Unrecorded Magic

There is an unexplainable romanticism that comes from being present. Looking. Observing. Careful reflection reveals that each thing we touch has come as a product of creation. As I write, I'm am looking down on the Midwest from 23,000 ft. I got goose bumps at the lines of powerful airplanes delivering people on a journey. Even these workhorses of the sky were showing a bit of personality with their brightly colored tail fins. A tear formed as I saw the shadow of our plane, lifting off. I had forgotten how much courage and perseverance it took to say YES. That can be built. That can happen.  And then, climbing out of Chicago I took pause to wonder what is being built in those factories. I observed the backyards of people I do not know. Climbing higher, my focus shifts to traffic patterns. Then railway layout. City planning. Snow removal. Public spaces. Farms, and finally the differential freezing patterns of lakes and rivers.

At some point, decisions were made that influenced each of these occurrences.  We forget this because each of these sights are common place. We interact with them in a very individualistic manner. Many times I have overlooked light industrial as an eyesore that we no longer relevant. Neighborhoods as projections of who might live there instead of who is loving there.

I paused this morning, trying to capture the word to describe my goose bumps. My tear. The only thing I could find was romantic. I am drawn to our capacity to create. To design. Our tendencies to leave our unique mark on the world. This was highlighted by what I think was a putting green created on a boulevard.

I imagine it like this: a neighborhood in transition. New families entering while some of the original home owners remained.  Today, a young daughter was sent out to pick up sticks in the neighborhood. This was mostly because her mother needed just a few minutes to think. A time when her brain wash trying to balance making sure that the children had educational opportunities. Time to be sure the housework got done, the presentation for work was ready, the errands we run for her house and grandmas. Not to mention keeping track of all of her digital communications.  The "go collect fallen sticks" command had an undetermined length, was outdoors and was slightly of service to her neighbors. With slight adjustment, it would also be social media gold. Look at my beautiful daughter, helping all the neighbors after this terrible storm.  Translation: my daughter was getting on my nerves so I sent her outside and in frustration assigned her to do a meaningless chore. You see, a more rigid task would need to be monitored. Arguments would be had about what the real definition of "pick up all the toys in the backyard" really meant. This. This was easy. This was a break.

The daughter bundled up and headed out into the yard. At first, the girl was upset. She would have much rather watch TV than head outside. I mean, there weren't even other kids about. She grabbed the first stick she saw. Just lifting the stick, feeling a bit of the heft inspired an immediate shout of "on guard" as she jumped into sword fighting position. After a short battle with an imaginary opponent, she picks up another stick. And another. She has quite a collection when she notices a rock on the ground. Not just any rock, but THE one and only just perfect for my collection rock. It was at this point that the neighbor interrupted.

Roger was asking about the rock, but the young girl didn’t even want to show it.  It had a line of quartz running through it. It was special.  As he came over, he brought a wheelbarrow from his garage. He walked over and took the top stick from the pile and challenged the girl to a dual. She tossed the remaining sticks into the wheelbarrow with a clang. The following battle was epic.  They battled tirelessly. At stake was the new found treasure, the rock.  

Alice finally scored a glancing blow to Rogers side. Once victory was seized, she asked why he wanted the sticks that she had unceremoniously dumped. He explained that there used to be a forest at the back of his property. He would collect sticks for his fireplace. One year he noticed that in spring, a few young animal families would set up temporary homes there. He was going to put the sticks out just in case any animals needed them.

The sticks were dumped.  Leaves fluffed underneath them, just in case. As they wheeled the now empty tools back into the garage, she noticed a bag. When she asked about it, he explained that they were golf clubs. He used to play all of the time, but cannot walk the last by distances anymore. He shrugged it off and sent her home.

When she got home, her mom had completely lost track of how much time had passed. She was uncharacteristically daydreaming. When she inquired about how the project went, she was greeted with a very characteristic preteen shrug. How maddening.  It wasn't for another hour that mom noticed that the TV hadn't been flipped on. In fact, it seemed that her daughter had come in the front door and proceeded straight out the back one.

The garage door was open. Tools strewn everywhere. Her daughter?  She had mowed and dug a hole in the boulevard. To what end? What on earth was going on here? Just as she opened her mouth to say something, Alice looked up. Not at her mother, but at the neighbor’s house. Did she know them? What was this project all about?

She could have never imagined what happened next. Her daughter noticed an old man peeking out the widow and waved at him, instructing him to come outside. When he did, you could feel his energy, his smile radiating through the neighborhood.  "What did you build here?" He asked. Instead of the typical surly preteen angst, Roger was greeted with a glowing almost boastful response. "A putting green" she answered "for you to keep practicing your game."

And with that, two worlds connected. There the green sits. Visible from takeoff at Chicago's O'Hare airport. Or it could have been a gopher hole. What do I know from 10,000 feet and climbing?

Feminism

We had great discussions in college. Great. But I may have been too young for them. You see, I am a summer birthday. I started college at 17. Actually, with PSEO, I started at 15. There is simply a lack of world skills at 15 to understand big concepts. Or, at least there was for me when it came to some subjects.  That, combined with a general naiveté about most life matters left me with skills to learn.  

One opportunity came when we were at a diversity retreat, doing an exercise that asked participants to "cross the line if you are/do/identify..."  It was a good exercise that allowed a visual unpacking of some of our biases. After the exercise, someone declared "I wish I would have asked for people to cross the line if they identified as a feminist. I bet EVEN 50% of the WOMEN wouldn't cross."  I gulped, thankful that she didn't ask. Because I wouldn't have. Really. 

I didn't think I knew enough to be a feminist.  I didn't think there were that many issues in the enlightened age of 1997 of disparity between men and women.  Weren't we past that? My mom was a single mom, doing everything. Before you yell at your screen, remember. I was young. I hated history (I thought) and I'm driven by this notion that we should and could all just get along.  I didn't understand how good men had it. I thought life was tough for all of us. 

Since that time, I have thankfully and unfortunately had the opportunity to learn just how wrong I was. That woman's statement has stuck with me all this time. I can picture the room, what I was wearing, where I was standing and just who said it (thanks Megan P). And, as an opportunity to not only embrace that I am a feminist, but to become actively involved. I have four amazing ladies to remind me of the inequities and the challenges. 

The 6yo had her moment to question both her senator, Al Franken (at Megan P's house no less) why there was no national holiday for women.  (A longer, much different story).  She is seen here, squishing his head. 

Another child told me that there was no way their father was actually a Librarain, he was a boy and that was a boy job. In the same light, one of the girls declared that during imagination, they could only pretend to be a nurse or dentist because those are the only jobs that girls can do.  Doctors (because of their doctor) must clearly only be men. 

They inherit the bias that they see. They see generalities and never hope to be the exception. 

R (4yo) and I were talking one day about something. I mentioned that the president had done a great thing, and added: "and I voted for him, so I have a part in making that great thing happen." So she asked: "tell me about more people that you've voted for that won."  So we went through the list. We talked about everyone from city council to president.  We talked about what they had help make happen. She was a little star struck.  She asked "tell me about the WOMEN you have voted for that won." We went through a list of accomplished politicians. And then it came.  She looked at me with starry eyes, excited that her mom, and these other ladies were so smart and did such great things: "mom, tell me about the women you have voted for for president and won." 

. . . 

Really.  What do you say? They already told me they can't be doctors because their doctor is a boy.  I was quickly able to get them an appointment with a girl doctor.  They went to an appointment with me to see my girl doctor.  They saw pictures of the girl doctor that delivered each and every one of them.  But president? I have nothing to say except: "honey, there hasn't been a girl president. I haven't had the opportunity to vote for a girl president." And she got quiet. 

Then she asked the car: "girls (to her sisters)... Do any of you want to try to be president? Mom is good at picking winners in elections."  My 6yo jumped right in on the 4yos question: "no! Who would want to be president? I am going to invent things that the president will have to give me money for.  I am going to invent things that the president will ask ME about.  I don't want that job, I have much better plans." 

Yes, I am a feminist.  I didn't know I was at 18, but I have learned. 

MiniMe

I believe in ghosts.

I believe in spirits. 

I believe I am a little bit psychic. 

One day, after not talking to a friend for 8 months, I got a feeling to call her.  Right then.  I did. She laughed, knowing that I just know when it is time to call. She had just had her baby. Early. Unexpectedly. That hour.  Of course I "knew" to call.  She gets it.  She is a little psychic too. 

This makes my partner very angry. Very. "You are a scientist. You are brilliant. You are too smart and analytical to believe in any of that garbage." So, when I tell him that his energy is all off, you can imagine how successful that is. There is probably no bigger hot button in my household than me telling someone (well, that someone in particular) that their energy is off. I have to find a less "new age-y" way to put it.  (Suggestions appreciated). I'll also refrain from telling him what color his aura is, though I see it clearly. 

Anyway. This isn't about me- it is meant to be about the kids.  So imagine my surprise when I can see that the kids get it. They see it.  At least the older two.  The oldest can see and hear spirits. The second is amazing at energy, and emotional interpretation.  Amazing might not be the right way to put it right now, as it currently floods her.  But it will be her super power.  It is my superpower. So what can I do, but discuss it with her.  Not in the "hippy-dippy terms" as Brendan would put it.  But in a way that helps her know herself. Help her love her self.  

In stressful times, she runs. When there is a loving person, someone who is gentle of spirit, she loves that person. She is the kid at the playground that everyone wants to play with. If she sees you radiating negativity (eg: WHO COLORED ON THE WALL?!) she crumples into tears.  She is emotionally sensitive. She doesn't want to disappoint.  She wants the entire world to be happy, to love her, to get along. I know this burden all too well.  She would sacrifice to make peace. She would lie to avoid disappointment. She would hug instead of hit. But push her, and she is dangerous. Hurt her, and she will remember. 

Sound familiar? That's me. Doesn't help that she looks strikingly like a mini me also. So we talk. We share.  We challenge eachother.  I tell her: you are big emotion.  Your highs are high and your lows are low.  We need help to keep it more even. If someone else is radiating negative energy, stay away from their cloud.  Don't absorb it. 

When she is so silly, we discuss how I one time laughed so hard that cherry malt came out my nose. Cherries and all.  And then, the next day - I was telling the story about the cherries and laughed so hard that pickle skin came out my nose.  Perhaps learning from the first time, keeping a little emotional reserves for the 10-30 minutes post malt might have been a smarter option. Did the ability to produce produce from my nasal passages limit my junior high friendships? Not a bit. We would go wave at people on Grand Avenue, those that responded positively to my positive gesture, I thhrew pennies at. It is very strange. I can't explain it, but it actually hurt my feelings when people didn't wave back. 

Anyway, with these stories - she watches me now.  Not simply to catch the next time I might make produce come out my nose (hasn't happened since 10th grade) but to help remind me to keep things from getting too exciting.  To remind me that there is no way that I can make all six people in my family happy at every moment of every hour. And I watch her.  We are on the big emotions team you see. 

There is also the lying. It isnt malicious.  She will tell a lie for one of two reasons.  A) to not be wrong, which might cause you to be disappointed in her (the disappointment is key) or B) to make you feel better about a bad situation that she cannot fix before you see it. Me too.  It is a sensitive dance. If I "punish" her for lying, it comes with dissapointment.  Dissapointment is the very thing that the lie was likely put in place to avoid. When we talk about it, we have the opportunity to go back further than the lie, to the tigger point and work on unpacking that situation to see if there was an opportunity to make choices that would avoid the "need" to lie. 

I have no idea if this is a good strategy. I feel it is closer to how I manage my instinct to lie. Avoid the situation where you would feel the need to.  You can do this by making decisions that you can be proud of.  Said another way: "if you can't tell your grandma you are doing it, you probably shouldn't do it." The second part: trying to avoid people being disapointed in you - that one is tough. It takes time. My mother still has a note I wrote, long after it was even appropriate to attempt, that my dog - in very complicated fashion- ate my homework.  It's true. To my 9th or 10th grade history professor. In my teenage handwriting.  "Signed" by my mother. The.dog.ate.my.homework.  It's ok to laugh. 

You know what I missed out on? History. I am just now, at 34, realizing that history is amazing. I want to know more.  I missed out on a lot. I didn't do my assignment. True.  But I didn't have enough emotional intellegance or bravery to embrace my decision and simply say: "I didn't do it and I am prepared to pay the consequences."  I didn't want him to be mad. I didn't want my mom to be mad. I didn't want anyone to know that I didn't know what I was supposed to do.  So I didn't do it then, and avoided the subject and the embarrassment of it for years and years.  I don't like to make mistakes. 

So, little Ms. Big Emotion and I are going to learn about what it means to read others emotions. We are going to talk about the strengths that come with this superpower (I know the best time to ask people particular questions) and the downfall (I can tell someone is upset with me, even if they are trying to hide it or get over it).  We are going to talk about lying, about how it delays the dissapointment, but enhances it once the lie is uncovered.  We are going to help eachother to love, to cry, and to face our problems. Most importantly, we are going to side step our triggers, whenever possible. 

Now come on, come give us a hug.  We know you want one anyway. 

Every day is a new day

I keep talking about this "new thing we are trying." As if this one small life change will mean that we are suddenly in a differnt spot.  We will somehow be more organized.  Unlikely, I know. 

As a kid, I always rearranged my room.  I would sit, think, and imagine the possibilities.  And then I would start to move stuff. The traditional way of accomplishing this task seems to be: clean room, carefully lift and place furniture where you want it to be with a team of helpers, accessorize and voila. Not me. My method: sweep the junk to the middle of the room, shove furniture around and  sort or throw out the pile of junk that remains. 

Cleaning now isn't much different.  Forget picking up an item and moving it to it's intended location.  We roll up the rugs, sweep the junk into a central location and sort piles.  This allows the helpers to see the full scope of the task. It's not at big of a deal. Once we get the pile put away, we are golden. It also allows you to feel great about progress very quickly. I can sweep out three rooms in 10 minutes and suddenly, they look 90% clean.  Just have to tackle the pile.  

Hopefully my luck and rearranging zeal hold out this weekend.  I am prepared to move every single room in my house to a different room in my house. Yeah. That is the plan.  A few complicating factors: 

A) my partner hates this task and most of the idea

B) the four kids don't like huge change all at once

C) the house is a mess

D) my partner will be at work and the kids will all be at home "helping"

E) many pieces of furniture are too heavy to move with one person, involve moving up or down stairs and disassembly.  

F) there are only 48 hours in a weekend (or so I am told)

But, there is planful purpose behind the move.  Good things will happen.   Possibilities abound. Change refreshes opportunity. 

I cannot tell you how many conversations I have with people who say: "how does your partner put up with you?" To this, I have no answer.  I don't know how he does.  But he does, and I am thankful for it.  

Depression.sucks.

I need to share a bit.  And it seems like such big information to be public with, but it is also information that shouldn't be hidden.  We need to share more to let both those struggling, and those who are fortunate not to struggle to know a bit more about what we know and a lot more about what we don't. 

I have a little one. Well, I have four little ones.  One of them is struggling with depression. Big time. You'd think, how can someone under 6 years old even know enough to be depressed.  What could they be depressed about?? Well... I thought this at first, and then I reflected on my ignorance.  Depression isn't something that comes from bad situations.  It can be triggered by that, but it is hard wired into your being. And at least one of mine won the genetic lottery to have this piece as a part of their journey on earth.  

We talk about things like that: this is part of your journey. Everyone has something, this is your unique genetic soup to carry. A great example for our girls was when we couch surfed in Paris.  One of the young ladies in the family we stayed with was born without part of her arm, below the elbow.  It was very interesting to see the children react - or not react to this difference. About 24 hours after we met the family, one of my girls looked at me and said: "I feel very sorry for her, she doesn't have a hand." I said "oh? Sorry? That is part of what makes her her. Was there something you saw her try to do that she couldn't?" Reflection revealed that there wasn't. She could even give her brother a killer noogie. 

So we talked a while.  What is your challenge? What are you given to navigate? (Probably the Irish Catholic in me could even push the analogy to be: what cross are you given to bare? But...I'll save that one for a few more years.)

So, when one of my little girls came to tell me that there were daemons in her head. That she didn't see reason to live.  That she had plans, ideas, struggles.  Well, I couldn't think of a worse thing to hear. Remember our number one rule for living in our house? "Take care of yourself. Love yourself."  This echoed through out conversation as we talked about how much of a challenge this is. Even once, through tears, she told me "mom, I am so incredibly awesome.  So awesome that my job of taking care of me is harder than it is for others." What could I do but agree? She does think deeply, love passionately, ponder about the struggles of all of humanity.  She is fiercely awesome.  So I asked her about the demons. I asked her to share her thoughts, her plans.  I thanked her for sharing. I told her I believed her, and I would be here to help in the good times and the dark times. I also promised I would find someone to talk to about them.  And we did, we have, we do.  

This week, I am taking some time with friends to talk about what I need to do keep her and us safe. We are going to talk about resources, about love, about how to continue to be open to hearing the difficult things, even when we would rather they go away.  We will not be embarrassed and private about struggle.  We will share, and through sharing we will remember we are all given something to carry, we all have our challenges.  The world has but one commonality and it is that each of us are imperfect, and we live and love through these imperfections toward a common understanding of what it means to be a citizen of the world. 

When we went to the first therapy session, she hugged, and looked up at me with her bright, knowing eyes and said "thanks for believing me. Thanks for listening." 

Hopefully all of the girls know that we will always listen. We will always embrace them, independent of the challenges and struggles along the way.  

You don't have to schedule adventure time

For us minneapolitians, the "witches tower" in prospect park is a big deal. You can see it from all over. It brings intreague and mystery. Is rapunzle in there? Do witches fly in and out of there? Can we visit? 

We have talked about all of these questions, but this week, we decided to explore more. We had some time to kill and it was a spring day.  B has an appointment over there for 1.5 hours.  Technically, it is enough time to allow me to rush home from work, grab her- speed through rush hour traffic (strangely possible) and then race home to get the other kids, start dinner, wait to hope that Brendan will get home with enough time to race to get her from her appointment, and race home so that dinner isn't too terribly late, and we can eat together.  

If any part of that description sounded fun, let me add winter driving conditions and a chaotic parking lot to dissuade you from your positive thoughts. It isn't fun. So Monday, I refused to race. Ok, after the race home, packing the kids and the race to the appointment.  Then- we turned on our exploration brains and set out. We found a parking spot and a well worn path right up the base of the hill.  Right up. No problem, my dress and heels can handle anything.  My 5,4 and 2yo's can do this. We are adventurers,  

Quickly, our adventure turned into a nature hike. We found stones, moss, chipmunks. Catapillers, trees, roots.  A gosh darn nature hike in the center of the city.  They were climbing. They were enjoying. They weren't asking to be carried, for tv time, for anything.  They were turning things over, they were asking questions, they were laughing.  It isn't a long hike. It isn't glamorous. But we got to the top.  We yelled up there for rapunzle.  For the witches.  We circled the base. We wondered. We played "I spy" to the city skyline. We chased a kids beach ball and returned it. We passed a Catapiller to an artist who was drawing a nature scene. We played follow the leader. We collected 10 different leaves from 10 different trees. We collected trash. We explored four differnet paths to the top. We sang the song that included "marched them up to the top of the hill and the marched them down again." as we did just that. 

The funny thing? We did all of that in 30 minutes. Thirty stinking minutes. I have been "planning to take them on more hikes" for about a year now. But it had to be a day with enough time. They needed sturdy walking shoes. I wanted to pack their journals. A snack. Hats. Sunscreen. Bug net. Bandaids. Cameras. countless other reasons why it needed to be perfect. Why I wanted them to love it.  

But they did. In their sandles. In the city. Without anything else. Only their memory to capture it. And you know what? I probably had more fun this day.  We weren't worried about time. We weren't worried about the moment.  We didn't know what we would find or how we would do it.  Not only did we have all the fun we were interested in at The Witches Tower, but we stopped at a school to use the potty, explored their playground, went to a new park playground that we had never been to, tried out their potty (they are professional bathroom inspectors), and walked on every meandering path, retaining wall and obstical between each of those events. We spent the time with a purposeless ease, allowing the sun and the spring energy carry us to the next adventure. 

I can be often seen declaring in winter that perhaps snow isn't the annoying piece, but car ownership is what makes snow storms difficult.  Monday made me reflect that perhaps it isn't toddler dawdling that is annoying, it is our adherence to a schedule, our inflexibility over 5 minutes here or there that causes the stress.  We are going to take more time to be less worried about the time on the clock and more time worried about the time in the moment.