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"We are each so much more than what some reduce to measuring."

Karen Kaiser Clark

Marlo Morgan wrote a fascinating book called, "Mutant Message Downunder."  It's about a walkabout that she went on with a group of Australian Aboriginees.  After the book was published, some controversy arose regarding the book's authenticity, but I met Marlo in my girlfriend's apartment in Vancouver long before she was published, and I believed her story.  

There were many beautiful things that she learned from the Aboriginal people, one of which had to do with labels.  Instead of calling someone in their tribe a doctor or painter or dancer, they held the title, 'interested in medicine' or 'interested in art.'  And they could change their title at any time!  Someone could be 'interested in medicine,' for years, then decide to become 'interested in dance.'  Doesn't that seem liberating?

This concept really resonates with me now that I hold the title of, "Stay-at-home-Mom."  I dislike this label.  It implies that all I do is stay at home mothering.  It doesn't define me.  I find, at parties, it's a bit of a conversation-stopper.  People don't know where to go with it. 

Instead of asking the mundane question, "So what do you do?"  I've started asking people what they're passionate about, or what they're interested in.  So far, people have rolled with it and I've enjoyed some great conversation.  

Don't get me wrong, I am very proud to be raising my two daughters full-time, but today I think I'll be 'interested-in-writing.'  

Bittersweet

"The little things?  The little moments?  They aren't little."

Jon Kabat Zinn 

I like the word 'bittersweet.'  It's strange that there aren't more words like it in the English language, because we often feel two opposing emotions simultaneously.  It happened to me last week.  

It was a warm, spring afternoon and the girls and I were heading to the beach for a picnic.  The car was quite toasty when we first got in, so I buckled the girls into their seats and unrolled all of the windows before starting 'Goldie's' engine.  (Incidentally, Pip named my husband's macho red jeep, 'Creampup!')  Pip requested "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree," because she likes to look for black horses and cherry trees on our road trips, so I turned on the music.

I heard giggles coming from the back seat so I snuck a peek in the rear-view mirror. Crazybaby had a look of happy astonishment on her face as she enjoyed the new sensation of wind in her face.  And there was Pip; the wind was blowing her hair all over the place, her face was speckled with moving beams of sunlight, and she was singing through a glorious smile.  "Is it too windy for you Pip?"  

"No Mama, I love it!"  Pip yelled back.

I suddenly thought about all of the, "summer-wind-blowing-your-hair-with-car-tunes-blaring," times that lay ahead of Pip.  I hoped that she would enjoy many such experiences in her lifetime, but the excitement I felt for her was accompanied with a little sadness at the thought that I probably wouldn't witness most of those moments.  Bittersweet.

A few months ago I had a conversation with my dad about how difficult it must have been for him when we left home as teenagers.  Imagine one day just watching your child leave for University in another province, when you've known exactly where they were every minute of the day for sixteen years!  Dad just smiled and said, "When it happens, you're ready for it."  I trust his words, but I'm glad that I've got at least another thirteen years to get ready for it.

To Dance

"Kids: they dance before they know 

there is anything that isn't music."

William Stafford

We have a little evening ritual that has somehow come to be known as, "Nudie-Lie-Down."  It happens during the time after dinner and before the girls' bath.  While one parent clears away the dinner dishes, the other parent takes the girls into the living room, strips them down to their respective underpants & diaper, and plays.  (Just to clarify, both parents remain fully clothed.  Not that I have anything against naked dishwashers.)  Usually Nudie-Lie-Down  involves a bit of wrestling, the playing of various musical instruments, and of course, dancing.  

Our favourite song to dance to at the moment is called, "Hot N' Cold," and it's a real crowd pleaser.  Even Crazybaby does a form of "seat-dancing," because she's not standing on her own just yet.  Last night Pip decided that it would be appropriate to lose the underpants and don a pair of fluorescent green goggles for the dancing portion of our nudie-lie-down.  There she was, buck naked except for the green goggles, dancing her little heart out while Big Daddy-O and I tried to contain our laughter.

It made me wish that I was as unselfconscious as Pip.  I do recall Irish Jigging in someone's kitchen at a party once, but that was after a few ale.  It seems that we start off as kids being completely uninhibited, then something changes and we spend the rest of our lives trying to regain the confidence to express ourselves freely.  What is it that changes?  Is it simply the awareness that we are separate from others?  Is it the perception of peer-judgement?  A disapproving glance?  I think I'm becoming more uninhibited in my old age as I care less about what others think.  It's not an easy one for me, but I'm learning...from a be-goggled little nudist.

Being Present

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, 

concentrate the mind on the present moment."

Buddha

I recently met a lovely man and talented artist named Andreas Kunert.  He is a stone muralist, and I was fortunate enough to visit his masterpiece in the Nanaimo Convention Centre.  The piece is awe-inspiring, and I felt honored to be witnessing it in the presence of Andreas.  I asked him what he thought about when he was creating his art.  "I'm thinking about the next stone," he said.  His answer reminded me of a video I saw about a quilter.  The interviewer asked her the same question I had asked Andreas and she said, "When I quilt, I quilt."  It's so simple!  I suspect that all successful artists are very present when they're creating beauty.  

It's a good reminder for me as I multi-task my way through the day: preparing meals, doing laundry, scheduling appointments, tidying the house...and basically doing everything it takes to run a household and take care of two kids, two cats and a dog!   Am I 'present' when I'm performing all of these tasks?  Absolutely not.  When I'm slicing grapes, I'm not just slicing grapes, I'm chatting with Pip, I'm watching Crazybaby crawl around the kitchen, I'm pausing to scramble the eggs or butter the toast or pour the water, and I'm thinking about what else needs to be done to get us out the door in the next hour.   

Multi-tasking seems like a necessity at this time in my life, but I could be wrong.  Is multi-tasking overrated?  Maybe the times that I forget to check the jeans' pockets for Kleenex before throwing them in the laundry are the times that I'm trying to do too much at once.  Multi-tasking allows you to do more in less time, but at what cost?  It's food for thought. 

Ekhart Tolle writes about "awakened doing," in A New Earth.  He says there are three modalities of awakened doing: acceptance, enjoyment and enthusiasm.  He writes, "you need to be vigilant to make sure that one of them operates whenever you are engaged in doing anything at all-from the most simple task to the most complex."  He goes on to say that if you're not in one of these three states, "look closely and you'll find that you're creating suffering for yourself or others."  

With that in mind, I accept that all of these chores need to be done, but I'm not enthusiastic about them and I don't enjoy them.  I'm happiest when everyone is fed and clothed and the house is relatively tidy, (notice I didn't use the word 'clean,') and I can just BE with my kids.  Yes it's important for them to see that we all have jobs to do, (and I often enlist Pip's help), but we are all a lot happier when I'm able to be fully present with the girls.  And they are such wonderful little teachers because they are always so present themselves.  

Mister Rogers on a box of tea

"When we love a person, we accept him or her exactly as is: the lovely with the unlovely, the strong with the fearful, the true mixed in with the facade, and of course, the only way we can do it is by accepting ourselves that way."

Fred Rogers

 "Are you sure you won't come with us?"  The sun was shining on Saturday and it was a glorious morning to take in our local outdoor Farmers' Market.  My husband usually takes the girls on his own so that I can enjoy a couple of hours of much needed solitude, but this day was so lovely that he asked me to go along.  I thought about it for a few seconds and said,

"No thanks honey, you go ahead."  He looked disappointed so I tried to explain, "I really need this time; I haven't been on my own at all this week."  His expression didn't change.

I knew what he was thinking.  It was a beautiful day to be out together as a family and the market was a place where many of our friends went to socialize, buy great food and listen to music, as a family.  Family-time was important.  I started feeling the tiniest bit guilty, so I kept talking, more to convince myself than my husband.  "It's the beginning of the weekend and if I have a little time to myself now, then we can do something all together later."  

Big Daddy-O and I dressed the girls and before long I was delivering smooches and watching them walk to the car.  I closed the door and heard my girlfriend's voice in my head saying, "Good for you for recognizing what you need."  It was just what I needed to hear.  I know myself well.  My batteries get re-charged by spending time on my own, not by walking among crowds of people, and during this particular week I hadn't made time for myself.  

So, what did I do with my two hours of solitude?  I turned on some music, stripped all of the beds, (don't worry, it gets better,) threw the sheets in the laundry, then gave myself a little home-spa treatment.  A leisurely lavender bubble-bath with a little exfoliating scrub, followed by a hot shower and some yummy, grapefruit moisturizing lotion.  I felt like a new woman.

My little family arrived back at home and informed me of their adventures.  My daughter told me I smelled good.  My husband told me I looked good, then he listed all of the friends he had seen at the market.  I don't think he was trying to make me feel badly for staying at home, but he wasn't exactly saying, "Good for you for recognizing what you need," either, which is why I had to say it to myself.  I have a very strong network of family and friends and a wonderful husband, but I also have to be my own advocate.  I need to treat myself as I would a treasured friend.  By the way, treasured friends, I highly recommend a little home-spa from time to time!

Extreme Sport

"If everything seems under control, 

you're just not going fast enough." 

 Mario Andretti.

Motherhood is an extreme sport.  As a mother, you feel all emotions to the extreme; love, fear, tenderness, frustration, worry, joy, happiness...you name it.  And quite often you swing from one intense emotion to its' polar opposite in a matter of minutes!  

Last Wednesday, for example, I ricocheted from joy to frustration to love to laughter and back to joy again in one afternoon.  It all began with joy.  Although it was a gloomy, wet day, I got out the rain gear and nestled the girls into the double-stroller for an afternoon walk.  If you're a resident of the Comox Valley, you know how beautiful Filberg Park is, and we're lucky enough to be able to walk there in minutes.  As we entered the park I saw a dozen deer sleeping in the field.  A little fawn stood up to investigate us and I looked in the stroller to see Pip's reaction.  She was sound asleep.  There's something terribly moving about watching your child sleep.  It's a profoundly beautiful thing.  

I pushed the stroller through the park, down to the beach-side promenade, and I felt as though I was truly seeing every beautiful flower, every precious plant.  There were no other human visitors to the park that day, but I saw deer at every turn.  Crazybaby was happily absorbing the beautiful scenery while her sister slept, and I felt an intense wave of gratitude.  Strolling with my two beautiful, healthy girls in such a gorgeous part of the world, I was filled with joy.  Pure joy.

Little did I know that an hour later I would be standing in the kitchen with two girls crying and clinging onto my legs.  My husband was at a function for dinner that night, so I was flying solo.  (I have such respect for single parents.)  I had awoken Pip when we got home from our walk, otherwise she would've been up until midnight.  She has never had an easy time waking up from naps, and this afternoon was no exception.  She was upset that she missed the park and she wanted to go back.  Then she was upset that I couldn't carry her into the house.  Pip reverts back to infancy when she's grumpy, so she started crying and repeating the plea, "Mama."  Naturally, her behaviour prompted Crazybaby to start wailing.  By the time I got us all into the house and out of our jackets, both girls had tears streaming down their hot little red cheeks.  I wiped their noses and tears,  then I foolishly tried to make my way into the kitchen to start cooking dinner.  My daughters followed me and each little body latched onto a leg.

At this point, I took a deep breath, turned the stove off and just sat down on the kitchen floor with a daughter on each knee.  Screw the steamed vegetables.  My babies needed some love, so I abandoned my dinner plan and tried to soothe them.  It didn't work.  Pip had worked herself into such a state that she was inconsolable.  I needed a distraction.  I decided to resort to the thirty-nine-inch babysitter.  I hoisted both girls up and into the living room to watch The Wiggles.  After several minutes of cuddling and Wiggle-watching on the couch, Pip had calmed down.  "I'm happy now, Mama," she finally reported, and I was released back into the kitchen.

Minutes later, the girls and I sat down to dinner: grilled cheese sandwiches with grapes on the side.  (You do what you have to do.)  Oh yes, I had a glass of Merlot as well.  I had earned it, and the meal required it.  I was not prepared for what came next.  Little Pip, sitting next to me in her booster seat, put her hand on my arm and said, "You're filled with love, Mama.  And soon, it'll go out to daddy and out to me, and then back; back into your heart."  I swear those were her very words.  I had my notebook on the counter behind me and I wrote everything down, word for word.  I certainly was filled with love.  Pip got that right.

Because our nutritious dinner was late, we went straight from the table to our bath-time routine.  Pip hopped up on the toilet before entering the tub.  She decided not to use the little toddler seat, so she was using all of the strength in her arms to keep herself from falling into the toilet bowl.  "Mama," she began, "your bum is soooooooooo big that you can't fall into the toilet."  Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion from my day of extreme sport, but I honestly could not stop laughing.

My emotions came full circle while watching the girls in the tub together.  Crazybaby played peek-a-boo with Pip and used the shower curtain to cover her face.  They were simply making each other laugh, but seeing my daughters erupt in fits of giggles filled me with joy once again.  

It's no wonder that I sometimes feel out-of-control; my emotions are bungee-jumping all over the place.  I'm more of an artistic soul than an athletic one, and have never been interested in extreme sports.  It's a new feeling for me.  I prefer calmer, more predictable sports like hiking, beach-combing and floating in warm, salty bodies of water.  I'm adapting though.  I'm learning to go with the flow, to drop my own agenda sometimes so that I can really be in the moment.  I accept that some moments are going to be like cliff-diving, but others will be as sweet as floating in a warm, salty sea.

Frances

"We can only be said to be alive in those moments 

when our hearts are conscious of our treasures." 

Thornton Wilder

Her name was Frances.  I knew from my girlfriend Susan, who had taught Frances in the first grade, that she was a special girl.  I was teaching Grade Three when Frances was in my class.  

I was passionate about getting the kids to write, so I had them each keep a 'writer's notebook.'  It wasn't meant to be a journal, it was intended to be a very special book where my young authors could collect ideas for future writings.  They could record little snippets of conversation, notes, quotations, thoughts, absolutely anything they were inspired to jot down.  The writers' notebooks would never be graded, but I did collect them from time to time to provide the kids with feedback.  I loved reading through these books.  They came in all shapes and sizes, and were as unique as the writers who owned them.

I wish I could remember more of what Frances wrote, (and said for that matter,) but one little sentence of hers has stuck with me over time.  She wrote, "I'm really enjoying my life."  She was eight years old. 

Now that I have children of my own I wonder, how does one encourage that level of self-reflection and appreciation at such a tender age?  Perhaps it's through modeling.  I trust that if we're grateful mamas, we're going to raise grateful kids.

Have a happy Mothers' Day you beautiful mamas!