39 ways to have a Beautiful Life

39 ways to have a Beautiful Life…in celebration of my 39^th birthday.

1. Breathe.  Inhale fresh air from the great outdoors.  Stop to smell the tree blossoms, pick a daisy, watch a bird in flight.  Stay in the moment, slowing down enough to enjoy the simple things in life.

2. Jump.  Jump on a trampoline, a bed or a pile of laundry.  Jumping is what kids do to have fun.  Take the hint.

3. Smile.  Practice in the mirror, if need be.  Then try it out on at least two other people.  See if it really is contagious.

4. Rest. Sit back and relax in a chair that reclines.  Then close your eyes and wait for it: that sigh of contentment.

5. Read.  Preferably something that provokes you, lifts you, challenges you, entertains you, inspires you or encourages you.  But if you are not in the mood for any of that, read Facebook statuses.  They’ll do in a pinch.

6. Cook.  By yourself, with a friend, with your spouse, with your children, with your students.  Try it.  It will either make you hungrier or take away any and all impulses you might have had for binge eating.  Especially when you cook with a five-year old finger-licker/nose-picker.

7. Walk.  Go for long walks.  By yourself, this will be rejuvenating.  With a friend, it will be motivating.

8. Work.  Work hard at what you do.  Give it 100 % while you are at it.  Then, when you are done the task, leave it alone.  And go play.

9. Play.  Play harder than you work.  Life is about more than just going through the motions.  Enjoy the moments that matter most to you.

10. Choose joy.  It is part attitude, part emotion and part choice.  If you choose joy, you are two-thirds of the way there already.

11. Have faith.  It can move mountains.  It’s pretty good at molehills too.

12. Treat yourself.  Buy something just because.  Then use it.  A lot.

13. Love.  Love quietly, love loudly.  Love anyway.

14. Express yourself.  Through written word, verbal  exchange or digital text.  Tell someone who cares.  And tell them often.

15. Exercise.   Set goals and achieve them.  Then set new goals.  Keep at it.  And make it doable.

16. Photograph much.  Use your camera to capture your life.  A picture is actually worth more than 1000 words.  If you look close enough.

17. Travel.  Go on that trip, vacation, voyage.  Visit those places that you’ve always dreamed about.

18. Kiss often.  Kiss a lover, a friend, a father, a mother, a child.   Kiss a stuffed animal, when all else fails.  And on St. Paddy’s Day, kiss someone who is Irish.

19.  Pursue your wildest dreams.  Chase them down like a relentless hound after a fox.  Don’t let them get away.  Spend your life following them.  And relish the feeling when you finally see them realized.

20. Pray.  God listens.  He hears.  I know.  I’ve heard his Voice in a thousand different situations.

21. Step outside your comfort zone.  Do something that challenges you.  Something that makes you uncomfortable even as it makes you grow as a person.  Use  this opportunity as a springboard to help another person do the same.

22. Talk to a child.  Children know stuff adults have long forgotten.  Kids can remind you what really matters.  When all is said and done.

23. Learn something new every day.  And ask yourself, “What did I learn today?”  Don’t take ‘nothing’ as an answer.  You know better than that.

24. Re-connect with a long-lost friend.  Write then a letter, an e-mail , a Facebook message.  Tell them how much their friendship has meant to you over the years.

25.  Mean what you say and say what you mean.  Don’t be obscure.  Or vague.  Unless you are at a formal dinner party with people you don’t know.  In which, ignore everything I just said.

26. Laugh.  Often.  Heartily.  Loud.  Enthusiatically.  So, so good for the body.  Instant muscle relaxer.

27.  Forgive.  Seventy-times seven.

28. Get a hobby.  You’ll need it for when you retire.  Might as well start trying out the more expensive options while you still have the money to finance it.

29. Let go of the past.  That was then.  This is now.  Live in the day you are given.  And let tomorrow take care of itself.  But that’s another point all together.

30. Embrace you imperfections.  You aren’t perfect.  Neither is anyone else.  You know that.  So do they.  Let’s get on with what really matters: making the most of what we’ve got to work with.  Short of Botox, what you see is what you get.  (Until tomorrow when you wake up with a huge zit.)

31. Appreciate the little things in life.  They are what matter sometimes most of all.  Appreciate the little things that other people do for you.  Sometimes they are the game changers.  The moments in life when the tide turns and the perspectives change.

32. Join a club.  A committee, a group, class.  Be part of something bigger.  Not because you are paid to do it.  But because you want to.

33.  Compliment others.  Make much of the people in your life.  Tell the people around you how awesome you think they are.  Because they are.  Awesome.

34. Seek. Search for something greater to fill the void than material possessions.  Than earthly gains.  That stuff will only last for so long.  And then the search will begin again.  Fill that void with what really matters.  With Whom really matters.  And find out how the search leads to a deeper understandings of what really satisfies.

35. Have birthday parties every year.  Celebrate life.  Each year you are alive is cause for fireworks.  You made it!  To another year!  You’re still here!  How great is that!

36. Make new friends, new connections and new networks.  While there is nothing quite like an old friend, you’ll never know what new friend is on their way to becoming that soon-to-be old friend unless you meet them today.  Get talking!

37. Enjoy as many moments of your life as is humanly possible.  If there are only two moments each day, milk those two moments for all they are worth.  They are precious moments.  Even if they are rare.  If you are fortunate to have more than two, than pass the love around.  Other people could benefit from your positive outlook on life.

38. Love your neighbor as yourself.  Be empathic.  Be compassionate.  Caring.  Kind.  Merciful.  Do unto others.  Even when they don’t return the favor.  But don’t be surprised when your life starts setting a new kind of standard for the rest of the world.

39. Love God with all your heart and soul and strength.  All else pales in comparison.

To Thine Own Self Be True…

Post-Mother’s Day 2013 (survived!).    And so here I am reflecting now, on a few of my favorite things.  Mothers and holidays and good old-fashioned truth-telling.   Blog style.   And I got to thinking about motherhood.    About the mothers I know and love, and about how each special mother, from those who are steady and patient to those who are more boisterous and bold: each Mama I know is to her own self, true.

True.

True to her calling.  True to herself.  True to the mama she is and was meant to be.

And truth matters.  Because it is reveals who we really are.  I was confused today by a writer claiming to be  truth-teller.  A beautiful mama whose blog writing I follow.  And what confused me was this.  She has always been characterized by certain behaviors and traits- which she has carefully revealed to her reading audience through selective choice.  She staged it to be this way.   And then, out from nowhere, came something  completely opposite of what she had built herself to be.  Nothing bad, nothing harmful.    Just confusing.  And in and of itself, what was presented was perfectly acceptable behaviour for another woman’s style of mothering.   But because it was HER writing, it was confusing.  Because I always thought she wanted me, the reader, to see her in a certain light.  And now she was completely changing the rules.

And this is what I was really thinking.  If she is who she always said she was, I wish for her to stand by that philosophy.  If not, then she should be whomever she says she is now.  It is confusing for those who have come to know and love you for who you are only for you to then change your authentic self to something else so as to please another group of people.  To gain popularity or favor.    I just wish I could say to her, “To thine own true self remain true.  Whomever that self might be.”

And so, upon reflection, I have decided to highlight the many faces of authentic  mothering that I have known.  And admire each for remaining true to whomever they believe they should be.  As a mother.

There are some mothers in my friendship circle who have always known they wanted to be a mother.  From their earliest memories of being themselves a child, they knew in their heart they would one day love a child of their very own.  These mothers are natural nurturers.  From a little girl, they could find in a crowd that one person who needed a little extra love and attention.  And they could make that person feel accepted and included.  They were natural empathizers, knowing just what to say and what to do to make those around them feel loved and cherished.  These mamas are often put on a pedestal.  But really, they are just doing what comes naturally and easy to them.  They appear effortless in their mothering.  And it looks easy because it is: when you love something, it isn’t work.  It’s a joy.

There are other mothers whom I have known, who have grown into mothering.  It was a learning process.  They always wanted children but just weren’t quite sure what to do with the lil’ creatures when they arrived.  “You have to do WHAT with these baby wipes, and WHEN…?”  I can hear them incredulously muttering to their Hubbies.  And that, having been said during pre-natal classes only after having been stunned into reality from the grueling labour and delivery video.  These moms, love their hearts!, did their best to muddle their way through in the dark.  Finding their niche with every passing year.    Getting their groove back with every passing milestone.  And doing a bang-up job at this gig we call mothering in spite of their lack of experience.

There are some moms who were surprised with becoming a mother.  Perhaps it was the timing that threw them off-guard.  Perhaps the circumstances.  Perhaps it was a combination of the two.  And some of these moms, if they were to be brutally honest, would say they don’t love the act of mothering.   And that becoming a mother isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  But these moms, they love their children.  And they are committed to seeing their children through childhood into their adult years.  Committed to giving their offspring what they have- out of a heart of sacrifice and a heart of devotion.  They are warrior mamas.  They are soldiers.  And these Mamas are giving out of a heart of love as much as are those whom we might hold to a idealized stereotype.  It just feels a little different.  And that’s okay.

There are some Moms in this circle of friendship who are screamers.  Hollerers.  They love to yell.   They love to raise their voices in exclamation.  They might have once been a drill sergeant.   And they epitomize the mother attributed to in the infamous  Mom Song.  They might even have mailed in contributing lines for that piece which was sung by an amazing soprano singer (who might herself be a hollerer-mom.  I can just tell.)  These moms operate on one decibel, and it may or may not break the sound barrier.  But they fiercely love their children.  And they just might be the first of all moms to have the quick-wittedness inside them to impulsively jump in front of a bus so as to save someone or something.  Even if that might merely be their child’s cherished teddy-bear (incidentally, which is worth more than its weight in gold to their precious, screaming toddler.)

Some Moms are reckless.  They love to live life on the edge.  They live life large and loud and free.  Others are quiet and introverted.  Blink, and you might miss them in a crowd.  Some mothers love to do crafts.  They are the reason we have Pinterest.  Others hate the darn things (their motto: crafts=pinsanity).  Some moms are amazing cooks.  Some can’t even boil water.  Some mothers love to be alone, away from the prying hands of little children.  Other mothers long for hands held close and warm embraces.  Moms come in every shape and size, in every color and variety.

And you couldn’t find the same prototype twice.  They come custom-designed.

Some mothers, to the naked eye, just seem perfect.  And when you size yourself up next to them, you feel you can never add up to as much.   They just know how to ‘mother’ with such ease and grace.  They are models of what the stereotypical mother might be, were she truly a reality. And they give other mothers a source of inspiration and motivation of purpose.  Other moms seem to care less about perfection.  They would rather you and the rest of the world, know as much.   Because they love being the black sheep of the mothering crowd.   They thrive on being ‘good-enough’.  Anything more would be a little too much cotton candy for their liking, thank you very much.  But these moms- they still show up for their kids, in spite of the image they often portray.  And they are much better than their “good enough’ projection seems to indicate.

Excluding my own mother, and trying my best to be impartial!  I have to say.  Amongst the circle of mother-friends and acquaintances whom I know and love, there is not one mother I can say is the perfect prototype.  Not one I would hold up to the light and declare, “This one!  She is the true ideal!”  And neither would I want to.  Because every mother is best in her own right.  Every mother is perfectly suited to the mothering she was designed to do.  Because mothering is an art.  It is not an ideal.  It is a calling, not a job.  It is a life-long pursuit, not a milestone marker.  And it is mostly an act of the heart and the soul, not so much an act of physical reflex.

And all of us who call ourselves mothers need not compare ourselves to one another.  Because it is the variety that provides beauty and color.   And if not for the wide array of mothering prototypes, our children would not have the custom-designed Mama that was specifically chosen for them.  The travesty lies in trying to be someone we are not.  In believing we are not good enough.  In thinking we need to be more like one type of mama and less like another.  It is in our diversity that we find excellence in design.  In our weaknesses, we find we are made whole.  And each Mama must be the mother she was called to be.  For that is being a mother at one’s very best. That is being authentic.  That is being true.

To each one, be true.

To each mother: be true.  True to yourself.  To your family.  True to your world.  True to your Maker.  And true to the mother you were designed to be.  It is only in embracing who we truly are that we can then accept others for who they were designed to be as well.   And a mother does it right, most of the time, when she is authentically herself (allowing for a few mishaps here and there!).  She does it right when she is true.  That is, when she is truly the kind of mother she was meant to be.

Mother’s Day Eve…(a.k.a. Just another Mother’s Day)

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.  Let me hear a whoop-whoop from the peanut gallery.

Ah, Mother’s Day!   A day of great expectations and high aspirations.  Look it.  Here’s my unbiased advice for surviving the day.  Let’s just all take a b-iiii-gggg breath.  And then, let us exhale in unison.  Now.    Let us release all those fuzzy, pink thoughts about obedient, compliant children and doting, adoring husbands and allow them to go flying out of our heads.    Off to Never-Neverland where they belong.

Because let’s face it: Mother’s Day is every day of the year.  And tomorrow is not really unlike the rest.  However, if you should be so inclined to celebrate, I believe mothers should truly cut themselves some slack- and lower the bar.  Lower the bar, baby!  That way, if your children remember it is Mother’s Day and they make you a card, it will truly be a surprise.  And if your Hubbie gets you a breakfast sandwich from Tim’s, it will come as a complete shock.  And if you get  a dandylion, chapstick, flowers, chocolates, a sweater or a new Corvette: you will truly be blown away from the shock and wonder of it all.  Train yourself to expect little, and when great things happen (i.e. the children get along for the half-hour it takes to eat lunch), you will be pleasantly surprised.  It will come as an utter delight to your weary soul!!

Anyway.  I believe Mother’s Day should come as a complete surprise to us mothers.  We should never, ever know when it is coming.  Mothers always like to know things ahead.  And sadly, that gives us more time to ponder, ruminate, reflect and worry.  Wonder.  Speculate.  Plan and organize.  No mother should EVER have to plan and organize her own day.  So…Mother’s Day should  come on a day when we least expect it…like April Fool’s Day.  Or the middle of January, when we are all depressed about our friends and colleagues heading south.   While we remain behind, vegetating in our freezing cold houses.

Mother’s Day is nice, don’t get me wrong.  I just don’t want it to be the ‘be-all and end-all’ of my year as a mom.  When I say every day is Mother’s Day, what I really mean is this: if your kid gives you an unexpected hug mid-March, save that one as a Mother’s Day memory.  If your Hubby takes you and the kids out for supper in late-June, after arriving home from work to find you asleep on the kitchen floor mid-supper preparations, tuck that memory away for Mother’s Day.  If ANY of your children buy you a Christmas gift with their own money: Mother’s Day.  Cha-ching!

Voila!  Every day is then Mother’s Day! And when you are feeling down and depressed about your miserable existence and lack of attention from the adoring fans we call our children, you can turn your attention to the time, three months ago, when they got it right!  And Mother’s Day can be a carry over from day-to-day, to infinity and beyond!

And if you do not agree, that’s okay too.  I hope you still have another wonderful day as a mother tomorrow anyway.  I, meanwhile, am enjoying a few moments to myself here on Mother’s Day # 365, May 11, 2013..

Spent and Used Up…

It’s been a long day. Preceded by an even longer night. In which I woke, startled by my dream. A telling dream- of projected fears and failures and worries about things to come. And now, here I am again. Ready to head into another night. And then, another day. And on and on.

Sadly, there is nothing new under the sun.

Some days feel like a long string of poorly made sitcoms played back-to-back. Others, an intense drama- leaving me gripping at my seat. Still others have their laudable comic relief, whereby I can find the laughter amidst the everyday scenarios. But some days are like a horror show. And they leave me wondering at the truth that lies within. About what is real and what is not.

Motherhood is like this sometimes. And in spite of our best intentions, these kinds of days are just a poor excuse for cheap entertainment. And that is putting it nicely.
At their worst, days like these make us dearly wish we could switch the channel. And of course, this is not an option. We mothers are in this for the long-haul. And it is tiresome, tedious work. Weeding through to that which is the best and the most sacred in our days. As small a part as that might be. And in doing this: focusing up, rather than down. Choosing to focus our attention- which is pulled this way and that, on those things which are the most worthy. Those things which are precious and beautiful and rare. On those things which might otherwise elude us.

We seek out priceless moments of peace. We focus on the moments that we deem special and significant. We focus on beauty and growth and change and movement. We contemplate. On whatever those moments might be specifically for us. And when we cannot muse- when our tired and aching bodies and minds are completely unable: we let things go. And we forgive ourselves. Realizing there is always tomorrow. Always another day, another opportunity.

To live the life we were given- with confidence and authority. With beauty and grace. With conviction and strength. And all while abiding in the mundane rhythm and flow of our constant days, as under the ever-constant glow of radiant star-shine that is our age-old sun. This is truly being. And it is truly what a mother does best.

I read recently a story that has been told by Max Lucado, best-selling Christian author, writer and preacher, about a lighthouse keeper. The Keeper of the Light was given oil but once a month- precious fuel to keep the lighthouse lamp burning bright. A lamp to light the way for sea-faring vessels and ships looking for safe haven or a reliable means with which to chart their course. But as with those of tender-heart, he received many heartfelt requests from the villagers. Could he spare some oil for a poor peasant woman to warm the family hearth? Could he allow a little oil for another to light his lamp? Still another, could he give a little oil for to lubricate a farmer’s wagon wheel? And to each, the Keeper said a resounding ‘yes’. “Of course he could spare a little here and there.” It was not much to ask, each small request. But in time, the oil supply threatened to run dry. And indeed it did so on the last few days of the month. The lighthouse went dark. And because there was no light to guide and lead the way, the inevitable occurred to the sea-faring vessels which depended on the Keeper to preserve his oils for such a time as this. They crashed upon the rocks and many perished. Shipwreck after shipwreck, and all because of the Keeper’s good intentioned gestures toward those whom asked and to whom he could not answer, “No, not now.” “Sorry, not today.” “I need to preserve this oil for whom it was intended.” The Lighthouse Keeper was rebuked for his unwise choice to lavish the oil. For what it was meant- it’s main purpose and intention was to be conserved. Stored up in preparation. That oil was meant to be saved- indeed preserved for those of whom their very lives depended on it. And now it was gone.

How very much like motherhood, sometimes.

We mothers waste sacred oil- precious energy, on time and tasks and moments that are relatively unworthy of our attention. And rather than focusing attention on those things which are the most meaningful: that is, on ourselves, our families and our friends. We instead waste precious oil on things which fall much lower on our true priority list of life concerns. And in so doing, we run out, waste and exhaust our limited supply of patience, time, focus, attention, energy and stamina. Much like the foolish Lighthouse Keeper, who ran into short supply during times when his resources were really needed.

Oil is precious and must be saved for such a time as when one might need it most. We can never know ahead of time what a day might bring. And by preserving oil, by preserving our precious resources: we preserve ourselves and those we love. We protect ourselves, we mothers. So that we in turn can protect others. And we prevent waste, that is the wasting away of ourselves. From being used up and spent on that which is of lesser importance. On things which are really not all that important.

In the preservation of ourselves, we find meaning and hope. What more worthwhile reason for conservation is there than this?

It’s Okay…

It’s okay to rue the day you’ve just lived.  And thank your lucky stars that it is over.  We know you are still the greatest, Mom.  And it is also okay if there is not one moment of that day in which you lived completely and joyfully in the moment.  Or one moment wherein you can point to yourself as being a super mom on top of her game.  Even heroes get a day off.  So should you, Mom.  It’s okay.

It’s okay if your children think you are the meanest mother ever for hiding their i-pods in their father’s underwear drawer.   Everyone is entitled to his/her uninformed opinion.  It’s also okay that your opinion trumps all others.  Really, it’s okay.  It’s also okay that your children are subjected to such tortures as setting the table, helping younger siblings with piano practice or wiping the dishes.  As long as you realize that asking them to make their beds can place you in the Meanest Mother Ever category on certain days.  You might want to avoid that one.  But if not, that’s okay.  Because you can reverse the ‘meanest ever’cycle when the time comes and to your advantage.  Believe me.  I know whereof I speak.  And so do you.  Kids are mean too.  And it’s okay to freely admit it is so (by telling them once in a while).

Seriously.  It’s okay, Mom, to serve your children micro-waved K.D. that has been cooked into oblivion.  And it is your right as a mother to insist that everyone outwardly appreciate and verbally declare their appreciation for such.  It is okay to also send your children merrily on their way to evening activities with a tub of yogurt, a banana, crackers and cheese.  Do not let your child tell you this does not constitute supper.  Because we all know that it darn well does!

It’s okay to be the laughing stock of your child’s music class because you forgot to do the music review with her.  You will remember to do the review with her after the class is over, while you are driving home.  Better late than never!

And it’s also okay to forget to pick your child up at the evening birthday party to which she has been invited, even if that means she is the last one to go home.  And even if you asked the hostess before-hand what time the party is over.  DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR THIS!   These things happen.  Pretend you planned it this way and that you were having a nap.  Even if you were really killing yourself driving from one community to the next at lightening spend.  Because you really forgot!  And it’s also okay to forget sometimes.  Your daughter knows you love her.  One tardy slip is not going to convince her otherwise.

It’s okay to sometimes end the day wondering why you and your Hubby ever thought making a family the size of a baseball team was a good idea.  Everyone questions their life motives once in a while.  And if you cannot think of one good reason why there are four little monsters roaming your house, eating your food and monopolizing your household technology, just remember.  If we all waited for one good reason to do the best things in life, some of us would wait forever.

So then.  It’s okay to write today off, to throw in the towel and cross your fingers for a better tomorrow.  Tomorrow is another day.  Full of promise, full of hope.  And the best we can wish for is that it will be okay.   Because if we aim small and think glass half-empty, usually things end up being better than we think.

And of course.  We all know that’s okay too.

Why I Had Children…And How I Have Learned To Cope With Them

I am suppose to write a blog piece for the Huffington Post about motherhood (for their special upcoming  Mother’s Day issue in another week).  And I have no idea what to write.  I am a loss.  There are no pearls of wisdom, no gems of gold from which others can glean sage advice.  No nothing.  I am drawing a blank.  I think I have amnesia from all the late nights staying up writing funny stories about my day.  I can only think in terms of conversational narrative.

Me: “Kids, get in the tub, in the shower, off the i-pod, off the X-box.”

Kids: “In a minute.

Me:  “ARRRRGGGHHHHHH!”

Quite actually.  I need to read up on that very fine topic of motherhood and parenting for my own personal edification/inspiration/motivation.  And believe you me.  I just might do that.  Right now. (#facebookjunkie  #addictedtostatusupdates  #hasnosociallife)

One of the kids mentioned tonight something about wishing for a little brother.  You might be able to guess who.  I can’t remember what exactly was said.  But I know it was said in the context of wishing for a same sex sibling with which to share life and stuff.  Someone with whom to shoot the breeze.  Go down the road to the local fishing hole and do daring things like drink dirty creek water and stuff.  Things you might do if you weren’t gender outnumbered and all at home.

When this idea came up, Husband and I both looked at each other and laughed.  Hysterically.   As we always do when someone suggests we have another child.  Or adopt a puppy or buy a fish or something.  And I think the comment was made by someone, I won’t say by whom, that we might as well  “…put the chains around our neck and drag ourselves to the river” if this unexpected surprise were ever to transpire.  As in.  We’re done.  Game over.  The goose is cooked.  And we both ate it.

And it’s not that we don’t dearly love the offspring we already have.  Au contraire.  The fact that I have not run off to the Pacific Islands disguised as a belly dancer already speaks to my undying love.  And I do mean that with all my heart.   Rather.  It’s just that we two, Husband and I, know when the game is over and someone has already bought Boardwalk and Park Place.  Leaving you both- the hapless other players, penniless and bankrupt (read: hope we can afford cereal for the weekend as we go through a box in one setting.  Forget about date night.)  Folks, let’s get real.  We can’t afford any more little Gards around these parts anymore than we can afford weekly date nights to Summerside.   The four darling Ones we have a putting us in the poor house, not to mention the insane asylum.

One of my children suggested tonight, “Let’s make a date night for Mom and Dad!!!  We can plan a show for them!  Whoop, Whoop!”  This is the sad truth.  Our children have come to believe that Mom and Dad going on a date means they are invited.  And they can orchestrate the event.  Which was cute about five years ago, but now is just plain SAD.

So, if I had any suggestions to make for myself- because I need parenting advice probably more than the next guy, here is how it would go down.  They always tell you on the in-flight safety instructions to put your own gas mask on before you help the person next to you.  And the same advice applies to parenting.  Before you kill yourself being a parent, ask yourself this, “Have I brushed my own hair today?”

And add to this one last sentiment.   It’s okay to tell it like it is.  To be tough.  To be play the meanie.   Kids will suck you bare, right down to the marrow.  They will take you for all you are worth, they will bleed you dry.  They will ask and not re-pay.  They will grumble and not make apologies.  They will tell you that you are mean.  They will tell you that you do not measure up.  And they might even once in a while drop the h-a-t-e bomb.   So what I am learning in all of this mayhem is this: it is okay to be real right back at ‘em.  To tell it like it is.  To call them out.  To dish out a bit of their own medicine.  To give it right back from whence it came.

For instance.  I have always told my children exactly what I thought of their behavior- as it affects me or otherwise.  I stand unashamed in admitting that my kids have heard from my own lips that on occasion they could be labelled mean, inconsiderate, bold, rude, irresponsible, unkind, uncaring and the like.  It is okay to be tough.  Kids might as well hear it from you than have a stranger say it in the grocery store or a restaurant.  It is my job to hold my own children up to the standards I have set for them.  ‘Cause if I don’t, someone else will.

And in closing, find something funny every day from which to see the funny side of life.  If not for humor, I should die a miserable woman.  Being a mother is not that fun.  I am sorry.  Playing house with my dolls back in the day did not prepare me for this.  Those dolls did not talk back.  They did not complain about the two articles of clothing they wore day-in and day-out.  They ate air…literally.  THEY ATE NOTHING.  And they never.ever.complained.  They sat in a closet for ten plus hours at a time.  I never heard a peep out of them.  And not once did they EVER ask for money. They were the worst example EVER of what having kids would be like.

So then.  If not for the horrors of babysitting, I would have had absolutely NOTHING to base my parenting on.  Because babysitting taught me nothing if it did not teach me this: children are often quite dreadful.    But at the same time, they are unbelievably cute.  It is one of their few redeeming graces.  And above all, they are tremendously funny.  And they say things ever y day that help me remember why I had kids.  Because living in a house with another adult is not quite the same barrel of laughs that are a house full of quirky, creative kids.  Who say the darndest things to me and about me each and every day.  They make me laugh.  They make me cry.   They make me long for vacays in Florida.   And in doing so, they help me remember why I had ‘em.

Thank goodness for that.

Why I HATE the Tooth Fairy…

Okay.   Whatever.  I am just going to throw in the towel and join the circus.   Add to the usual chaos that follows me from home to school to wherever I go, you can add to that list: Dream Crasher.  ‘Cause there is one lil’ gal in West Prince who no longer believes in the tooth fairy because of Your’s Truly.

You wouldn’t believe this story even if I swore it was true.  Which incidentally it is.

ONE MONTH AGO…a little girl came up to me on the playground and told me she had lost her tooth.  I was on duty.  I knew that I had no where safe to put the tooth.  So, being a tad bit squeamish of other people’s bloodied dental apparatuses, I asked her to carefully place the tooth in her front pocket…. to which I commanded- “and for goodness sake, don’t lose it.”

So, she lost it.

But not on the playground, as one might be prone to do.  If one was active and five years old and a little lackadaisical.  Rather.  It got lost when she tried to find a safe place to keep it (of course, isn’t that always the way?)  And where, pray tell would that SAFE place be, hmmm?   None other than…inside the jungle that is my kindergarten classroom.  Seriously, even I lose stuff in there.  It is a kaleidoscope of mayhem and activity.  I wouldn’t suggest anyone leave their keys kicking around, as I lose mine inside the confines of these four colorful walls almost daily.  But, she was on her game…trying to find a safe place for that darn tooth.  And in the time it took me to take the Duty Clipboard up to the office, grab my lunch and head back to class- the tooth got mislayed.

Oh, the horror that immediately struck me.  Because Kindergarten teachers know that part of the magic of teaching this precious age is the beauty of imagination and fairytale.   Most notable, the event that is the loss of those first baby teeth and the magic that ensues when the tooth fairy makes her first visits.

So, I was under considerable duress about that tooth. Stressed out to the MAX.  Add to which, I probably also had to use the bathroom (duty day, and all).

When I recovered my wits, I began an all-out search party for the tooth. At the end of that day, I thought the worst of things were over, and wrote the following:

…a  conversation that ensued over the afternoon (for those who might not have read that particular night’s Facebook status…)

Recess, Duty Day:
Little Girl: “I lost my tooth, Mrs. Gard!!!”
Me: “Well, let’s put it here in your coat pocket.”

Lunch:
Little Girl (on her hands and knees under the desk): “I lost my tooth, Mrs. Gard.”
Me: “You lost your tooth, and now you’ve gone and lost your tooth?

Afternoon:
Little Girl (muttering to herself): “Oh man. My mother is going to be so mad when she finds out I’ve lost my tooth. What’s she going to think? What’s she going to say…? She’ll say, ’Oh ____, you lost your tooth…where is it?’, and I am going to have to tell her, ‘I don’t know where it is, Mom’.”

End of the Day:
Me: If I find your tooth, I’ll save it and give it to you  after the long weekend, ‘kay?”
Little Girl: “Okay!!!! (then, upon deciding I might need some description so as to narrow things down, she says this) “Okay, well…it’s WHITE….and it’s a little dirty.”

No kidding.

ONE MONTH LATER…

We are on the rug.  The same little girl is minding her own P.’s and Q.’s when all of a sudden she cries out, “I found a tooth!!!!”

I immediately think to myself, “Let the ground swallow me whole,” as I know that the tooth Fairy has come and gone and left the cash.  How could she have been so careless.  And thanks alot, you little impish demon for leaving me to concoct a story on the spot about why that tooth showed up now…ONE MONTH LATER?

All manner of things are going through my head, not the least of which… “…and how dirty IS this blue rug upon which I sit my dainty buttocks each and every day… that a tooth could show up a month later and not landed it’s pearly self inside the darkened bin that is the school vacuum cleaner.”  But I digress.

Forward to today…

I meet her Father in the hall as he is dropping her of to classes, and in my complete and utter stupidity, I also COMPLETELY forget the story we had concocted (last MONTH) to tell if and when the tooth should ever be found.  It was over a month ago, people.

And in my eagerness to say something…ANYTHING, I say this, “Wasn’t it cool how we found the tooth…and one month later, nonetheless???????”

Utter.silence.   Please open up Earth and swallow me whole.

If looks could kill, you’d all be attending my wake tomorrow evening.  I guess you could say that I opened up my big mouth and the words couldn’t stop flowing.  I started back-tracking then, trying to think of another reason that tooth could possibly show up in my room.  And people, I couldn’t think of ONE GOOD REASON.  Nope.  I was blank.  And spouting suggestions at the drop of a hat.  Finally, the Father made the “cut your throat’ gesture, and I stopped talking, slinked into the classroom and checked to see if I still had a pulse.  I did, much to my own dismay.  And much, much later, when I called and asked the family if there was anything,  (and I quote) “ANYTHING I can do to fix up this faux pas” they kindly asked me to do this.

Please.don’t.say.another.thing.

I am officially muted on the subject of the Tooth Fairy.

Mountains and Molehills

We six walk through the mist, feel wetness on our faces.  I shiver in the night air, anticipating the heat of our van.  The time and temperature has shifted from sun-kissed evening warmth to damp and foggy dusk .   Nearing the last lap, we come into a clearing.   And it is then I hear her call out.

“Oh! Ouch…,” she moans.   I look back, and find her lying sprawled on the ground, hands muddied.  Tears come quickly.  “I tripped over that tree stump,” she cries.  And I look back at it.  That unfortunate bit of mangled tree left behind to rot.   It, a flat disc about a foot in diameter.  How could something so unobtrusive be so dangerous?  I brush her off with my gloves, offering them to her as a protective cover for our final bit of the trail.  And I marvel how we have tonight walked up and down many paths riddled with branches and inclines, only to now be taken completely by surprise with the sudden appearance of a commonplace tree stump.

But isn’t life like that?  Riddled with many obvious pitfalls and a few hidden dangers.  Making our journey difficult.  Arduous.  Hard.  Life is many things, but one of the surest is that it is hard.  And sometimes the hardest things in life are not the mountains, but rather they are the molehills.

And yet.  If we were asked, “What is hard?”, we could all come up with a competent list of what the hardest things in life might be.   What they might look like to us personally.  And how it might be to live out those same hard things.  To ‘live with’ x,y,or z.  To ‘feel’ this or that way.  To lose something or someone so very precious.  An unbearably, unfathomably hard thing to go through.  And we could come up with ideas about what it might look like to have ‘this or that’ hard thing.  What unimaginable things ‘it’ might impose upon us.  We often prepare for these worst of times in our heads, even if only doing so when we are faced with them straight on.

I consider some of the hardest things in life to be those times when life and death sit face to face.  Those times when life altering choices must be made.  Or times when I am thrown recklessly into adversity, into calamity, misfortune.  When life gets dirty.  And we are left to face the cold, hard facts.

These times I try never to imagine.  But the mind is a mysterious place.  A curious organism which no one can tame.  It goes where it wants to go.  To places beyond our finite understanding.   To ‘what ifs…’ and ‘if evers…’   To the unimaginables.  That dreaded phone call delivering bad news.  That voice of sorrow.  Those silent sobs and noiseless cries.  Those dreaded times.  God forbid they ever come again.

And to be sure, each one of us can envisage times like this.  Times of absolute terror.   And if we have lived long enough, we can remember when.  That terrible ‘when’.   We go there sometimes in our minds, and we see the visuals.  We remember.  And it’s all too real.  The mental pictures.   Leaving us cold and listless from conjuring up image after image.  So that even these pictures, a silent screen of stills- even these become hard things.

Pain and suffering are always hard things.  It goes without saying.

And yet.  When I am faced with hard things on this macro level, hard things with grave and far-reaching consequences, I also recall the micro.  The smaller scale of problems in life, that is- the mini disasters.  The little moments of life when things fall apart at the seams.  Because it is the business of living in the here and now with which I are consumed most of the time.  My major preoccupation is with existing in the real world, in the tangible NOW.  And when I reflect on my day-to-day life, carrying out what is normally expected of me in that world outside my head, I realize that normal, everyday life is sometimes hardest.

Painfully hard at times.

And to be sure, I do my own hard things each and every day.  And all this without the world caving in around me.   Even though it feels that way in the moment.  Take today.   I did some hard things.  I multi-tasked as I got ready for work in the morning.  I taught lessons in empathy to my students and reinforced those lessons within minutes of the introduction.  I had a challenging conversation with my daughter about reaping what you sow.  I had a few confrontations.  And I dealt with suppertime mayhem.  That last one has got to be the pinnacle in a mother’s day.  That dreaded witching hour.

And as little and in-consequential  as the above might seem to anyone else, some things in my life are hard for me.  And I think the hardest thing of all is really ‘the act of keeping sane and calm in the midst of everyday living’.  That is, living out my imperfect, flawed life on a daily basis and doing so to the best of my ability.  Without losing my mind or my patience.  For instance.  Getting to work on time.  Not yelling at the kiddos.  Not resenting the housework.  Not feeling the pressures of balancing work and home.  Not feeling too pulled in any one direction.  Not fighting (read: getting along with people.)  Finding common ground.   Being able to compromise so as to keep the peace.  Saying ‘no’ even when I feel pressured to say ‘yes’.  Not worrying.  Not placing too much stake in my own expectations.   Being kind.  Being compassionate.  Showing grace.  Finding joy.   And on and on we go.

These are hard things.  Incredibly hard by times.

And we all do these hard things each and every day.  They might be done in varying degrees and at varying levels, but we do them in our own unique ways.  And these hard things might seem little in comparison to actual calamity, but they are nevertheless hard and difficult to do in their own respect.  And yet.  We do these things for the duration of our lives, following a cyclical path of journey.  Little hard things leading to big hard things leading back to little hard things.   Big is always followed by little.  And it is the little things that get us down.  They are the straws that break the camel’s back.   But then again, they are also the most likely, those little moments, to be that which make us truly compassionate human beings.   And it is the little hard things of life which shape us and prepare us for the big hard things.   For the tests and trials.

If we can do little hard things, you can bet your bottom dollar when the time comes, we’ll be able to do the biggest of them.  The big hard things.  It helps to remind ourselves that we can do ‘little’ hard things.  And because this is so, these little moments of pain and suffering on a small scale will hopefully prepare us for the work necessary to get us through the big losses.  The big hard things.  And because we can do big hard things (and I speak of a strength that enables that is not my own- HE is able and thus, so am I), then it also follows that when life returns to normal again, we can continue to do the smaller hard things too.

Because all of life is a journey.  And the journey is not only about the destination.  It’s about the ride.  A ride that includes mountains and valleys, twists and turns.  And to be sure, the mountains are tricky to manoeuvre.  But then again, so are the molehills- the tree stumps, the twisted roots.  And sometimes what might look like the hardest, that is ‘the mountains’, might not be so hard to move about- to walk around and do so without tripping, as are the everyday molehills.

Living Life Large

When tragedy strikes and disaster hits.  And when calamity occurs and life is lost.  When that life is a child’s life- a precious son or daughter’s  life.  A mother’s life, a wife’s life, a sister’s life.  Or worse: when that loss is a family’s life, it is so pervasive and deadly in its scope.

So unfathomable.

It then becomes probable, for those of us who are left to identify with the face of this loss in such epic proportions, to fall victim to the guilt complex, the blame game.  By way of the “what ifs”.  The “what if this were me and my family” question.  Which leads to the “it can’t happen if I avoid x,y or z” phobia.  That results in a syndrome we fall prey to when realizing how precious life is and how fleeting days are and how truly few are the actual moments we are given.

And then causes us to live in paranoia.

A syndrome which  sometimes instigates otherwise rational, common sensical-type parents, such as I would consider myself to be, to do strange things.  Like panic.   Go to pieces.   Become frightened and start to dread everything and everyone around me or my children.  To avoid crowds.  To become paranoid on airplanes.  To watch news coverage ad naseum.  To be consumed with alternating feelings of rage and sorrow.  And to believe that everyone could be a suspect.

And when in this mode of thinking, we tend to bunker in and batten down the hatches, erroneously believing that by cocooning ourselves and our family, we will somehow be safe and untouched.  Oh! how easy it would be to just hide under the covers and ignore the bad guys.  Pretending it would all go away it we just make a simple wish.

If wishes were horses, my friends.  Beggars would ride.

But what we fail to sometimes remember, in the midst of our over-planning, our over-protection, our over-bearing goodwill toward those we love.   Is this.    It is in the un-fearful living of life, free and glorious, that our lives are released, liberated from the bondage of the awful here and now.  And by facing our fears, as one who moves into the wind, rather than backing away from it, that we truly feel the strength and intensity of our willingness to live.  To embrace life.  To feel the complexity of power and weakness and their interconnectedness.  To finally know ourselves and discover what it truly means to be human and all that entails.

And in allowing ourselves the wonder and excitement- of our child’s first experience on a plane.  We discover that life is not two-dimensional.  It is better lived in 3-D.   And that means enabling our children the independence to come and go, that they so very much need to live and co-exist  on a planet crowded with people.  That means allowing ourselves the ability to enjoy life in its complexity and beauty and chaos and confusion.  That means knowing fear but never allowing fear to preside.  That means moving outwards when all we feel like doing is staying in.

A few short years ago, our young family of three under six years of age took a trip to New York City.   It was a Saturday night in Times Square that I remember so well.  Vividly.  Husband had one child, I had another by the hand and the baby in an umbrella stroller.  And I remember the people.  Crowds, and crowds and crowds of people.  It was so densely packed, sidewalk to sidewalk.  And we could only inch ourselves forward, small baby-steps at a time.

And what I remember even more than that picture of us inching our way toward the notorious NYC subway system was this: the fear.   Because what you need to know was that this was not long after 9/11.  And we had earlier that day been to Ground Zero.

Things were pretty fresh in my mind.

And while looking back, we probably should have left the city earlier.  We probably were a little more foolish and brazen back then.  But nevertheless.   The reason we stayed was because FAO Schwartz was in the middle of Times Square.  And it was like a magical fairyland of dreams come true.  Complete with a Ferris wheel in the middle of the store and all the Lego a boy could envision.  And the reason we stayed was for Sam.  Because we wanted him to experience the wonder.  The excitement, indeed the thrill of the ultimate shopping experience that is that mammoth of all toy stores: FAO Schwartz.  And we stayed because to leave would have been to miss out.  To be denied that experience.  To not live in the moment.

And I say all that to say something else: sometimes in life we do things for ourselves and our children- not because they are the most practical, the most prudent, the most protected means of living.  Some decisions we make are simply for the thrill of experience.  Like riding the roller coaster at Disney.  Like snorkeling or scuba-diving in the ocean.  Like deep-sea fishing.  Like hiking to the top of a mountain.  Or watching a friend run a marathon in a densely packed city.  Is there inherent danger in every one of the above?  You betcha.  But there is also thrill, excitement and wonder.  And isn’t that all a part of living?

And although we often must  needs weigh the thrill against the peril, we must never choose to deny ourselves the experience of living life out loud- full and free and large.    For in living large we get to see life from that unique vantage point: the peak.   And life from the peak is sacred, worth the experience.

Worth the risk.

Those kinds of days…

There are days when frost covers barren ground. Like a heavy cloak. When tiny buds on frozen tree limbs shimmer with an icy glaze. When tiny shoots of new life, thwarted in process of emerging forth. Are interrupted. Dark, heavy clouds hang low and ready.

There are these kinds of days.

When table talk is centered around what might be, on doom and gloom. When faces are grim. When voices are raw with emotion. When secret disclosures are proffered and understanding is sought after. When you just feel like you can’t take anymore of this murky mess. That they call living.

Authentic. Raw. Transparent.

It’s tough, this business of living real. Of really living. Of making a living of this messy here and now.

There are days like this.

And there are days when darkness pervades. Thick and stifling. Like a deadly gas.
When the outlook from this vantage point seems bleak. Hopeless. And the possibilities are shunted aside in favor of the grim reminders.

There too are days like this: sometimes.

And there are days. When you drive from home to work to home to ‘who knows where’. And you feel like it’s all a rat race. And it feels endless and ‘who knows where you’ll get the strength to carry on tomorrow’. And you can’t stop because you know you’ll never get started again.

Those kind of days.

And then. When you are nearly ready to throw up the white flag, throw in the towel, give up the fight. Something little catches your eye. It’s so little, you almost miss it. A smile. A picture drawn with crayons. A funny cartoon.

Or maybe. Someone throws out a rope- a lifeline that snags your heart. An ‘I love you’ spoken at just the right time. A tender squeeze. A kind word of encouragement. An eye-to-eye conversation that lasts longer than five-seconds.

And on those days when life goes from futile to promising. Just because of something little, because of something small but mighty.

(because of a little game changer)

Count it as a sweet reminder. A blessing. The silver lining. A token to the surety that while life might be brutal, it is also beautiful. Brutiful. Exquisite in a fleeting, fragile way.

And because it is such and so much more, those smallest of gestures- those beautiful reminders of humanity that we also call kairos moments- they mean so much more. Than they ever would have otherwise.

On those kinds of days.