Average

There has been a lot of thought lately about mediocrity.  Being average.  Just being run of the mill.  Not really the best.  True, not the worst either.  But just plain ol' respectable but not great in the middle.  My book club read "The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom", a book written by a Chinese American who has chosen to raise her daughters in the Chinese way, meaning they better damn well be the best at just about everything they set out to do.  We drank that night as we talked about who wishes their parents pushed them harder to be better.  We twirled wine in tall glasses and talked about who present wishes they themselves were pushing their own children harder. 
There we were - in an evening of leisure - tipsy from arguing and contemplating, and of course, wine - wondering what our potential really is.  Or was.  Had we met it?  Did we miss the mark? 

The question I walked away with was, did we care?  I walked to my car not really caring if I squandered my potential.  Or if I hadn't ever really discovered it at all.  I work hard.  I play hard.  I pay my bills.  I love my family.  When I clean my toilets, I even scrub the basin of it, not just the bowl.  In short, I'm doing the best I can do. 

So set forth my constant thoughts about our obsession with being the best.  The brightest.  The prettiest.  The funniest.  Why is that?  Why do we do this to ourselves?  And why do we insist on subjecting our kids to this notion that through achievement, comes happiness? 

I do see value in accomplishment.  No doubt.  I really love the sensation that zips through my body when I've done well.  I think the sensation becomes worrisome though when your recognition of doing well rests upon the notion that you've done better than others. 

See the difference?

I'm not asking the obvious question that's asked when we see a parent pushing hard.  Who is the parent doing this for?  Themselves or the child?  That question, for me, is an easy one to answer.  I truly do believe most parents set out to do right by their kids.  They are pushing for their children.  Because they truly believe that when their child reaches the zenith, the child will be happy.  I don't ask that question because I know the answer. 

The question I ask is who attaches happiness to an outcome?  Who believes that with accomplishment comes a sense of worth, empathy for others, a soul that feels fulfilled? 

I just don't buy it.  I don't believe that comparing and ranking ourselves is the path to enlightenment.  This is not to say that hard work doesn't get you anywhere. Contraire mon frere....

Hard work feels good.  Even if that work lands you into a mix of people just like you.  Very mediocre people.  Even if with incredible amounts of effort, you're still just average. 

Truth is, we all can't be exceptional.  We all can't be remarkable.  Notable. 

Or maybe we can.  Each in our own little way.

I remember when I first began to practice yoga, I couldn't kick up into handstand unassisted.  I would drag my mat to the wall and carefully kick my legs up until my heels hit the mirror.  There, I could press against the ground with my hands and feel successful.  Then, one day, I did it.  I kicked up and held handstand.  Sure, the class around me had been doing it.  But I never had.  Dare I say, even in yoga, we have mediocre folk, and I was one of them.  But that day, I pushed into it and held the posture.  I felt it.  That sensation that zips through your veins and makes you feel invincible. I was in handstand unassisted and holding it. 

Me, an average woman.....I felt extraordinary. 

I guess that's why I struggle with the ranking of our abilities.  Of our worth.  We are all capable of great power and strength.  It's when we pit ourselves against one another that we begin to flounder. 

Am I one of those moms that requests that all games be played without a winner or a loser?  Hell no.  I understand that there are people who rise to the top, even in play.  But I am one of those moms who tell my kids each and every day that they are worthy - win or lose.  That they are loved.

I'm here to say....it's not so bad being mediocre.  It's not so bad feeling my own special brand of strength.  While the people around me, most of them, may qualify as mediocre on most counts as I do, they are remarkable to me.  So in a moment of average weakness, just know that you are not lost in a shuffle of ho-hum people.  Rather, feel in good company.  

Peek-a-Boo

 I had a great conversation with a friend tonight about accepting faults - both my own and others.  Embracing difference.  Losing judgement.  I shared with this friend that lately, people's funny little quirks aren't bugging me so much.  In fact, I'm becoming somewhat protective of people with whom I always thought I had little in common.  I used to joke that the older I got, the less tolerant I grew.  I know what I want and I want it.  But something in me has shifted.  I still know what I want and I want it, but I'm not threatened anymore by the desires of other people.  Stopping for a moment to listen to someone who is really different from myself is actually somewhat refreshing these days.  It's like stopping for a water break on a long run.  Gives you time to catch your breath, reflect on the terrain you've covered, as well as make mental notes of how you want to proceed.  And, to be honest, it allows you to just stop running. To be still.   I just keep thinking that if we weren't allowed to reveal who we truly were - the sometimes messy core of our honest selves - we would be living in total fear all of the time.  Fear that we'd be found out.  Fear that we'd be unlovable.  Fear that we'd somehow failed.   I like embracing other people -  including their faults - because I only hope they will do the same for me.

Waiting for cousin Hadley to come swimming

A night away

We needed to blow the stink off, so to speak.  So, we packed the car, loaded up the kids and headed to Vail.  Nothing beats some mountain air for a pick me up. 

We stopped in Georgetown at the candy shop to pick up some treats.  You know when you just know that the day is going to be good?  That's how I felt when this photo was taken.  I just felt it - deep inside.  Today, I said, will be a good one.  One to remember. 

I had packed a picnic lunch and we ate along the creek in town in Vail.  I so love this state. 

How funny is this?  They were sitting on the curb waiting for the shuttle to take us to Lionshead and I kept saying, "It'll be coming around the corner.  Just wait."  Then, they saw it.  The bus. 

The gondola is always a treat.  Mia started skiing last year but had never ridden the gondola.  She has mastered the chairlift but couldn't fathom a little cart carrying us up to the top of the mountain.  I kept pointing below and saying, "Soon Mia.  You'll be cutting turns down there in snow.  You just wait." 

The sun hit our faces and we felt so far away from our regular routine.  While I'm a big believer in routine, I'm also a believer in tossing it to the side every now and again. 

Luca was quite the impressive two year old on this trip.  No nap and no meltdowns.  No crying even.  Just a total joy.  A shaggy haired joy. 

An outing isn't complete without a self portrait.  There really is nothing less flattering that a self portrait, but I can never resist. 

It was such a clear day.  Just stunning.  We played around on the top of the mountain and then headed back to town for pizza and ice cream in Beaver Creek.  The kids swam in the hotel pool and hot tub and Mia excitedly unpacked all of her doll accessories for the night.  I kept wanting to say, "Mia, we'll be gone a day and a half, you really don't need to bring the amount of things you're bringing."  But I didn't.  I also didn't tell the kids to hurry up and fall asleep as they sat next to each other in bed and giggled and read.  I whispered to V, "I want them to fall asleep but I'd feel like I was robbing them of a very normal childhood moment.  Laughing a bit late in a hotel bed with your most special friend."  So I let them play. 

Mia is always asking me when she'll be too big to carry.  "Next year maybe.  The year after that.  Who knows.  I'm a strong lady."  I used to see pictures of celebrities in magazines carrying their kids and I sometimes thought that the kids seemed too big to carry.  But now, as Mia's long skinny legs hit my lower thighs, I understand.  She asks and I'm capable.  I like the closeness it affords.  The eye to eye contact. 

My tribe. 

The next morning, we headed out early in search of adventure.  Luca grabbed his sweatshirt and his sunglasses.  He now stops to smile at the camera. 

On our drive home, looking refreshed, energized.  Happy to jump back into life.  It isn't quantity, it's quality - even with vacations.  This was a short one but one that felt special somehow.  A night away with the people I love. 

This shot was an accident.  I was focusing on the scene behind him when he stepped into the frame.  I focused.  And caught this.  His tremendous gaze.  Remember when I mentioned that his eyes fleck green when he's happy?  And that sounds like a bunch of malarkey.  But, in looking back through my pictures, there it is, in plain sight, his green flecked eyes.  We parents are so hard on ourselves.  Are we doing enough?  Too much?  Do we work too much?  Too little?  Are we too demanding?  Not enough?  But at the end of the day, to see that your child is a happy one, the questions all kind of melt away.   

Mia

She tells me she wants to be a mom when she grows up.  There was a time period when she told me she wanted to be a doctor.  And a teacher.  But now, she'll say, "I just want to be a mom.  That's it."  I don't read too much into these kinds of questions, or answers.  She'll change her mind 100 more times, even entering phases where she won't share those changes with me. 

As long as she knows that her options are endless, her opportunities are infinite.  Whatever she ends up mothering and nurturing - whether it be a child, a career, a passion, or something else entirely, she'll be amazing. 

Tea Party

M and L scurried past me the other day carrying all kinds of things. Their plastic tea set.  Their bucket of play food.  A quilt.  A baby cradle.  I was engrossed in a book on the couch and just nodded anytime they asked me something, just hoping my nodding wasn't permitting anything that would require gross amounts of clean up on my part.  I found them outside - on their neatly set up picnic area.  Something about the carpet of green grass, the late afternoon light, their easy banter and light hearted play....it struck me.  As what I don't know.  A moment, I guess. Something meaningful and enduring.  Perhaps fleeting.  I just shot the pictures, then stood at the back door, watching them for a few minutes.  I found my way back to the couch - to my book - but I liked the hum coming from their play.  

Rain

We threw open the window when it started to rain tonight.  The kids climbed to their perch and listened to it fall.  "Smile," I called.  So they yelled.

Sleepover Central

Mia had her first sleepover last night.  She has spent one night away from us at a little preschool friend's house and last night was her opportunity to reciprocate.  Much anticipation and discussion happened before the big event.  
Little girls have some kind of radar screening for each other.  When one is in the vicinity, they have the ability to seek each other out.  It's really pretty remarkable.  I've been in so many locations, only to turn around and see my girl eye to eye with another preschool aged girl, both of them announcing their names confidently and asking each other their favorite colors.  Last night was no different, Mia's guest came and put her ladybug suitcase up in the bedroom and then they both disappeared out back.  Before I knew it, the two little whirling twirling ladies had grown to three.  The neighbor had jumped the fence and squealed along with them.  Then, Luca joined the ranks and out of the corner of my eye, I saw his little 2 year old friend escaping his yard into ours.  So now there were five.

I called for backup.  Vince, Superdad, helped to monitor the front and back doors slamming and sliding, respectively.  He pushed kids on the swing and even made dinner for the two of us to enjoy a la adult style.  At one point, I came downstairs from checking on the commotion from the girls and V had Luca, wailing, on his hip while standing over a steaming wok filled with veggies.  "Have I thanked you yet?  For this?  For being here?"  No thanks was necessary, of course.  He's the dad - the other half of me.  He's equally responsible for this brood (and the extras).  But at that moment, in the swarm of sweet Suburban chaos, I felt the need to tell him that I couldn't do this alone.  That I didn't want to. 

It was actually a ball.  We ordered pizza, made homemade vanilla ice cream and then set up a giant bed in the playroom while the girls read and watched Snow White.  I sent home the stragglers and put Luca to bed.  I told the girls that it was time to go to sleep at 9:00.  They got into bed, with their books in tow, and read quietly.  I shut off the lights and that's when I heard it.  A soft little whisper/whimper.  "I'm nervous now.  I kind of want my mom."  The two sentences snuck out in a hushed tone, sliding over tight lips and wide eyes.  "I know that feeling" I assured.  And I do.  Here was this little bit of a thing, with her pull up on snug, telling me she felt alone - amidst this strange tribe.  We look different.  Smell different.  Sound different.  And I'm sure act differently from her own people.  It was my job though to make this place home, even for a night. "You know....I'm just like your mom.  I will wake up when I hear you.  I will come to you.  I will help you if you need me.  Just close your eyes and think about how much fun you had all day and know that we're here.  Just in the room next door." 

I went downstairs and collapsed on the couch next to V and lost myself in the upteenth viewing of Jerry McGuire.  Everyone slept well and when I went into Mia's room at 6:30 a.m., both girls were beaming from ear to ear.  So proud of themselves. 

I was too.  Proud of them that is. 

Ice Cream makers are perfect for this kind of occasion.  Twenty minutes of them all being still while they watched the machine set to work freezing the cream. 

A glimpse into our future of slumber parties. 

 

And it's off...

We're cast free.  10 weeks of hobbling around and being carried up and down the stairs.  10 weeks of putting on a plastic sleeve to head out into the yard on wet days.  10 weeks of wearing a cone.  Yup.  10 WEEKS.  I learned a lot on that fateful day back in the beginning of May when Bijou lay - immobilized - in the neighbors yard.  I learned that Bijou had broken something.  Her heel.  I also learned, with that diagnosis, that dogs even had heels. (Who knew?)  I learned that Bijou hadn't just broken it - she had shattered it.  She needed screws and a plate.  She needed some fancy techniques performed by a fancy surgeon.  She needed rehab and weekly visits with the vet. Yesterday though?  The cast was removed.  We celebrated today by going to our groomer and getting a proper wash and shave.  I waved hello to Rick at our neighborhood pet spa and ordered a "Poodle Cut.  STAT"  Then, we met Amy and Maddie at a cafe and ordered a mocha.  Bijou sat calmly on my lap.  Literally, smack on my lap.  We felt the sun on our faces as Luca poked around us in the rocks.  We enjoyed the freedom from restrictive bandages.  We enjoyed returning to our old normal.  She might be a tad slower now.  A bit thinner.  A bit older seeming.  But she's happy and healthy.  And let's all hope a bit wiser (Big dogs aren't meant to squeeze through narrow gaps in fences.)

In case you ever read this Bij, know that I love you.  You are, and will remain, my girl. 

70 years

We're celebrating a birthday today.  A big one.  A milestone year.  70 years.  If he were here, he and Mom would probably be doing something romantic and fun....a getaway somewhere within driving distance.  A kind of unusual spot that my Dad would have discovered.  We would have a family party too...full of good food, wine, and laughs. 

But he's not here. 

And that's the part that rings odd when you're celebrating someone's special day and they aren't present to blow out the candles.  Smile.  Laugh.  Tell stories.  Listen. 

There are no gifts to buy.  No cards to sign.  No paper to put on the floor with kids and crayons hovered over it in an attempt to make their own type of gift.  In short, there are none of the decorative pieces of a party to prepare. 

Maybe that's what makes today more special though.  The fact that this celebration tonight with my family is authentic.  Genuine. 

We'll laugh.  Toast.  And shed a tear or two....who knows.  But we'll take the time to recognize the profound influence this one remarkable human being had on all of our lives.  We'll take the time to raise a glass and say, "To Dad....wherever you are."  We'll take the time to actually celebrate this day - 70 years ago - that a tiny blonde boy was bundled up and handed over to a mother.  And because I've been handed babies of my own, I know that 70 years ago - that mother - my grandmother - whispered into that teeny ear, "Go forth.  Be happy.  Be prosperous.  Be generous. Be true." 

It's a day to celebrate that wish of hers coming true.  That little infant swaddled in a blanket grew to be quite a force full of love, hope, and heart.  There might not be any of the usual frivolities that a birthday party generally has, but there will be a vibrant thank you to the universe for making July 13th a day to remember. 

Happy birthday Dad. 

Not for Sale

How often do you spend money?  I mean - truly.  How often?  All the time it feels like, right?  A quick coffee here.  A cute tank top there.  Here a toy.  There a pot of flowers.  Everywhere money is flying.
Now ask yourself how often you feel really truly fulfilled by the experience of spending.  I mean - truly.  Soul squeezingly satisfied. 

Stupid question.  Because we already know the answer.  Probably never.  Or rarely. 

Now don't get me wrong.  I do love the joys money can bring us...a family dinner, a most perfect date night, a fantastic vacation in which my babes run barefoot and bare bottomed down isolated stretches of sand.  Luck didn't get us to that restaurant, experience or gorgeous beach.  Money did.  Not a whole lot by some standards.  But a staggering amount by others.  I'm not a dummy....money is a needed commodity.  Spending is something that has to occur. 

But the extremes to which we spend is shocking.  The amount we spend.  And what we so frivolously spend on. 

Mia has been begging to go back to Build-a-Bear, that "workshop" in which no one is creating or designing except the cashier....creating a sales pitch to get you to buy more garbage for poorly made bears.  Mia has been twice, for birthday parties, and she thinks the place is one of the seven wonders of the world.  (I know...my homeschooling in this department apparently hasn't worked.)  I promised her that we could bring her raggedy bear to get an outfit this summer.  The bear had been wearing an outfit from my own babyhood, and I was proud of this fact.  Mia apparently wasn't.

In we walked and Mia happily chose a flimsy butterfly tank dress and a pair of pink satin high heels.  Because what bear doesn't want to be dressed like a washed up burlesque dancer.  I watched as Mia put her outfit on the counter and smiled.  Luca stood near her and looked around, too young to really understand the allure to dressing animals.  Mia  stood.  Politely.  Sweetly.  Happily, true.  But not the kind of happy that makes your insides buzz.  The woman rang up the total for me and I almost choked. 

We got home and pulled into the driveway amidst a wild rain storm.  It pelted the windows and thunder shook the sky.  I turned around in the car and I said, "What are you waiting for?  Better get out there now." 

The rest is history.  The bear was thrown to the side of her carseat and the kids tore out of their seatbelts and ran madly through the grass.  They threw their arms up into the sky and closed their eyes against the torrential rain.  They did their best to swim in the gutters at the sides of the street, squeezing out their shirts each time they stood up.

I watched again.  My wallet safely tucked in my purse.  And my kids were happy.  Insides buzzing and soul searingly happy. 

A reunion - An Ode to All of My Friends

A reunion of college girlfriends.  A meeting of tiny new friends (welcome to the bunch Maeve!) A realization that life is this beautiful circle of comings and goings.  A swirl of emotions.  A flurry of conversation and camaraderie. 

V used to joke with me when we first met that I needed to try to cut down on the number of friendships I seem to have.  He said it so wholly in jest; I knew my gaggle of lady friends - and my fierce loyalty to them - is something that attracted him to me.  I'm not phony in my friendship.  I truly do like to put in quality time with those I love.  I try to make a coffee date, or these days a playdate, even if it's once a year.  If someone lives too far away, I like to call.  A good lengthy conversation.  Maybe not often, but when I'm beginning to feel disconnected from them.  I'm not perfect at all.  But friendship means a lot to me and I try to make it a priority. 

You know the old saying, "The less stuff you have, the less stuff you have to lose." Well, I like that saying.  Because one day, we'll all be 10 feet underground, or cremated into tiny blowable bits of dust.  And all of that crap we've so lovingly collected?  It'll be divied up and thrown out.  All of it.  Sure a stray tea cup might make it into the hands of a loving child who remembers you using it.  Or a pen.  It might end up with a nephew or a niece who remembers you writing with it.  But, for the most part, it's garbage.  So we all dutifully pare down. 

But friends?  You can't have too many.  I believe in collecting them.  Not to increase my numbers on Facebook, but to increase my capacity to understand myself.  To increase my compassion for others.  To increase my exposure to that ever evolving big bad world out there.  I have big friends and little friends.  Tall friends and short friends.  Liberal friends and not so liberal friends.  Old ones and new ones.  Silly ones and serious ones.  But the common thread?  They've all helped me at one time or another.  They've all unknowingly taken turns keeping the beat to my music.  They've all stood up for me.  Stood by me.  And sometimes even lovingly sat with me.  They've all been present at one time or another.  For me.  And there is no greater gift I've received.  No bigger compliment I've been given.

So to all of you out there....those of you who met me at 9, 19, 29, or recently.... 

You're all wanted.  And needed.  And ridiculously appreciated. 

Thank you to Rachel for hosting Meg O. and me (and our motley crews) for a lovely dinner!  

Patriotic Pellegrinos

 

Fourth of July.  Suburban style.  The day started off with the annual bike parade, which every self respecting suburban neighborhood puts on.  Seems all firemen are on duty today - all across this fine country - to lead tiny riders through meandering streets.  Ours ended with a hose down.  Shrieking kids ran through the firehose as the firemen sprayed them.  We had our friends Erin and Melanie (plus the Bub boys) join us for the morning and I didn't take a single photo of our most awesome group this a.m.  Truth be told, I was holding a mocha in one hand and bikes, bike helmets, and kids in the other.  (I can't take all the credit;Melanie is a sherpa in training and did quite well today.  I owe her a drink.  Or two.)  I couldn't take photos because I didn't have an extra hand.  Our gang then headed to the pool to swim and hang out.  I love when my family, and my extended family, get the opportunity to be a part of each other's lives.  Long live good friends.  And bike parades and pools. 

This was taken in the afternoon.  After a full day and little sleep.  A hot shower did him right though.  And a waffle and some milk. 

This girl should be the national ambassador for the fourth of July.  Her late afternoon is a sleepy one too.  But still a happy one.  She is wearing her homemade patriotic shirt and gearing up for a BBQ.

Freewheelin'

Just another day in the summer. 

Mia got her new bike.  Pink.  Basket.  Handlebar Tassels.  This thing is off the hook.

Not to be outdone, Luca has stepped up his biking too.  Still pushing along like a sand crab, but he's a faster sand crab now.