Nostalgia

Synonyms: homesickness, longing, melancholy

1.       Big yellow smiley face mug filled with change (or was the mug white)

2.       Empty oatmeal cylinder filled with grandma’s neatly stacked cookies, the ones that were always best eaten with a thin layer of peanut butter

3.       Rod iron bed facing  aunt pep’s red bon voyage poster

4.       Walking to the neighborhood grocery store

5.       Walking to church

6.       Walking to the pool

7.       Walking, walking, walking

8.       Love Boat and fried bologna sandwiches with chips

9.       Laughter

10.   Dying Easter eggs

11.   Jelly bean hunts & bags of money

12.   Riding grandma’s big blue tricycle

13.   Spending the night alone at grandma & grandpa’s house

14.   Red velvet cake

15.   Giggles

16.   Delicious lefse that my grandma never thought was quite right

17.   Collection of pencil sharpeners & decorative spoons

18.   Camping in the popup & eating fried fish

19.   Camping – getting all dolled up & promptly deciding to go swimming (all the hard work undone)

20.   Trip to California

21.   Silliness

22.   Grandma washing baseboards for graduation

23.    “Hang up. I’ll call you right back.”

24.   Her forever prayers. Who’s praying for me now?

25.   Eating at “Art’s burgers”

26.   Grandma’s soft skin

27.   Cool basements, toys, dress up clothes, mini piano

28.   Bible

29.   Peterson special on Christmas eve

Tonight I made this list. A list of all the things I loved about my grandmas. All the memories I have that fill my heart with joy. It was a year ago today that my Grandma Peterson passed away. She was my last living grandparent. I miss her. I miss both of my grandmas. They were such an integral part of my childhood. In many ways they were my symbol of simple unconditional love.

I started my evening by writing, deleting, writing, deleting… I wanted to create some lovely story about my grandmas, but what my heart really longed for was to reminisce. To be reminded of all the things I miss now that they are gone from this earth. My heart ached, my soul needed to pause, to cry and to remember. No story. Just a quiet space to embrace them. To love them.

"Butt Flip"

Earlier this week, after a long day of household projects, my testosterone rich family sat down for dinner. Hours of painting had left little energy for anything more than quesadillas. No fruit, no veggies, no tortilla chips – just quesadillas, with a side of soda. While we ate we discussed gymnastics. It started as a simple conversation about cartwheels and backflips. I retold tales of childhood round-offs and back-walk-overs. Although I tried to describe my graceful moves, they were disappointed to learn that I no longer had the gift of flip. Between bites, each child displayed their very best cartwheels. Mike and I praised their techniques. After cajoling them back to the table to finish their dinner, Greyden informed us that he was capable of doing “butt flips”. It was at this moment I should have known that things were going to take a swift turn south. Literally.

In the blink of an eye, Greyden bolted to the middle of the open floor. He whipped down his shorts and underwear. Dropped to the ground. Laid on his back and flipped his little legs over his head. Thus producing a—leave nothing to the imagination—full moon. A “butt flip”.

I’m sure a mother of girls would have politely informed my mooner that sharing your butt with people at dinner is impolite and a bit rude. But, I’m the mother of boys.

I laughed right-out-loud. Not the polite chuckle of a proper lady, but a long and loud guffaw matching the sidesplitting laughter of my mate and sons. Our hysterics spurred Greyden on, thus causing him to repeat his acrobatics multiple times throughout the rest of our meal.

There was something delightfully magical about our family’s chorus of laughter that refreshed and nourished my soul. Even now, as I write, I giggle and smirk at the carefree (and totally inappropriate) antics of my four year old son. This is a story that will someday horrify him, and will bring amusement to our family for far longer than he would like. I gotta say, I never thought a full moon would bring such sunshine to my day.

What Deserves Praise?

“Self-love takes practice. It’s new behavior. We can begin to measure what we are doing, rather than what we haven’t yet managed to do, and praise ourselves.”

The end of spring break often leaves me with a slightly defeated outlook on life. Spring Break is meant to be the time of year that every “to do” and “can’t wait to do” is completed. There is no holiday to interrupt the flow of the week, so it seems perfectly realistic to get caught up on everything I didn’t get to at winter break. However, the week is never long enough to truly accomplish all that my head and heart can dream up. So, I have a tendency to feel a little blue as I consider returning to work. I can’t seem to remember what I’ve filled my week with and my current “to do” list is longer than the pink notepad paper that hangs on my refrigerator.

As I ponder this idea I realize, sometimes that’s how we feel about life in general. Our wish list outweighs our accomplishments, we tend not to keep a running list of what we’ve done with our lives and our memory isn’t good enough to remember it all. And so we forget, and only see what we haven’t managed to do yet. We rarely take time to celebrate; we rush on to remind ourselves of all that we must do before we die. Depressing. And rather unhealthy, if I do say so myself.

So, in the spirit of celebrationsJ

1.      put pen to paper (or posted) more times in March than I did in all of 2011

2.      became a non-paid non-professional face painter for my niece, Leah’s, 2^nd birthday – so cute I just want to eat her up

3.      confidence and craft are improving because of my March challenge

4.      two nights at Mt. Princeton hot springs (not mentioning I forgot sunblock and had several red faces)

5.      visited grandma & grandpa – came home with two more (thankfully small) stuffed animals that the boys just couldn’t live without

6.      painted our bedroom – 3 different neutral colors, one being a white ceiling. (Painting a ceiling should be on its own separate list of accomplishments.)

7.      escaped home repairs to discuss writing & life with friends (more than once)

8.      identity as a coworker has expanded because of the March challenge

9.      painted boys’ room – one color (Grey thought it looked purple, fortunately dried a nice shade of tan)

10.  gave kisses, read stories, and settled into a pleasant family routine

11.  managed to reassemble bedrooms with only one living room slumber party

12.  visited football games, parks and swimming pools (few more red cheeks – I’m just not prepared for this weather quite yet)

13.  tiled the boys’ bathroom (really not my accomplishment, but very happy it’s being done)

14.  finally got to eat a quiet breakfast and writeJ

Mighty fine list of accomplishments! I’m just going to take a minute to sit with this list, before turning over with my current “to do” list and moving forward.

You’re valuable and worthy of a little celebration too. What are you doing that deserves praise?

Update: My friend, Gina, is doing well. The initial report indicates that it is scar tissue, but official results will not be in for another week. I was standing in the paint aisle at Home Depot when I got the word; cried like a baby. She is out of the hospital and beginning her recovery process. Thank you for your continued prayers and well wishes! I’ll keep you posted.

At the Edge of It

Today as I write, my dear friend, Gina, lays on an operating table with her brain exposed. We are all praying that the surgeons find scar tissue and not a new tumor. As her family sits in a cold sterile waiting room, we are at home entertaining the neighbor boy and preparing to paint our bedroom. My life continues status quo and theirs comes to a halt.

And then there's my neighbor, Anna. She lost her sister in a ski accident in January. Anna and I have been friends for almost eight years. We met after the birth of our first sons. We announced our second pregnancies to each other on the same day. We live in identical homes, except flipped - her kitchen is on the right and mine is on the left. Our husbands each drive Honda Accords and work for HIV organizations. We both teach and are a consistent source of sanity during our long summer breaks. We make time for play dates and mommy dates. When Shooter, with Mark Wahlberg came out, we were first in line to see it. Anna and I live similar lives, except now her sister is gone and mine are not.

Anna's story is unique because there are thousands of people grieving the loss of her sister, Sarah Burke, the athlete and Olympic hopeful. But, I did not know Sarah - I know Anna. I grieve for Anna and her loss. A life that will no longer be lived with a sister in this world. The world grieves for Sarah, the skier; Anna grieves the loss of a beloved sister. Her pain is private. The knowledge of others grieving does not change her process. Grief is hers and hers alone.

Living at the center of grief is very different than sitting at the edge of it. The pain is there, but on the edge you can move closer to it or step away. Life can go on as normal, painting and play dates, without being overwhelmed and immersed in it. At the center, the grief is ever present. Gina's family cannot escape the pain and fear of her surgery. It surrounds them. I sit at the park, birds singing, a cool breeze diffusing the bright sunshine - I am aware of the ache in my heart but can be distracted by the carefree imaginative play of my children.

Grief. It seems that life should stop for all. And yet, it does not. I suppose this fact is a blessing, but today it doesn't feel like it - even out here at the edge of it.

Slippery Slope

First I was too emotionally spent
Then I was plain old tired
After that I decided that writing in my head was practically as good as putting pen to paper
Saturday I forgot about my writing challenge all together
Yesterday I  headed up to the mountains to relax and get away from my responsibilities
Finally I realized that I had gone five days without typing a single word
So, I am now officially back on the "writing" horse
Each day
For the next five days (at least)

Where is Perfect?

“We are not perfect. Perfection is not expected in the Divine plan. But we are expected to take our experiences and grow from them, to move beyond the shame of them to celebrate what they have taught us.” – Anonymous

Life is a confusing mystery. Some days we are comfortable living in the adventure of the mystery. And other days we sit in the mire of this reality. Some days we are filled with wonder and delight at all the possibilities that life holds. And other days we become paralyzed by imperfection. Our imperfect selves, imperfect relationships, imperfect lives… There is a part of us that longs for perfection. But, as we look around it is nowhere to be found.

Daughters lose mothers and fathers.

           What’s perfect about that?

Relationships are painful.

How did this happen?

Friends find out they have brain cancer.

           Why?

Sisters lose sisters.

           How will life go on?

Marriages fail.

           Was that the plan?

Dreams of youth are unfulfilled.

            When will mine come true?

And the crazy part is that it's usually the small stuff that more regularly sends us to this dark and painful place. The difficult conversation. The less than perfect evaluation. The nasty self- talk. The dirty dishes. The day filled with unmet expectations. The unkind word that came out without thinking.

                                                                                                                

Today, I sit in this space.

Fortunately, I have lived enough life to know that tomorrow may be different.

Stubborn

Sometimes I can be stubborn. It usually rears its head at odd times. When Mike wants to turn up the heat and don't want to, or when my boss tells me we might need to move rooms and I don't want to. I can feel it deep within me, this small little girl stomping her feet and screaming, "NO! I don't want to! You can't make me!!" That's how I feel tonight. I don't want to write and nobody's going to make me. I want to sit here and watch Dancing With The Stars, eat food I shouldn't eat and do nothing but judge them for wearing scantily clad clothes on a family show. "See, I was writing and I missed Melissa Gilbert!" I told you I did not want to write. I have nothing of any real value to say. I feel cranky and probably tired and I do not want to write. The great thing is, I'm an adult and I can choose not to write. So, I am making a very adult decision - I am NOT writing. The End.