'Nuff Said

OK. I lied. I've got more to say. Yes, Little Dudely climbs door frames, leaps off the couch (no not the ledge behind the couch) and takes apart (and reassembles) doorknobs. He also has a great affinity for electronics.

He wakes up before I do, tiptoes downstairs, turns on my computer and sends emails with photo attachments. Mostly to family members, although friends have been known to receive emails too. He reads well, but doesn't spell quite so well:

"Hi Poppa. Do you lick my picker? I love you."

Um, that would be "Do you like my picture?" Of course, the picture in question wasn't even one he took... And he does take pictures. Actually, I love his pictures. They are from a wonderfully different perspective. Looking up, or just across the table, or of himself. The world from the eyes of a young child. For the record, he's now 5.

His lack of spelling prowess doesn't slow him down, last February he sent this one:

"hi poppa I sooa orins bllt lat niet"

Translation: "Hi Poppa. I saw Orion's Belt last night."

He also likes to send text messages on cell phones. I learned that last spring when I got a message on mine saying I had nearly used up my allotment for the month. I don't send text messages. We figured out he had been up early sending messages back and forth between my cell phone and my husband's. We had a little talk about that one.

Then there's the time he set the password on my new cellphone and locked it. I discovered this as I rushed off somewhere with Dee Dee. Uh... let's just say that I wasn't calm and collected. Funny thing was, in the middle of my tirade I realized what a great story this would be once I calmed down and unlocked my phone.

Just the week before I had made a Beatles mix CD for Pookie. That was all I had in the car, and that was just what I needed. "Let It Be" and "All You Need is Love" went a long way in my desperate attempt to calm down.

Of course when I reached a land-line, I learned that he had promptly forgotten the password. All 8 digits of it. 100,000,000 combinations. That's when I learned about PUK codes and SIM cards and met a nice guy at the IM help desk. And then set my own combination (that I won't forget) to keep him off my phone.

The Wind

The wind blows.
The trees know
As they sway.
The leaves know
As they rustle.
The water knows
As it waves.
The clouds know
As they drift.

The wind blows.
I feel it
Push on me.
I hear it
Rush past my ears
And rustle the leaves.
I see it
Sway the trees
And mound the waves.
And drift the clouds.

But what if
There were
No trees to sway
No leaves to rustle
No water to wave
No clouds to drift?
What if
I was not there
To feel
To see
To hear
The wind?

The wind still blows.

IM-ing

Call me crazy, but sometimes the written word is the most effective way to communicate. My husband is a pilot. Pilots have weird schedules and are away from home quite a bit. But when they're home, they're HOME. 24/7. This leaves me transitioning between full-time stay-at-home starting-a-new-career mom of three and full-time two parent household. It's all or nothing around here.

Pilots have a very high divorce rate. I have a visceral understanding of why that happens now. The transitions are the hardest part. Twice a week more or less. Major transitions. For those of us at home, we find a new rhythm for life once Mr. Pilot leaves for work. It's not simple, but it's comfortable for us. We love to have Dad home too. That transition is harder for him. A pilot's life is lived in a highly controlled environment. Shoot, they have scripts they read back and forth to each other on the flight deck. There's not much unpredictability there. And that's just the way I want it.

But here at home? Uncontrolled environment. Who knows what will happen next? We've got three spirited kids. I don't envy my husband for having to make those transitions. I just have to reconcile my comfort with the chaos with his discomfort. He has to try to shift his expectations entirely.

So he travels a lot. You'd think we'd talk on the phone all the time. Nope. We instant message. When he gets to the latest hotel he plugs in his computer and connects to the internet. While he settles in from his day, changes out of his uniform and eats whatever meal is overdue we can keep on chatting. We both can spill our stories, overlapping them even, without being interrupted or feeling pushed aside for the other's stories. I can wander out of the room to take care of dinner or bath time or whatever chaos needs a bit of guidance without having to hang up or disturb his train of thought. Phone calls are for short, intensive discussions in which time is of the essence. Talk is much faster than writing.

And then there are those trips when he doesn't even get to his hotel until long after I am asleep. Then email is the wonder tool I use. I compose a Daily News Update from Home & Such. He tells me that he feels far more connected to home when he knows the nitty-gritty of our day. I enjoy telling him stories. And then I can use the Such portion for whatever I happen to be thinking about. Works for us.

In fact writing works so well that sometimes I resort to IM or email or printed letters even when he's home. The nice thing about writing is that I can say all I have to say without being interrupted even if emotions are running high - as you might imagine could happen due to the controlled vs uncontrolled environment business. Having the chance to explain myself, perhaps even understanding my thoughts fully in the process, lessens my stress. Having the chance to hear the other side and reflect upon it in quiet, perhaps even understanding the source of his stress, lessens that as well. Take out tone of voice and body language (which are often misinterpreted when emotions run high anyway), take out the possibility of not hearing the whole story because your mind is racing with objections and we find understanding. It's all good.

What would we do without technology?

Allowing

I'm new to Abraham-Hicks and the Law of Attraction. It's not that I haven't heard of it. How could I not have heard of it? But I haven't read much of anything about it. Until yesterday.

I was thinking about designing my website and decided to browse other people's websites for ideas. I found myself absorbed by the content of one and then started following suggested links, which included Abraham-Hicks. So I spent some time reading and listening because that felt like the right thing to do. I stumbled on the most wonderful quote:

"When people use the word "teacher", the vibration that matches the word often feels more like asserter than it does like allower. But, the ideal teacher is one who is an open vortex through which desire can be satisfied, where an asserter is one who has information that they are wanting to impart.
*snip*
Oh, it is so delicious! When you have an environment where children feel free, where they get to choose, and you are brave enough to ride it out... In other words, at first they'll choose all of the things that you have been convinced are wrong... But when you are brave enough to let it go far enough that they actually do identify their own personal desire, and then you stand as the loving implementer of their desire -- you would never go back to any other form."

We have chosen to home educate our children, and I say home educate instead of home school, because what we do does not resemble school in anyway. In fact, we don't really home educate them either as we (try to) allow our kids to educate themselves. Which really means, we follow their lead and provide the support and opportunities they need to express most fully who they are. And I find it so delicious to stumble upon, or should I say attract?, this quote that so perfectly understands our philosophy.

I allow. In fact I allow far more than feels comfortable to me sometimes. But when I can't think of a good reason not to other than "because I said so" or "because that's not how people do things" I just have to allow it. Or at least I try. Sometimes I find myself asserting. That never ends well.

Why? The ultimate question. I try to answer it as fully and truthfully as I can. Dee Dee learned about high and low pressure systems in the atmosphere when she was 3 because she looked out the window and asked "The wind is blowing. Why?" It's a marvelous question for getting to the truth of things. Kids are happy to do whatever you ask of them as long as it makes sense to them. But they learn quickly, or maybe they know intuitively, that much of what we adults ask them to do doesn't make sense.

The magic that flows when I step outside my preconceived notions about what should and shouldn't happen, what my kids should and shouldn't do is amazing. The magic is living life in the flow of all that is and all that could be. My kids are natural magicians and they are allowing me to remember my own magic.

Pookie

Pookie woke up around 6a this morning. It wasn't so much the hour that bothered me, I was waking up about then anyway, but her volume. Some days she wakes up quietly and plays in her room while she waits for us to spring her. We have a gate on her door because there's just too much good stuff to do elsewhere in the house at 2 AM. Once we forgot to latch her gate and discovered that she had turned on nearly every light in the house and then flipped on the TV to watch a favorite video sometime in the middle of the night. The laughing woke us up. Well, that and the volume of the TV...

So she waits for us to open her gate and help her downstairs in the morning. Today she woke up loud. Not the "mmmmmm" happy hum, but the "eeeeeeeee" excited exclamation. That sound sometimes resonates in me like nails on a blackboard. Especially first thing in the morning, when I'd prefer to be waking gently to the rising sun and my own thoughts. So my first thoughts today were not good ones.

I had a call with one of my fellow coaches from my class later in the morning. She astutely pointed out that "The pain is in the resisting." This is Pookie. That's her excited noise. What's not to love? My wise friend and coach then suggested "Appreciation is the feeling to switch your vibe to love." Truly, Pookie brings me such tremendous joy and offers such patient teachings that I would be crazy not to appreciate all her wonder.

She has patiently repeated herself varying her signs "Bird squirrel turkey fox eat" for 10 minutes to get me to realize that she wants me to fill the bird feeder outside the sliding doors so the animals will come. She has taught me to count Pookie-style on her fingers: with your right hand grasp your left index finger, that's 1. Middle, ring, pinkie are 2, 3 and 4. Thumb is 5. Then grab right pinkie with left hand for 6 and track straight up to thumb for 7 through 10. Start over to continue 11-20. Unless she just grabs a finger and I'm supposed to know which number that is. Unless she signs a number and shakes her head no. 4-no is 14, obviously. Unless she decides to use actual ASL numbers (which is infrequent and only used for a few numbers). But she always waits and repeats and teaches me, and she's so proud of me when I finally get it.

Recently she has taken to finger-spelling words when we don't understand her sign. Hello? Mom? Let me spell it out for you... I guess she is approaching adolescence...

After snuggling Little Dudely tonight I went to snuggle Pookie. Her lights were out and she was lying quietly in bed. But she resisted me pulling up her covers. She took my hand, in the dark, and put it on her foot. I felt the little piece of dead skin by the corner of her toenail (that is trying to in-grow, and we're trying to stop it) that was bothering her. I flipped on the light and asked if she wanted me to get the nail clippers. She said yes in a way that only she can, it's kind of a whole body nod. I don't know why she doesn't just use her head to nod yes, but it certainly is distinctive.

When I started to move to get the nail clippers, she grabbed my hand again and placed it on her chin. Moisturizer? I asked. Yes, again. Then she picked at her lip. Lip balm? Yes. So I gathered the supplied and took care of her bedtime requests. And tried to pull her covers up. Socks, she signed. Once her feet were cozy she rolled over and curled up as I draped her fleece baby blanket over her, then pulled up the rest of her covers. What a love. What a lucky mom I am.

Holiday Challenge

Concept 2 is the company that makes my rowing machine. This is THE rowing machine that you'll find at most training centers from high school to national team. I have the Model B which is the same one I was introduced to when I first started rowing in my junior year in high school in 1986. They now produce Models D and E. I have to say that we have maintained it well and have made some upgrades to various components over the years since we bought ours in 1991.

But I have digressed. Concept 2 is holding their 9th annual Holiday Challenge between Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Eve. The idea is to row 200,000m over the 28 days, which works out to 7143m each day. Which is something like 35 minutes per day for me, with no days off. You want days off? Keep rowing.

For some, that challenge is not enough. Those people complete the challenge in one day. That's maybe 13-15 hours of rowing (for them, much longer for me) in one day. It's the distance of nearly 5 marathons. What are they thinking?!?

I have participated, and completed the challenge three times (maybe four?), including the years I was pregnant with Little Dudely and the year he was an infant. I think I was pushing into the realm of insanity that year. All five of us were living in a tiny apartment during several major life transitions - new baby, new job for my husband and building a house. The only space for my rowing machine was outside on the tiny deck. The only time I had to row was at night. I vividly remember many rows out there in the dark, bundled against the below freezing temperature and cutting winds, my boom box blaring whatever music I needed to get through the workout (um, do I dare admit that at that time it was a fair amount of Meatloaf?). And that's how I clung to whatever sanity I still had. The next year I skipped it.

Well, that's not exactly true. I had learned that trying to do so much of one thing with such determination and focus left me burnt out. So I created my own Holiday Challenge that year. To be honest, my husband created that challenge. He didn't want me getting so wrapped up in my rowing goal and ignore the rest of life. He gave me points for various workouts and also for maintaining balance in my life. It wasn't nearly as inspiring, but then I didn't burn out either. Or become so uptight. Or gain weight over the holidays (which is, of course, one of the significant benefits of undertaking such a challenge).

So now, two days before the start of this year's C2 Holiday Challenge I am debating what to do. Do I give into the draw of the C2 HC and get myself in really great shape at the possible expense of life balance (and I will admit that it is tenuous already this year for other reasons) or do I keep on a more middle way path and create my own HC? Are they really mutually exclusive? Hmm... I've got some interesting beliefs hiding in there, eh?

(The picture today is the logo from the 2008 C2 Holiday Challenge www.concept2.com)

Thanksgiving

Yeah, yeah. I know it's not officially Thanksgiving Day, but around here it is. My husband heads to work Tuesday evening and returns sometime on Sunday. He's a pilot without much seniority. I can't complain much - he has a job he loves and we have a lifestyle that can work around his schedule. He works a lot of weekends, but then we home educate our kids so weekends are when we make them. It's all good.

So today we celebrated Thanksgiving by feasting and relaxing as a family with my parents. I am deeply grateful to and for my parents who did all the shopping and my husband who coordinated and cooked nearly the entire meal. I mashed the potatoes. My mom and Dee Dee made the pumpkin pies. Otherwise, it was all him. How lucky am I?

Metaphors

There's nothing like a good metaphor to reveal something you can't see.

I'm taking a class to become certified as a Martha Beck life coach and learning to use all sorts of interesting tools for discovering personal truths. Byron Katie's Work feels very natural to me (uh, perhaps that's due to my background). It's a more left-brained, analytical, linear tool that guides you through a series of questions that result in a non-linear flip in thinking. Very cool. Very effective. I believe it fits with Western-societal thinking norms with it's methodical approach. It's a strong tool that can feel rather blunt, even when used with love, and it requires a ready client.

Metaphors though. Wow. Completely non-linear and creative. An end-run on your ego and whatever is blocking you from your truth. I LOVE using the metaphor tools. The idea is to recognize a thought that blocks someone from enjoying ease in their life. In fact, you don't even have to be able to identify the thought precisely, the way you do with Byron Katie's Work, you just need to be able to identify the concept at the core of the thought. Then you ask your client what that concept looks like. From there you explore the world of the concept. Incredibly powerful, incredibly gentle. The trick is to stay out of analysis and in the scene. The analysis happens naturally by the client as the scene unfolds.

I have tried this tool with four clients in the past week with truly stunning results. For me, it's been magical to witness the movies created by my clients creative minds as they explore the metaphor world around the concept creating stress for them. I feel as though I have done so little, and been so hugely honored to be invited to witness self-discovery. And at the end of a session I know that my experience and understanding pales in comparison to what my client's have gained.

So after working with my clients and being blown away by the results I decided to try it on myself - which is not as straight-forward as I will now make it sound. As I sat to meditate last night, I calmed and centered myself, then shifted gears a bit and asked "If motherhood was a thing or place what would it be?" Overwhelming and cathartic barely begin to describe the next 20 minutes. The depth of understanding, the magnitude of healing, the volume of tears, the expansion of self are beyond words. It's like intentionally walking off a cliff in the dark and discovering you can fly to the stars.

Left Brain, Right Brain

This lovely dancer arrived in an email link a month or more back. It's a simple little test. The idea is that if you see her rotating clockwise you are more right-brained, and if you see her rotating counter- clockwise you are more left brained.


I called my husband and Dee Dee over to come take a look...
Hubby: Obviously, she's going counter-clockwise. To the left.
Me: No. Definitely clockwise. She's turning to the right.
Hubby: What are you talking about? How could that be?
Dee Dee: Right. No left. Now right. Oh, back left again. She keeps flipping!

Here's what boggles my mind: I would have bet large sums of money on the fact that I'm left-brained. I have excelled in many left-brained endeavors. I have fabulous analytical skills. I do Sudoku to relax. Shoot, I spent six years at MIT getting my bachelor's and master's degrees in engineering. I was awarded departmental and national fellowships. How could I be anything but left-brained?

I cannot, even understanding how this optical test works, make her spin to the left. I can imagine it with my eyes closed, but she is most definitely spinning to the right when I open them. I am right-brained. I internally resonate with the right-brained description far more than the left-brained description. I can DO left (really well, apparently), but I AM right.

Recently, I have been having much fun releasing my creativity and exploring my natural skills. My new activities are far more satisfying. Life is good.

The question blazing in my mind is: If I can achieve so much masquerading as a left-brained engineer, what can I do when I embrace my true nature? And better still, what happens when I combine my skills?

Nature Escape

A three day getaway to the forests of New Hampshire was just what I needed. We took Dee Dee and Little Dudely along this time. Turns out it was just what they needed too. Pookie stayed home with Grammy & Poppa. I am relieved to report it was just what she needed too.

Pookie has special needs. (Don't we all? What a ridiculous euphemism.) More bluntly, she has a rare genetic disorder resulting in global delays among other things. She's non-verbal. She's not much of an outdoors person either, unless there is water to play in, a swing to be swung in or a jogger to be pushed in - none of which are real options in mid-November in NH when the temperatures hover around freezing and the wind is blowing. So she hung out with two loving grandparents and basked in more attention than usual.

The rest of us ventured "off-the-grid" to enjoy three days of hikes and exploring the National Forests in the White Mountains. This was the first time we had split up this way, and I struggled to even make the decision. Was it bad to leave Pookie home? Did it mean I didn't love her as much?

As we sat eating a relaxed dinner at Bellini's, a lovely Italian restaurant, I realized that this is what it was like to be a family with two typical kids. To everyone there, we were a complete, ordinary family. It was so simple. It was so easy. I wanted to cry.

The reality of the complexity of my life washed over me. It was a relief to finally acknowledge, to truly understand that what I do everyday is hard. And I wanted to cry. All day I had watched Dee Dee and Little Dudely explore nature - boulders, the river, ice, anything they could touch or climb on - with more freedom than they could imagine. They looked to be bursting with joy and curiosity. And I had never realized how much my insistence on including Pookie all the time had caged them.

Upon getting home and hearing of the wonderfully relaxing time Pookie had with Grammy & Poppa I realized the other side of my inclusion policy: I had been including Pookie in activities she wanted nothing to do with. She was happier warm at home with her favorite technologies. And her giggle when we arrived home... well, you don't know the sound of pure joy until you hear her laugh.

Magnetic Poetry

I composed this one almost two years ago on my magnetic poetry board. I've left it there. I can't bring myself to take it apart. Maybe by posting it I can release it to the world and begin again.

Listen to the symphony of sun and wind
Play beneath elaborate clouds of essential life whispering floods of maybe...
Soar through eternity with thundering love
Worship the luscious goddess within you
See wild forest music in the mists of spring
Whisper delicate blooming dandelion dreams to the child before you
Smell the power and beauty of delirious evening storms
Harvest blossoming dreams as gifts of life
Laugh through your journey of light and time
Plant gorgeous visions of moon shadows
and mushrooming thoughts from wind and sun
between lustful drops of language
Incubate them with languid chants beneath breathing skies
Be here in this garden of flowering moments

Pebbles

Suddenly rushing, rushing, rushing
The water plunges
Over the dam.
Built long ago
And now crumbling
Into the river sweeping over it.

I toss a pebble
Into the smooth water
Draped over the dam.
Gulp.
It disappears.
Enveloped by the river
Plunging to the bottom,
Or perhaps swept
Downstream.

I toss a pebble
Into the smooth water
Resting behind the dam.
Ripples spread
Concentrically
Expanding
Distorting reflections
Until they reach the shore.
Then bouncing back to
Meet the ripples
Still approaching.

Magical visions of life
Appear.
There.
That is where the pebble went.

Backyard Fisher

I woke just before dawn today. As I stood looking out our kitchen windows at the brightening sky a furry creature caught my eye. It was our occasional visitor, the fisher cat bounding up to a bird bath. Little Dudely had made it from a terra cotta pot turned upsidedown with the base placed on top as the water bowl. He had painted it and glued shells onto it. I wish I could take credit for such craftiness, but he and Dee Dee took a craft class last summer.

The fisher peered into the water and looked to be taking a drink, but then the bowl tipped. And crashed into two big pieces. The fisher (I think it needs a name) moved on to our compost pile. I love having a compost pile. Turning leftovers and scraps and yard waste into magic for our gardens and our woodland friends. Ooh, that sounds Snow White-ish... but we've seen a pair of fox, this fisher, a coyote, mice, squirrels, and chipmunks all grazing in it. The deer tend to nibble elsewhere.

After rummaging for awhile the fisher ran off with something. It came back for some more goodness. I struggled to get a good picture in the low light (never mind the incompetent photographer issues, screens and flash and...).

Did you know that fishers are one of the animals that prey on quillpigs? I don't know what to make of that this morning.

Infinite Gratitude

My whole life
I have
Denied
My accomplishments
Diminished
My successes
Defended
Against praise.

I have fought
Validation
That came
From others.

All recognition
Rang hollow
In the vacuum
Of my achievements.

Until now.

A circle of women
Has surrounded me.
Holding me.
Gently.
Seeing through
What I have done
To what
I can become.

Resonating
With my core
Praise
Has become
Affirmation.

With tears streaming
I am overwhelmed
By gratitude
For these brilliant souls
Who have patiently
Lovingly
Held a space
For me.

The brightness
Of my soul
Is burning
Through the fog.
Thank you
My dear friends.

Surfing

Now I know why I want to learn to surf. This morning as I sat meditating this question popped into my head: If my left-brained, analytical skills were a thing, what would they be? Uh, yeah I practice meditation. My monkey mind is quite wild. But it’s fun to watch her swinging through the trees. Anyway, the memory of a dream popped up as the answer.

It was a beautiful, warm sunny day. A light breeze gently brushed my skin. I was at a beach, a wide cove, at low tide. I walked out to a jumble of large boulders lying exposed in the sun in the middle of the cove. I climbed up onto a big flat rock and practiced some yoga, some mediation. As the tide turned back in I saw my dad standing over on the beach, opposite from where I had started out to the rocks. He called “Do you need a towel?” His voice was faint as the cove was so wide. I called back “Nope. I’m fine.”

The water continued to rise as the tide flooded into the cove. The sky turned dark and cloudy. The wind no longer brushed gently. It gusted irritably. A sudden storm was approaching. The deep water was now being churned by waves. Anxiety swamped me. I no longer felt safe. And from the shore my dad’s voice reached me “Do you need a towel?” The waves, the wind, the distance - how could I even hear him? I thought “A towel? You think I need a towel? I need you to get a boat and come rescue me.” But I knew he couldn’t hear me. He was as calm and unconcerned as he’s always been, confident in my abilities.

I looked back and saw a huge wave stretching upwards, curling, ready to break over me. Preparing to crush me into the rocks. I was crouched, cowering on, the rocks that had so recently been a place of grace and tranquility, supporting me. That’s when I woke up.

I was shaking a bit as I walked down the hall to check on my kids. Waking up more seemed like a really good idea - a way to shake my dream. As I made my way I realized that I had walked out to those rock, and not climbed up more than a few feet. The water wasn’t that deep. My dad was right to be unconcerned. I could hop off those rocks and walk to shore. All I needed was a towel.

In the morning I thought about what the dream meant. I had all sorts of ideas of what the rocks, the water, the waves symbolized. At that time the wave was my fear. Fear of the unknown. I had recently enrolled in a course that is taking my life in new directions. But this morning I experienced that wave as the surging and dominating power of my analytical mind threatening to crush all the emergent creativity in me. I want to harness that power for fun and creative expression. I want to surf that wave.

My Teapot & My Mug

I was cleaning off our kitchen counter beside the stove because my husband prefers counters to have less rather than more stuff on them. Personally, I think there's a certain amount of stuff that makes a kitchen a bit friendlier and functional, but that's a debate for another day. Anyway, just beside the stove sat my very special teapot.

My mom gave me that teapot in the picture. I think it was handmade by a local artist who put that darling little lizard on it. Of course I could be wrong and maybe she got it at one of those tea emporiums at the mall... Wherever it's from, she gave it to me because she knows I enjoy tea and she hoped to bring even more joy to me. Thank you Mom!

I love my teapot. But as you can see, my very favorite use-it-everyday-all-day-long mug is nearly the same size as my teapot. And don't you think that mug is just the best thing going? It has another little figure with a balloon on the other side too. And the base is square which tapers to round at the top, and that means my tea doesn't slosh nearly as much when I carry it around the house. I found it at a local bead shop that is my favorite place to hang out and consider beads for some nebulous future project.

Back to the teapot... I could steep the tea in the teapot, then pour it all out into the mug. But I don't, because that seems silly. Why not just steep it in my mug? So my beautiful, joyous teapot just sits by the stove.

As I was cleaning the counter I picked up my teapot and decided that if I wasn't going to use it as a teapot it deserved a new home. I decided that my room, the place I work, exercise, meditate and escape, was just the place for it. Walking towards my room I held in gently in my hands and realized that it was like a magical lamp. So maybe I'll rub it's sides and make wishes. Or pray to the little lizard on it. Or get little tiny cups so I can pour the tea out ceremoniously. Or maybe I'll steep my tea in it and our it all out in my favorite mug just because I want to. But while I'll deciding it will be with me bringing me love and joy in my sacred space.

Gifting

“The things you gift to others are what you want for yourself.” - unknown

The first time I contemplated that I came up with:

I want to give my children the permission, time and support to pursue activities that interest them.

It was far easier to give to them than to me. But it made me realize what I needed to give to myself, so that I would be able to give to them. It made me conscious of what I really wanted. For me it has been easy to move other people ahead of me on my priority list. And then complain that I was at the bottom.

"Do not give from the depth of your well, give only from the overflow." - Sufi prayer

I have sometimes found myself empty. I’ve given from the depths. I’ve not nurtured myself. I end up useless to everyone. But I’ve been practicing. Now I notice when I’ve fallen into my old habits before I end up empty. And then I give to myself what I want to give to others. Life and love flow far more gracefully.

More recently I contemplated what I want to give to others and found:

I want to give my children my undivided attention so that they know that they are important and that their soul dreams matter.

So there is another Quillpig Dream: to honor and live my soul dreams.

You Spot It, You've Got It

How many times have I heard or read that phrase? It's always used as a reminder that when you're being judgmental about another you will likely find that same quality in yourself. And when I've paid attention to my thoughts, I have found this to be true. Sometimes painfully so. But I invariably learn something from that reflection that makes me a better person: more compassionate, more understanding, more connected.

So I was thinking the other day, why is this phrase only used for negative traits? I mean, isn't it as true for positive ones? If I recognize my negative traits in others, won't I also recognize my positive traits too? I've been trying this out as an experiment. When I think to myself "Isn't she just so clever" or smart or kind or a great listener or funny or whatever, I try to see that quality in myself. I get so tried of seeing just the reflection of my shadow in others.

This is a poem I wrote recently (or is it revised? as it's been stewing for some time now) as a birthday challenge for a dear friend. She demanded, in that loving way that a friend can, a poem for her birthday. And it was not to be sappy! This is what came out and it has nothing to do with birthdays (but I don't think that was a requirement), but it bubbled up in my consciousness as I was just writing:

Sunlight floods
the dwindling canopy
of autumn.
I am.
Illuminated.
Reflected.
My shadow
falls.
It too
is reflected.
Together
we dance.

Mommy! Mommy!

Come here quick! Come see what I've done! Yes, those were the words bursting out of Little Dudely a couple of days ago. He's 5 and enjoys his accomplishments. I never know quite what to expect. As I followed him to the scene of his latest triumph I caught myself caught between curiosity and dread.

What I found is in the picture. It might be hard to tell, but my 40 lb guy had disconnected the two parts of our sectional sofa and started to rearrange the furniture. He wanted to put it back "the way it used to be." This is not the project I had hoped for. He ran to one end of the short section, squatted down and lifted that end. "Look! I can pick it up. I'll help you Mom." Funny thing is, I can't remember how long ago it was when it used to be any way but the way it started the day. But he can.

He'd been asking to rearrange the livingroom for awhile, and this is what happens when I put things off for a few days. I try to remember all the positive traits he's showing that will be awfully handy as an adult someday. Let's see, there's determination, belief in himself and his ideas, focus, willingness to take responsibility for his own happiness, enthusiasm, confidence...

After my initial (and momentary, I hasten to add) dismay, I laughed. What was the point of doing anything else? He was telling me something very clearly: it's time to vacuum behind and under the couch. No, no, that wasn't it. It was time to rearrange. So we did. He's pleased as can be, and I have to say, I enjoy the new layout too. Thanks Dudely!

On Tuesdays...

Yesterday I was catching up on Oprah shows on my DVR. I'm way behind. I don't watch TV often so I found myself with 19 shows to browse. David Foster was a guest recently and Oprah quoted from his new book. I wish I had written it down so I could quote it accurately here, but it was something like this (and I am paraphrasing rather liberally):

On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I think I'm the greatest in the music world. On Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays I think I'm a fraud. On Sundays I don't think.

So I'm not the only one? OK. I kind of knew that already. I have days where I am flying, bursting with ideas and energy. That would be yesterday. And I have days where I am swamped by doubts and anxieties. That would be today - although I wasn't swamped today, merely taking on water... Then, every now and then, I have a sort of neutral day - not too high, not too low. Hey, isn't that where Goldilocks decided to rest? In that middle place, not too hard, not too soft? Maybe she was on to something...

So I guess this will be my first Quillpig Dream: I want to have more equanimity. More evenness of temper, more composure. I want to accept the highs and lows gracefully, and bring them closer together: not too high, not too low. I want to exist in that middle place of calm confidence and belief in myself.

Welcome To My Blog

Hello. I have no idea where this blog will take me, and you, if you're along for the ride. Today I'm just excited that I've started. So I'll keep it short and simply share a favorite poem:




Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,
Listen to the DON'TS
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me ----
Anything can happen, child,
Anything can be.

- Shel Silverstein