Just Breathe.....

Last weekend, I packed a picnic lunch. Just watching me, sent my girls into a fabulous frenzy! After gathering towels, hats, sunscreen, glasses and sand buckets, we were off! Today, we were going to the lake.

As my husband expertly skimmed the boat along the water,.... I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. Giving in, I allowed the wanton wind to run its sensual fingers through my hair, down my face, and tease and tickle my neck and shoulders. It felt so good to just let go of life and relax for a change.

Holding Haven on my lap, I rested my cheek against her hair and stared up at the clouds.

"Look!" I pointed. "That cloud looks like an ice cream cone!"

Haven smiled and pointed her little hand. "That one looks like a duck!"

We laughed,... we nibbled on rice crispy snacks,..... we smiled,..... we breathed.

Letting go of everything and just having fun, is not something our family does very often. Most of the time, we worry about bills, we worry about this, and we worry about that. It seems stress has become an added member of our family and is always in everyone's business.

My husband worries about financially keeping us afloat. I worry about the kids, my husband, and of course, I worry about money too. And I stress about my dreams and aspirations. Believing in yourself becomes very hard when you have a drawer full of rejection letters.

But last weekend, we left it all behind. We agreed beforehand to no talking work,... no talking business,.... no talking money,.... and no talking with a sharp tone! In fact, if we couldn't say anything nice, we all knew not to say anything. It was wonderful.

I had slipped a CD into the boat's glovebox before we left, knowing my husband would find it. When he did, he promptly inserted it into the CD player. As we sailed along on air and spray, "We've got the beat," by the Go-Go's, various songs by ABBA, and other well known favorites, were our only companions. These 'oldies but goodies' thumped their upbeat happiness into our heads as we rocked and sang along with them.

After awhile, we allowed the boat to drift close to shore. The girls and I got out to search for treasure. Like scampering hermit crabs, we scoured the shore for rock, shells and anything else we could find. All in all - if was a perfect day.

I was so glad we left stress all by himself at home. He definitely did not deserve to come along and spoil our fun! When you steal away for a day, I suggest inviting only those that will bring smiles, laughter and peace. The sun and the wind are always allowed to come. They bring a warmth and a freshness that is very much needed. Music is always allowed to come. She brings melodic harmony to a family that so often feels flat and out of tune with each other. Fun snacks are always allowed to come too. Nothing is better than the taste of sweet and sticky licked from your fingers.

Close your eyes,.... take a deep breath,...... hold it in for a moment,.... and then let it out. Do this a few times... and just breathe. Life will wait for one more day. Decide which day is yours and then take it! Hold on to what's important and then don't let go! Breathe in,.... breathe out,...... but just breathe......

Enjoy your day - because before you know it, you'll be back home, and stress will be standing there all angry with folded, stubborn arms,......wondering where you've been and why he wasn't invited.

Close your eyes,..... remember how it felt to be free on the water? Can you feel the wind's fingers still tangled in your hair? Turn the music up a bit.

"Can you hear the drums Fernando?"

Just take a deep breath - and breathe......

Torrential Tantrum!

Wow!  My 9 year has attitude, but my 4 year old's got voice!  Taming tantrums is definitely a class I must have dropped in college,..... because it's kicking my butt now!  If you've ever been in the throes of a 4 year old fit, you know what I mean.  Maybe this poem will help explain it a little better,......

Dance Of The Furious

Stomping feet,

stubborn with contention

taps to center stage

demanding apt attention.

The lady of the dance

her rituals in rhythm,

screams a new recital

drowns in deep emotion.

Conductor of such drama

orchestrated tears,

finesse of throwing tantrums

Maestro,... not yet five years.

Eyes dripping defiance

hot cheeks painted pink

"Give gasping sobs an encore!"

Her costume is complete.

Lucky you with backstage pass

envious front row seat,

grand performance just begun -

she collapses in a heap.

Acted with such feeling,

"An Oscar to that child!"

in perfect character, a natural pro,

with credits she's compiled.

Aim the spotlight, show goes on

we move onto Part II -

tonight's a Double Feature,

the audience - lucky you.

Relax and take a deep breath,

lights are dimming low

you've heard it said, "this too shall pass,"

sit back, enjoy the show.

Turkey In The Tree

Yesterday, I kept hearing a strange noise at the back of our property. We have so many trees in the back, we call it the forest - and the strange and distant sound was coming from deep inside all the trees. Each time I heard it, I would cock my head to the side and listen intently. It was a noise I hadn't heard before. I was pretty sure it was a bird - but what kind of bird, I didn't know.

It finally took the curiosity of my 9 year old daughter to solve the mystery.

"Mom! Come quick!" Bursting into the house (as she usually does), she threw open the backdoor, where it swung heavily and hit the wall with a loud bang.

"Hurry!" She panted, her body wiggling and gyrating around the open doorway dramatically and anxiously.

"What is wrong, London?" I asked her, speaking in a slow, calm voice. I normally tried to react this way. I imagined my forced calmness would somehow permeate into her.

"There's a rooster in a tree!" She blurted out, her eyes huge in her tan face.

"A rooster." It wasn't a question. It was a statement, spoken in a tone of disbelief.

"YES! A rooster!" She was hopping up and down now.

In my head I could hear NASA's countdown leading up to her explosion.

10, 9, 8, 7,....

"MOM!" She spread her arms open wide and stared at me because I hadn't moved and was still standing in the same position.

6, 5, 4,,...

"You don't believe me." Lowering her voice (only minimally,) she narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. With the look I normally give her, she rested all her weight on one hip and stared me down.

"It's not that I don't believe you," I tried to explain. "I know there's something out there. I've heard it all day." As I picked up my sunglasses from the counter top, I gave her the first indication I was actually going to follow her. "I just doubt it's a rooster." This sent her over the edge - like I knew it would.

"It IS! I know it is.... because I saw it's little hangy thing!" Reaching full launch, she finally detonated. Rocketing out the door, she skidded around the corner and clambered down the patio steps.

3, 2, 1,....... blast off!

Yelling words I couldn't quite catch, London bolted down the grass towards the forest, flailing her arms and legs around like a complete psycho.

By this time, my husband had overheard the drama and was tailing behind me as I followed my daughter - the raving lunatic.

Behind my husband, trailed my 4 year old daughter Haven. Pumping her tan, little legs, she was shrieking "A rooster? Where's a rooster?"

Up ahead, London somehow heard her sister's question and shouted over her shoulder, "In the treeeeeeee!"

I turned and gave my husband a look that clearly said, "I only gave birth to her - that doesn't mean she's mine."

At the base of a spindly tree, the four of us stopped and peered up into the branches. A wild turkey, with just as wild eyes looked down at us.

"It's a wild turkey," I told London.

"What's a wild turkey?" Haven queried, her head craned all the way back as she looked straight up.

"That's a wild turkey," I pointed out to her.

"What's he doing in our tree?" London wanted to know.

"That I don't know," I admitted.

After a few minutes of staring up into the treetops and imagining how and why a wild turkey was in our tree, my husband lost interest. Turning on his heel, he headed back towards the house.

"But dad!" London wailed. "How will we get him down!"

My husband turned, a wry smile on his amused face. "I know how to get him down," he told her.

I knew exactly where this was going.

"How?" London's face lit up.

I put my arm around London's shoulders. "He's only teasing you honey. He means he will shoot it down."

My husband's laughter echoed through the backyard as he continued towards the house. I knew he was laughing because 1. he loves to tease the girls' and 2. Because I had somehow known what he was going to say.

Finally getting the joke, London shot her father a vicious look.

But I understood London, for I was just like her. I too, wished we could get the turkey down from the tree. I knew exactly how she felt - because when I gave birth to London - I gave birth to myself. London is so much like me, it is frightening to witness. God truly does have a sense of humor.

My entire life I have always wanted to help any and every animal I have ever come in contact with. Right now, as I looked up into the tree and saw what I thought looked like the fear in the turkey's eyes, I wanted to haul out our tallest ladder and simply climb up there myself. Deep inside me, I knew that someone needed to help him! As the tree branches waved back and forth in the wind, the poor turkey kept clutching at the thin branch as if he were losing his footing.

Didn't he know he should come down? Why did he keep flapping his wings and going higher and higher. The branches were thinner up there, and although he wasn't a large turkey - he was no mere sparrow either.

"I want to help him," London whimpered at my side. Turning huge, doe eyes up at me, her mouth was drawn into a sad frown.

"I know, you do sweetie. I want to help him too, but he doesn't seem to want our help."

"I'm going to stay out here for awhile and watch him," London said, sitting down and folding her legs and arms into the Indian style position.

"I know you are." I smiled, ruffling her hair.

Today - the turkey is gone. I guess he wasn't stuck after all, but looking back, I wonder why so many of us are like a turkey in the tree. Somehow we get ourselves up a tree and becomes stuck. Once in the tree, we affect others by their concern. They worry about how and why we got up there and try to help. And instead of listening to the advice or allowing them to help us - we frantically flap our foolish wings and just end up perched precariously on thin branches that won't hold our weight. Stubbornly, we ride out the storms of wind and reason and wait until we have decided what is best.

I am a turkey in a tree. I am so busy with life and keeping things orderly within our family that I too, am stuck up high in a tree. And as my pleading family stares up at me and begs me to come down and be with them, I can only flutter and climb higher. In my mind, I have completely honorable intentions. With dreams of higher branches and aspirations I can help my family if I can just get to the next higher branch.

I think I will shut off my computer be done with working. Maybe I'll go and break out a some games with my girls'. Father's day is this weekend and we have meals, special desserts and lots of fun planned for dad. But instead of waiting until Sunday, I think we will begin today. And instead of making it a Father's day - we will make it a Father's Weekend. It's 4:00 on Friday,.... hell - the weekend is here!

Happy Father's day to all the dad's out there working hard for their families. That's the way it's always been,..... that's the way it was with my father. And if he were still here today, I know he'd agree with me and want to start the weekend now.

*By the way, I'm just like my father - like London is just like me. And if my dad were here today, I know he'd already have a ladder set up against the tree to rescue that stubborn turkey. And you know what? London and I would be right there alongside him,.... following in his footsteps, the way we always have been.

Giving up the fight.

Today I ironed. I hauled out the ironing board, cleaned off the semi-calcified burn stains on the face of the iron - and actually ironed. Because I so rarely iron, it is always a learning experience for me all over again. Today was no different. As I fought off my 9 year old - who tormented me with her insistence that she knew how to iron, while at the same time spelled words ever so S L O W L Y for my 4 year old, (she was busy making a father's day card) - I continued my ironing and counted to ten over and over again.

The phone rang. Someone was hungry. "I need toilet paper!" Everything told me I was not supposed to iron. But as gas prices selfishly gauge us, leaving us scarred with injustice, I knew I needed to do my part to save money.

I lived in Taiwan once. There the average family rides around on a mere moped. The father drives. He has a child sitting in front of him, another child (possibly two) standing on the platform between him, (and the sitting child) and the handlebars, and the mother sits leisurely in the rear - holding the bags of groceries on her lap while a baby is strapped to her back. The first time I saw this, I stood with my mouth gaping and watched them go by like a circus freak show. Because there's no speed limit (that I was aware of) in Taiwan, cars literally speed past like the Indy 500. I never got over the frantic feeling of flight as I desperately tried to cross the street. I always felt as if I was dressed in a bright, green frog costume and was starring in the video game Frogger. If and when I did attempt "street crossing" and actually made it, I had to keep myself from bouncing around on the curb like Rocky Balboa when he finally won a fight.

So as I stood ironing, warm and sticky with the heat of the iron (imagining this must be what hot flashes feel like,) I fantasized about buying a moped. I could do it. I only had a 9 year old and a 4 year old to balance! If they could dive and flip and flop and leap from my couch and chairs in the family room like circus clowns, they could surely accomplish this small feat! I had no doubts they could even successfully hold the groceries during the ride home. With my mind spinning into the future, I began designing my moped. We could all have stylish helmets and could even have matching moped outfits and gear! But this of course, would deplete the original idea of trying to save money......

But I could clearly see this happening! Maybe just a small splurge for a bright pink t-shirt with "Moped Mama!" flashed across my chest. I could see it now,.... as we drove down country side roads, my girls' ponytails flying in the wind, our cheeks flushed from the sun and fresh air - children and dogs waving to us as we whizzed by,..........

"Mama! Haven has Mook locked in the bathroom and is trying to dress him in webkinz clothes!"

In a split second, my moped moment burst into a million pieces and fell around my feet. Once again, I was standing in my family room, slaving over a hot iron. As "Master Of All That Is Chaos," I began my new mission of rescuing my cat from the bathroom. I would hide him in my closet where he would be safe from the raging rebels for a half hour. (If he was lucky!)

Oh well,.... maybe someday I will have my zippy moped. One dime at a time. Today - it is ironing.

Pink

My daughter's room is now pink,... well half pink. One side is painted a bright, fresh pink, while the other side hangs in limbo - waiting for the weekend. Last night, I stood in her doorway and stared at the walls. I remembered a time long ago when I was allowed to paint my room any color I wanted. I was so excited. That same excitement has been shining in my daughter's eyes for days. But her pink almost didn't happen. Her pink was almost a raging, pink river staining everything in it's path.

I told her to be patient. I told her to wait until her dad got home. But she just couldn't wait. As I came into the kitchen from watering my garden, I found my daughter rolling her younger sister's scooter across my kitchen floor. With one hand she was holding the wobbling handlebar of the scooter, while her other hand was locked around the thin, metal handle of the huge, teetering paint bucket.

I jumped into action! Grabbing the metal handle of the paint bucket, I swooped the full and very heavy bucket off the scooter. Clutching the pink paint, I staggered out the backdoor and into the garage. Moments before I set the bucket down, the lid slid off and slapped onto the garage floor. Small droplets of pink paint smattered and exploded onto our legs, arms and face. The two of us looked like we had the pink pox. I stared at my daughter, my eyes narrowing and squinting like only a mother can do- and in that moment, my daughter realized that the lid to the paint bucket had never been secure.

I never had to say another word. She knew that look. She knew that a guardian angel had been perched on her shoulder for that very impulsive split second. She knew how our kitchen had just barely escaped a pink, flash flood that would've swept everything away in it's path. She knew. Sometimes you don't need words,.... sometimes you just have to imagine how belligerent the color pink can be.