cinderella who transformed at the stroke of midnight, dear son turned into a vomiting machine. This, as you fellow parents know, is a game changer.  Instantly, my day went from busy/manageable to crazy/juggling.

As it were, I was scheduled to drive my usually-bus-riding daughter and a friend to school for the Architecture Fair.  SHOOT!   This is the event that husband was supposed to attend to fulfill the ‘at least one parent should show support’ thesis.  But he is away on business which means I should go. But when? How?

The phone rings, breaking up the rapid-fire problem-solving in my head.  It is friend, wondering if we’ve forgotten her or are we just running late?  Scrambling to the car, bagel in one hand, trifold display in the other, we settle into a comfortably illegal pace on the highway when teen daughter exclaims (too hysterically) that the written portion of her project has been forgotten at home.  Would I go back and get it after dropping her off?

I gaze at the Heavens with a ‘You’re kidding me, right?’ look.  Is this level of chaos all in one day really necessary?  Daughter gives further instruction on the location of said paper.  It’s beside the computer which, by the way, “crashed when I was trying to print off another copy.”  Lovely.

I am torn.  Yes or no?  Go out of my way, taking more time than I have, in order to save my daughter?  Or help her to learn responsibility by suffering the consequences?  She was, after all, a beast last night.  She wasted valuable project preparation time with her tirades.  I’m not feeling especially generous toward her.  But there are other factors to consider too: a younger child in tow who needs to be at a different school momentarily, a son who clearly shouldn’t be left alone, a dance carpool commitment (of all weeks!) and oh yes, a job that is expecting me.  My mind is on a spinny ride at the amusement park and I want to get off.

When Chaos arrives like it has today, Clarity eludes me.  She loves a game of Hide and Seek.   Sometimes it’s easy to find Clarity.  She’s like a small child who hides in the same obvious spot every time she plays the game.  Other times she gets sneaky and hides somewhere in next week or next month – so far away that I have to give up searching for her, knowing that eventually she’ll return to me.  So I keep the door unlocked.

Today, Clarity jumps out at me from behind the phone.  Grandpa calls and would LOVE to drive  45 minutes to spend part of the day with a sick child so mother can take care of the rest of the world. Mercy abounds!

This one monumental gesture of kindness lights a spark in me.  My cold and confused heart warms from the gift it has received and it feels like giving too.  It feels like calling work to say that business is never more important than children.  It feels like fetching and delivering the forgotten school report.  It feels like completing the child chores that were left undone last night.  It feels like attending the Architecture Fair to support not only it’s own child, but the others whose parents didn’t hear their hearts today.

My heart is rewarded with immense gratitude in the form of bear hugs when I arrive back at teen daughter’s school.  It is further elated when it returns home from a brief stop at work to find that, without prompting, the dishwasher has been unloaded by the very same teenager.  The heart knows this path.  It gives generously and without expectation and ends up receiving.  The mind is not as smart.  It would have me judging and measuring out gifts, and calculating retribution.  I really should learn to consult my heart first.  It would save me, and my mind, a lot of trouble.

A Moment In Time

30 Apr 2012 11 Comments

by Deb D in Greatest Hits, Just Life, Parenting Tags: , , , ,

When my first baby was born, my father would come to visit so I could ‘get things done.’  He would sit for hours, rocking my infant daughter to her heart’s content – and his.  I would dash around them cleaning, cooking, and running errands.  Knowing that my baby was loved and cared for, I reveled in my productivity.

I cherished these stints of freedom to catch up – until the day I stopped for a rest and really saw the two of them.  Plopping down on a couch next to my baby and her grandfather, I noticed the joy between them.  With nowhere to go and nothing to do, the pair of them were free to just love each other – to experience the peace of a moment spent together in silence.  I envied my father as I convinced myself that this was a benefit reserved for retired grandparents and not for busy mothers.

Several years and a couple of children later, my youngest daughter, now 8, finds me lying on the floor stretching a tight muscle.  Quickly noticing a rare opportunity, she throws herself onto the floor next to me and sneaks in for a cuddle.  A previous version of me wants to peel her off and set her back on track for the harried morning routine.  But the ‘Live Like You’re Dying’ version of me cuts off the drill sargent in my head with a reminder, ‘Enjoy it! You may not get another chance!’

So I sink into the moment.  Wrapping my arms around my sweet girl, I whisper, “It’s so easy to love you.”  She squeezes me tighter and plants a kiss.  A flood of love engulfs us.  We lay like this in suspended animation.  Time becomes irrelevant.  Life becomes only this moment.

Eventually, voices of the family remind us that the clock has not, in fact, stopped and the school bus waits for no one.  Searching for a delicate way to break our bond, I say to my daughter, “If we stay here coveting each other then all the people who were meant to benefit from our presence in their day will miss us.  They won’t get to share the gift of you and me today.  We need to spread our love around.  We need to do what we’re meant to do.”  Without pause, without doubt, my daughter trumps my logic with her own wisdom.  “Mom,” she replies, “THIS is what we’re meant to do.”

Yes, baby, it is.  How are you, at eight years old, so wise?  And I, at the tender age of 42, am just learning these lessons that you know so well?  With regret, I review the scant amount of times I’ve stopped long enough for a child to slip into my arms.  I feel actual pain in my chest when I recall visions of me dragging a child by the hand with quickening steps.  I shudder as I hear scripts play back in my head, ‘Let’s go. Not now. No time. HURRY!’

I could drown myself in sadness over lost moments.  Instead, I vow to change.  Never a day will go by that I don’t offer a hug or ask for a kiss or speak the love words.  Never again will I be unapproachable to a child.  Never, will I miss the fullness of a moment spent in stillness.

Saved By the Son, Again

19 Apr 2012 3 Comments

by Deb D in Just Life, Parenting, Reconciling Tags: , ,

I may have misrepresented myself in a previous blog about my management of a busy schedule.  Given the fact that it was only the first week of a ‘mind-numbing’ schedule, I was still in possession of a sense of humor when I wrote about it.

Four weeks, and many mess-ups later, that sense of humor vanished and my brain exploded.  It was one of those days when you wake up feeling almost as tired as when you went to bed.  The insane busyness had finally caught up with me and stripped me of any reserve energy.

This particular day involved three trips between home and a town 30 or more minutes away.  I won’t bore you with a math problem, but let’s agree that it equaled a LOT of time in the car, especially for a Mom whose personal fuel tank is on empty.

So when I arrived at a sports field and found no one there, I snapped.   Immediately I knew it was my mistake.  Why wouldn’t it be?  Hadn’t I botched the schedule twice already this week?  I had shrugged off the first mistake, felt annoyed at the second, but came unglued on this, the third occassion.

Having a car full of children (not all my own), gave me pause.  I was actually proud of myself for pre-determining “Will anyone be scared if I start yelling?”  When they assured me that they wouldn’t be emotionally scarred, I unleashed a string of PG-rated curses against calendars and schedules, and no one in particular, that lasted longer than a few breaths.  Then came the tearless whimpering and stomping of fists on the steering wheel.  It was a full-on adult temper tantrum.  Like an irrational two year old, I couldn’t stop myself, until…

A hand reached across the front seat – the hand belonging to the same son who recently pulled me from the clutches of despair with his heartfelt sentiment.  This time, he employed quick wit to rescue me, and a car full of kids, from the Mommy breakdown that threatened to ruin the lot of us.

With feigned seriousness, my son began reciting Ricky Bobby’s irreverant dinner table grace.  “Dear little four pound baby Jesus….”  That’s all it took.  The entire car erupted into fits of laughter.  My son continued ad libbing a mock prayer sprinkled with requests that his ‘Mama regain her sanity.’

Though I’m not a fan of blasphemy, I felt that maybe even Heaven was laughing at the site of this car full of lunatics.  What an amazing remedy humor is!  Once again,  negativity was transformed by a sensitive, humorous, loving 13 year old boy.

The ride home was uproarious.  We opened the windows, blasted the tunes, and sang at the top of our lungs, effectively releasing all tension that had accumulated in the past month.

Despite the fact that I’d secretly like to claim dominion over my emotions, I openly admit that I can be as vulnerable as a small child when stress crosses my path.  But again, I recognize that where the vulnerability of an adult meets the love of a child, amazing things happen.  Children have a special brand of magic that imparts perspective on life.

So although I’ll do my best to remain in command of my faculties, I suspect I will forever be the colorful, emotional, unpredictable mother that my children enjoy saving.

A Female Prerogative

05 Apr 2012 1 Comment

by Deb D in Crack A Smile, Just Life, Parenting, Uncategorized Tags: , ,

If I had a dime for every time someone has described my little girl as ‘sweet,’ I’d be able to pay for her college tuition.  She owns sweetness.  But there are moments when sweet turns salty.

Return with me to a scene in my kitchen seven months ago….Eight year old daughter is throwing a tantrum worthy of a Terrible Two.  She slings accusations of treason, threats of mutiny, and plenty of parent bashing.  My crime: signing her up to play fall Lacrosse.  By the magnitude of her reaction, you’d think I’d told her she was committed to prison or to an orphange.

In my most delicate and patient Mama voice, I reminded Miss Sweetness that I signed her up for this session months before – when she was enjoying lacrosse.  “But I DON’T love it now and I WON’T do it and you CAN’T make me and….” screamed the angel with her halo on fire.  The tension escalated when I told her definitively that she would be honoring her committment to the team – i.e. I’m not throwing away hundreds of dollars in fees.  BUT, no worries, Peach, I wouldn’t think of signing you up again after this season.  You’ve made your wishes clear.

Periodically, the tantrums replayed themselves.  Each time, husband facetiously pointed out, “We’re gonna miss this.”  When emails reminded me to sign up for the upcoming lacrosse season, I confidently hit delete, delete, delete.

Enter Peach on the opening day of Spring lacrosse.  “Mom?  I was talking to my friends today and decided I want to play lacrosse.”

Silence.

More silence.

I was livid.  And speechless – which turns out to be a very lucky (and uncommon) thing.  Lucky because I’m certain I would have regretted a word or two.  Visualize me, if you will, a cartoon character – face beet red, steam shooting out of its ears.  A multi-dimensional “Oh?!#$%” escapes my lips.  “Yes,” she replied guiltlessly.  “And I’ll need a new mouthguard and shorts.”  Off she skipped, blissfully ignorant of the fury rising within me.  Admidst the brew of poisonous thoughts in my head, a glimmer of admiration popped up.  Imagine, after what she put me through, she has the nerve to declare that she simply ‘has changed her mind.’

How frequently I’ve commiserated with girlfriends who refuse to change their mind or admit a wrong choice for fear of inconveniencing or angering another.  Why, and when, do we lose the courage to speak our truth without fretting over what others will think?  Might it be best, then, to honor this courage in a young girl instead of stamping out the fire with a vengeful reaction?

I coach myself against the desire to make my little tigress suffer in kind for previous infringements on my sanity.  Still, I reach deep in my pockets for a reason to deny  her new whim.  I even consider how she will compensate me for the late fee I’ll incur.  (I can hear Yoda assessing me, ‘The need for justice is strong in this one.’ )

Failing to justify the need to reap revenge for revenge’s sake, I return to the fact that my daughter is just 8.  I can’t hold that against her.   In fact, I can learn from her.  I just hope I can muster her level of courage when I need it.  If I’ve made a committment to you, be forewarned, I may change my mind simply for the practice.

Aging Gracefully

26 Mar 2012 1 Comment

by Deb D in Just Life Tags: ,

As a Physical Therapist, I work with debilitated elderly.  Therefore, I have few examples of aging well.  The active 85 year old with the trifecta of an intact intellect, healthy physique, and winning personality does not often cross my path.  Which is why I was smitten with an adorable woman I saw on a talk show whose video review of the Olive Garden Restaurant went viral.  An active woman, Marilyn Hagerty seemed a model for geriatrics – poised, authentic, fun, optimistic.

In contrast, my forlorn elderly patients frequently impart this impractical advice: “Don’t get old.”  Really?  What’s the alternative – die young?  The more I hear this bit against aging, the harder it is to hold back my snarky comebacks.  I’d like to ask these Negative Nellies, ‘when should I kill myself then? 50? 60?’

The compassionate side of me knows that aging is not for sissies.  Often, the losses seem greater than the gains.  An elderly post-surgical patient said, “They (the surgeons) keep taking things out but they never put anything in.”  It’s a dilemma really.  The will to live a long life is strong.  The temptation to complain about the process is stronger.

We get all wrapped up in youth, digging our heels in while age drags us kicking and screaming from year to year.  Some fight bitterly.  Some scoff at age with reckless behaviors and silly decisions – aka mid-life crises.  Few age gracefully.  Carolyn Myss says, “You can’t avoid turning 50 if you were meant to turn 51.”  Logic wins. 

I distinctly recall the feeling I had about ‘aging’ in my twenties.  Every year got better – more freedom, more money, more respect, more stuff, more experiences, more wisdom, MORE.  After childbearing, the ‘more’ became more bills, more work, more worry.  Yes, there was also more joy, but it’s hard to see that when you’re submerged in the thick of it.  I imagine the elderly might observe that the senior years involve more sickness and more loss. 

So how to stay positive amidst the inevitable changes? If we take our clues from Marilyn, we’ll position ourselves to stay in the game – literally.  When Ms. Hagerty’s video review went viral, this was her reaction, “I didn’t care.  I had to get to Bridge Club.” 

Therein lies a benefit of aging.  The freedom from caring what people think and say and expect of you.  The freedom to cast off the word ‘should’ and replace it with ‘I want’ and ‘I will.’  When I tried to encourage a 90 year old patient to stay out of bed during the day so her systems would function better, she looked me square in the eye and said, “No one’s gonna tell me I can’t sleep when I want!”  Amen, sister!  Can I get you a blanket?

The elderly can lay claim to freedoms reserved just for them.  I look forward to that part of aging. For now, when my 42 year old self feels like mourning its losses, I’ll picture my 80 year old self –full of pep like Marilyn Hagerty – admonishing it.  ‘Shame on you,’ she’ll chide.  ‘I wish I was 43 again!’

Calendars, Cops, and Country Singers

12 Mar 2012 Leave a comment

by Deb D in Just Life, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , ,

When my online calendar gave me the following alert, “Caution!  There are conflicts in your schedule.” I paused, briefly.  No kidding, I thought.  Two working parents, three kids in sports, an aging dog, doctors and dentists appointments for all….There are bound to be a few conflicts in the schedule.  Until I figure out how to invent time or bi-locate, those conflicts are going to have to learn to co-exist.

This week marked the beginning of a mind-numbing schedule full of activities and appointments that are all essential (according to their participants.)  I sometimes envision my online calendar with a life of its own – like the 1970s sci-fi movies about smart computers taking over humanity.  It appears as if I enter one item and it magically multiplies until the once neat white/gray grid is eclipsed in a wall of red.

Joking aside, I’m well-aware of my responsibility in creating this mess.  I’ve given too many yes’ and not enough no’s – clearly.  But like many things in life, if you think too much about decisions before making them, you get stuck in the details and never move forward.  So, I say yes without having any idea how I will manage the details.  A clever man – aka husband – once said, “we’ll never be able  to afford kids on paper but somehow it all works out.”  So far, he’s right.

Darryl Worley advises,

Sounds like life to me plain old destiny

You gotta hold on tight just enjoy the ride

Get used to all this unpredictability

Sounds like life.

I’ve surrendered to this somewhat comforting outlook on life.  Which is why, when asked to be a home-stay volunteer for an out-of-town student group this weekend, I gave a sincere ‘yes.’  Might be fun – after the extra cleaning, (i.e. gutting and fumigating a child’s bedroom), food shopping, and juggling of carpools.

So why take on so much?  Truth is, I love being busy.  The ‘busy’ reminds me that I am abundant.  I am needed.   Taylor Swift points out, “Life makes love look hard.”  Love takes work and patience and time.  But someday, when I look at my kids’ healthy, straight teeth, I’ll forget the umpteen trips to the orthodontist and the endless arguments about brushing and flossing.  When I hear them tell stories about the time they scored a goal or broke a bone, I’ll forget the rushing around from one sports field to the next.    I’m willing to bet that Trace Adkins is correct in predicting, “I’m gonna miss this.” 

For now, I have to keep a sense of humor and hope that those around me will do the same.  Like when the police officer pulled me over and asked, “Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going?” I replied with a definitive, “Yes, I do.  Very fast.  Would you like to see my calendar?”

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