These two things are true . . .

When this is the scene beside the sink, it means that we've made a mess.  It also means we've painted something.  There are two things I want you to know about that, though - two things that I always notice when I watch children paint or draw or paper mache or glue or pile or smush or dig or create just about anything.  

I'd like to interject here that I'm not artistically trained, I just don't mind watching kids make a mess. And I usually don't mind making a mess myself.  I have watched a lot of kids creating messes.  I was a teacher for a long time - I ran a preschool - I was a camp counselor - I taught art in my garage - my favorite part of having toddlers was letting them take their clothes off and paint like crazy in their high chairs.  I wanted you to know that I was qualified to share the following points.  I've been around the block, people.

When children create, they sing.  Some of them sing loud and clear.  Some of them hum.  Some of them sing songs with real words and some of them sing something that sounds like a grocery list and others sing their stream of consciousness.  They don't sing the same songs as those around them; they are not using three part harmony.  Sometimes the songs are funny.  Sometimes the songs are sweet.  It's fun to hear.  

On Sunday afternoon my kids were painting their pumpkins (note:  they weren't painting their jack-o-lanterns because I thought it was a wonderful creative activity - they were actually painting them because I convinced them that painting them would be awesome and we wouldn't have all of that messy stringy stuff to deal with). Their singing was wonderful.  I sat, mostly quiet, and listened.  I liked it.  They sounded happy.

Another thing that happens when children are painting or creating is that they have no stress.  They might have been angry with one another minutes before they started creating.  They might be going through a period of being anxious about something.  Oddly enough, while they are mid-creation, there is no sign of stress.  There is no anger.  There is no competition.  There is no worry.  There is no negative energy - none.  And no one involved is trying to be anyone other than themselves.

I was thinking about my kids, my artists.  I was thinking about the joy I feel while they create; how I love to hear the music and watch the concentration and comfort on their faces.

I've been wondering why we don't all do more of this.  I've been thinking about how I feel when I create, paint, dream.  It's good for the soul, to be sure.  I've been considering the ways that we grown-ups put up barriers to keep us from letting go the way children do.  I've been wondering why.  Of course we aren't all professional artists, but neither are any of the many children I've watched creating beautiful messes.  

They aren't stopped or silenced by not being the best.  A crazy perfectionism, worry, and fear do not stop children from expressing themselves.  

When do we lose that?  Why do we let it go?  Don't we want to sing unabashedly and allow stress to fall away?  

You're not an artist?  Yes, you are.

You don't have the supplies?  Yes, you do.

You can't sing?  Who cares.

Don't think the stress could be lifted?  Try it.

Fantastic Firefighter and Best Ballerina Awards . . .

I love kids!  I love their zest for life, their inhibitions and the way they know to live in each moment!

These are two of my favorites, and it was special to be with them in their home, doing what they do best - play their way through learning and life.  How awesome it is to get the call to capture the every day in the lives of little folks - I'm a lucky one.

That great Cathedral space which was childhood. 

Virginia Woolf 

Blessed be childhood, which brings down something of heaven into the midst of our rough earthliness. 
Henri Frederic Amiel 

There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again.  ~Elizabeth Lawrence

I'd give all wealth that years have piled,
The slow result of Life's decay,
To be once more a little child
For one bright summer day.
~Lewis Carroll

Truly wonderful the mind of a child is.

YODA, Star Wars Episode II

Isn't it fun to look into the eyes of these precious ones and wonder . . . 

about what they'll do and be?

Aesop needs your help . . .

For you, today, a fable.  A ping pong fable and the moral is for you to explain to me.

I begin . . .

In late July we realized we would be moving.  We knew our kids would be devastated.  Though we are against bribery from a moral standpoint, we knew we would be offering a bribe.  We would work to sugar up the deal until they realized that the move was good for them.  (You know you'd do it, too.)  (:

Could we find a house with a pool?  That would be grand.  No, we couldn't find one.

Would we move to a house with the coolest basement on the planet?  No, we moved to a place below the flood plain.

We've got it - we'll get a ping pong table!  Yeah, everyone has always wanted one.  That's the ticket.  That will work!  It's a relatively inexpensive way to 'buy' a few positive points towards the new life.  We would purchase a ping pong table.  Easy.

We searched for houses.  In every house we talked about where said table tennis set would go.  "You must really love that ping pong table," said our awesome realtor.  "Oh, we don't actually have one," said us.  Still, we saw it.  We placed it in each of the twenty three houses we saw.  We visioned fun at the ping pong.  We heard the bounce.  We felt the rush of the wind as we zapped the ball with force.  We were the ping of the great pong.  It would be wonderful.

We found the house.  We loved the house.  The house was perfect.  Oops, there wasn't a place for the ping pong table.  Oh, that's okay, we thought.  We'll use the groovy garage as a 'hang out' and the ping pong table will be the first addition to the new space.  We'll get the table as soon as we arrive.  It will be grand.

We moved in.  Our stuff didn't fit in the perfect house.  The perfect house had character but not storage.  The garage was full.  Hmmmm, we all pondered.  How will we fit the ping pong table?  Well, we just will, we thought.  It will work.  It will.

The weeks went by.  The garage sat stuffed.  The ping pong dream eluded us.  It was out there - close, within in our reach, at any one of the big box stores in the zip code.  We looked at photos of the ping pong tables.  We played ping pong at our friends' houses.  We imagined and we came to think that we would be almost Chinese-like in our skill.  It would all work out.  It was part of the plan.  We kept our eye on the prize.

Money got tight; after all, there are a lot of surprise purchases when you move.  Maybe we shouldn't spend too much money on this venture.  Craig's List - that's what we'll do!  We'll find the table on Craig's List, both fulfilling our dream and saving the environment from one more green and white rectangle in the landfill.  We will be heroes - Chinese heroes.  It will be wonderful.

We searched Craig's List and everything else like it.  We found incredible ping pong tables in San Clemente and Omaha.  We found inexpensive ping pong tables in Baton Rouge and Waycross.  We scanned the charts each day, waiting for the table that was meant to live with us.  It would come.  We knew it would.

And it did.  On the day of our closing, I got the word.  Tony, from Auburn, had the table and we could meet him that night.  A mere 38 mile drive and $50 were all that stood between ping pong utopia and us.  The dream was alive.  We would reach the summit.  We could smell it now.

Everything was perfect.  June retrieved the children from school, and the news of the ping pong pick up made homework a breeze.  When Mr. Cleaver got home from work, the family would be ready.  We raked back the debris in the garage and carved out a ping pong table-sized hole for the insertion later that evening.

It would be a joyous time.  We would lovingly pile up in Mr. Cleaver's truck and happily cross country, singing and giggling our way to recreational bliss.  Our gps friend on the iphone would help us get there.  It was all working.  The plan was being carried out perfectly.

Oops, Mr. Tony, the table owner has to work late.  Oh, that's okay, we'll investigate the precious college town and grab a wee bit of dinner.

Oops, the children are getting irritable.  Apparently, an eight, eleven, and twelve year old can't be stuffed into the small backseat of the ping pong picker upper truck cab at the end of a tiring school day.

Oops, it's getting late.  Don't think the happy little ping pongers will be getting to bed early tonight.

Oops, June and Ward are developing horrific headaches.  We don't have any ibuprofen in Mr. Cleaver's truck.  That screaming from the rear is really aggravating the blood vessels in the foreheads.

Okay, back on track.  Got the call from Tony.  I must admit, I felt a bit daring being the only one with the contact information.  I was the only one who could take the call.  It was all so clandestine.  Oooooo, we are so cool.

We get there, we see the table, and we approach the summit.  Victory is almost ours.  We have stayed the course.  We will win Olympic gold in table tennis.  We are the tortoise.  We have persevered, and we will win.

Tony explains that the table is a bit hard to move, but that's okay.  We're fine with that.  It's just our start at the sport.  We're only using this table until we speak the lingo, know the jargon, talk the talk.  Then we'll purchase the real thing.  We'll probably travel to China and a news crew from the US will tag along to document the trip.  It will be big.  This table is just our first path to greatness.  It's the one that will be sold on ebay in a few years.  The table they started on, they'll say, and we'll donate the proceeds to children yet to realize the dream.  It will be swell.

Ward and Tony awkwardly maneuver the table into the truck.  There it is.  Almost ours.  I'm the one in charge of the deal.  I've got to finish it off.  I started this thing, and, golly gee, I'll finish it.  I reach confidently into my purse and grab the wad - it's more dramatic that way - a wad of money.  That's how we do things in these deals - that's how it rolls.  I dump the wad into Tony's hand.  He doesn't count it.  He trusts me.  We've been at this together for a long time.  He knows he's part of the dream.  His time with the big green instrument of greatness is over.  It's our time, now.

The trip home is happier.  The headaches are abating a bit.  The children are now falling asleep on each other and are too tired to fuss.  That makes it almost close to silent.  There will be a wrong turn or two.  That's not a problem.  We're almost there.  We've waited.  We've worked.  We are soon to reign supreme of the table tennis world.

A few volleys of the tiny ball and it's time for bed.  The greatness will start tomorrow.  We've attained it now; the dream will come alive in the morrow.  For now, the athletes must sleep.  They must rest their weary heads and imagine the moments to come.  A $50 table in the hollowed out hole in the garage for now - the world stage next year.  There are dreams to be dreamt.  We must sleep.  Our climb is all but over and soon we will know the thrill of victory.

The morning is beautiful, the smiles are a plenty and school passes quickly.  A few things to do after school and then we will begin our work with the paddles of our future.  A few more tasks and then we'll be free.  We are almost there.

We finish our work, we tidy our lists, we assemble our bookbags for the following day.  We go out and easily slide the table from the confines of the old garage into the bright, wonderful world.  The breeze is perfect.  The temperature is perfect.  The bounce of the ball is perfect.  We are not yet perfect, but that will come.  We are the tortoises of the story - we wait for the glory.  We keep at it, keep fighting for the summit.

The feelings are light and airy as the paddles joyfully tap the ball again and again.  It's all wonderful.  We have made it.  There are spend the night parties that just got better.  After school is a whole new thing.  Parents and children will coexist in harmony and neighbors will amble over for the fun.  It really is a whole new world.  It was all worth it.  We have a ping pong table.

Oops.  Not anymore.  There is a simple lean.  There is a leaning of one side that puts too much pressure on the other side that adds pressure to the failing supports of the base that begins to slide out from under the entire structure that falls to the floor in defeat.  It is over.  It lasted but fifteen minutes.  There is a strawberry on the knee of one of the competitors.  There is no blood.  It does not appear that the big toe is broken.  There will only be a bruise.  That's all that's left of the dream now.

It's nightfall.  The shattered heap of all of our yearnings must be stuffed back into it's hole.  It must be sheltered from the elements.

Maybe we could offer someone the net and balls and four new paddles to come and take it away.  This is not our agony of defeat.  We won't give up.  We are only deterred - only for a minute.  The game is in our soul now.  We mustn't let it go.  We simply cannot.



The fable, friends, and I leave the moral of the story to you.  I must rest now.  I am spent.  My dream is alive but must be treated with tender loving care.  I must rest. 

Laughing and Loving on the Lake . . .

What a blast this shoot was!  

If you bring together five siblings and all of their loved ones, add a lake and a long weekend; you've got the combination of a most special occasion!  

The love was palpable, the laughs were everywhere and the Lake Oconee was the perfect background for this awesome extended family.  

Enjoy the smiles of all ages and the moments they shared. . .

  W

Don't count on doomsday

 

One day last week, I brought my kids and a couple of friends home from school.   I needed to drop off Molly, my oldest, with her little brother Harry and his two friends.  I had to run a quick errand with Emma to pick up her friend.  It was an easy to carry out plan, very straightforward.  Set up the homework on the kitchen table, everyone is in charge of themselves and hold off on any playing or eating until I returned in ten minutes.  Easy enough.

The kids happily deboarded the minivan, lugging along their backpacks and headed into the house.  Emma and I scooted off, and all was right with the world.  The sun was even shining brightly, and the sun roof was open.  It was one of those afternoons where things seem "just right."  It felt like everything was going according to plan, everyone seemed cheerful, and  I recall birds gaily chirping.  You get the scene.

And then, Pleasantville exploded with one little phone call.  No matter what you do or where you live, you've had those calls.  You know, the ones that let you know your plans have changed or the ones that let you know that folks are not doing what you wish they were doing or the day will not continue along in the same Zippity Do Dah way it was before the call.  I don't mean the calls of really bad news; I mean the inconvenient calls, those that aggravate us.  We all get them.  This was mine . . . it was a recorded message.

(read this with the voice of a very upset eight year old and sound like the entire world as we know it is falling in.  make it sound like you might actually be having a medical emergency and there is a chance that all of the other children in the house may have been crushed under a roof implosion.  read it with a frog in your throat and make it sound like you could be close to your second to last breath ever.  also read it like the entire world is working against you and that you may not be able to speak much longer.)


Mama, this is Harry.  I really think you should come home because it's just really not working out without you.  So, I mean you should come home quickly because everybody is kinda mixed up and Molly can't really handle it all so you need to come home soon because please so that Molly won't have to deal with all of this because everyone is just trying to let her speak to you, speak to her to ask her questions and I can't get Study Island to work and my paper is torn because of when I had my water bottle at school spilled when I had my bookbag, and so I mean, that's it because so please come home soon because I really want you to come soon and Molly can't figure it out. . . Oh, and this is Harry.


That was my call and I have written it here in its entirety.  Apparently after the urgent call, Harry wasn't even able to muster the strength to hang up the phone or maybe the friends had risen up in a coo and had taken over the entire house; so I couldn't get them back on the phone.  Things were bad.  That was clear.  Completely clear.

Ughhh.  The birds stopped singing, I stopped whistling, and I dreaded the return to the scene of the crime and destruction.  I gave up on the afternoon.  It was ruined.  I knew when I got back the four I had dropped off would be in tears, the house would be a mess, the dog would have eaten all of the homework and the children may have even eaten the dog.  The siblings would be fighting, there would probably be debris in the yard, and somehow I figured someone else would have entered the scene.  I don't know, someone like the Orkin man or something.

The moods of the whole lot of us would sour.  Yuck.  I can't remember what day it was, but I remember thinking that I had never liked that particular day of the week anyway.  Ugghhh again.  We picked up our new friend and headed back home.  I did my best to cover my aggravation, but in my heart I knew . . . I knew the whole afternoon was a mess now.

You know how that goes.  Everything is rolling right along, and then . . . boom!  One phone call or one conversation or one bit of financial news or traffic pile-up or misunderstanding changes the whole day.  You just kind of know it's a wash.  That was the deal.  We drove up, I dreaded getting out of the car and facing the natives and the dog was barking.

I braced myself and pushed open the door.  I slowly turned to peer into the kitchen, just hoping to see at least one child still able to walk on his own accord.  I prayed for the best.  I hoped for a miracle.

Guess what I saw?  Three kids sitting at the kitchen table, busily working on homework and one in the study on the computer.  Molly was helping one of our friends on his math and the dog settled back in her favorite spot on top of the couch.  Everything looked exactly like it had before I left.  Everything except for the bookbags and pencils and papers and textbooks.  There was a little bit of laughing, a hello or two to the new friend and that was pretty much it!

I was ready to fold in the whole day!  What!  I had already called it quits on a happy family night and then come home to THIS!  I asked Molly how things were, expecting that this question would lead to the impending destruction of the day - "Oh, everything is great!  I got the boys working on their Math, Harry had a little trouble signing onto the website but we got that worked out, we found one of the homework papers had gotten wet from a water bottle but we put it out flat on the table and it's almost dry.  Everything is great!  What did you get us for snack?"  I asked Harry how everything was, knowing that surely this question would explain my doomed mood. "Oh, everything is good.  We're almost finished with our homework, we just need to finish our spelling.  I tried to call you earlier but I couldn't get you, so I left you a message."

'YOU LEFT ME A MESSAGE' I thought.  YOU TOLD ME THE SKY WAS FALLING, AND I BELIEVED YOU!  A MESSAGE?  THAT WAS MORE AKIN TO THE LAST CALL IN A MOVIE BEFORE A BUILDING BLOWS UP!  A MESSAGE?

And, that was that.  Nothing was wrong.  No one was unhappy.  Everyone's homework was finished.  Friends were happy.  Snack was good.  The sun kept shining and the birds began again their singing.  I took my little buddy's message and decided that indeed it was all BAD.  I wrote off the rest of the day.  I took one little piece of crazy news and painted it all over everything before I even checked it out.  I let myself let go of a little piece of goodness just from that.

We could learn a couple of different things from this scenario.

1. My son has an overactive sense of the dramatic and apparently needs to 'get it out of his system' to feel better and move on.
2. Sometimes we too easily let go of the good and decide to let a tiny bit of bad cover our day or our week or our life.  

I already know the validity of No. 1.  He does have an overactive sense of the dramatic.  I don't think that's what I'll take from this afternoon, though. 

How often do we let this kind of thing happen?  Why is it so easy to 'sell out' when things are moving right along?  

It's raining cats and dogs outside today.  I have a lot of work I need to be doing.  Harry is home sick.  Things need to be straightened up quite a bit.  But guess what?  All is well.  Tim is off today and he just built a fire, I love writing a blog, Sadie is back up in her spot on the couch and everything is pretty darn great.  I think I'll be a bit more careful next time I ruin a good day with just one little bit of uggghhhhh.  Hope you will, too.