present

"I am convinced that the purest form 

of spirituality is the ability to accept the 

“sacrament of the present moment”

and to find God in what is right in front of me."   

- Father Richard Rohr

So....its not whooping cough!  But my sweet little man ran a fever for 6 days.  He's finally back at school this afternoon, and his first ever - oh be still my heart - Christmas program tonight.  After 4 days, Sage's fever is gone too.

I strained something doing a huge happy dance when we didn't have to quarantine. But we've still been in our house for the last 4 days because of the whole Ryan-being-gone-kids-having-fevers thing.  I'm such an extrovert that I've developed a tick.  And you know that amazing stuff I imagined him doing while he was away?  Its even better than that.  Here's the picture he sent me of the coffee stuff at their break time:  Who does coffee like that?!  Geez.

Its gourmet everything.  Last night he went to an Ohio State basketball game.  Box seats.  Free.  And there's turn-down service, with lindt truffles every night!! 

But here's the silver lining of these days:  As Rohr says, "accepting the sacrament of the present moment"...

This morning, I heard hundreds of birds in the tree outside, singing the bird Doxology so deafeningly loud.  I went to the door and let in the cold air and listened, totally filled and lifted up by the holy in their song.  I went to get my camera and opened the door again far too loudly, and they were off.  I was left with the bare branches and my warmed-up insides.  A week ago, I was so distracted I wouldn't have heard them at all.

 

We decorated gingerbread houses.  I have these teeny tiny, ever so small really, control issues which usually make doing this with the kids zero fun for all involved.  But this time we were breathing and laughing and God was showing up everywhere - especially with that Eva girl.

 He had to do this between sides of his house.  Sweet little fever boy.

They sell a "Hannukah House", which works out verrrrry well for little Miss Frozen.  Elsa lives in a gingerbread house now too.   

And look what I got:

"Tonya I love you so much that I could love you forever" from Riv last night.  Makes my insides hurt it feels so good.

So today....bigtime thankful for returning health....and centered by the chance to be present again.  Here I am, getting all these presents around for the holidays, and at the risk of sounding like a cliche with this pun, this is SO the only present I need.  Really.

quarantine

1.  There's always something to lick around here.  Yesterday it was brownie batter.  The day before that it was the glass window at Papa Murphy's pizza.  You know that oral phase the child psychology textbook says kids go through around age 1?  (Yes, the one that made us all snicker when they said it.  That one.)  Welllllll, we are still in it.  Missed graduation.  But I'm really not criticizing the littles because I'm pretty much still there too.  Ahem...case in point, this blog has a recipes page a mile long.

2.  Ryan is quite literally a rockstar.  He has an incredible job with an out of this world set of bosses who are putting him through a one-year business master's at Ohio State.  I'm imagining him sleeping on flights, reading people magazines in airports, taking long hot baths in a swank hotel, staying up late watching Friends reruns on cable TV, and sleeping under one of those thick down comforters on 18 pillows.  Oh wait, that's what I would do.  But still...he gets to go away for a week at a time every single month.  See?  Rockstar.  

3.  This happens to be the week he's gone.  I was freaking out about the before-school part of the day because I usually get to clomp around the kitchen drinking coffee, my sole purpose being to be upright and in the flesh and self-medicating with caffeine before we begin the day.  He does the rest.  So he made these handy dandy charts, and they work like MAGIC.  So I think I can handle mornings.  Or at least try.

4.  Ok, so Ryan's in Ohio and we like to lick things.  So of course, this happens:

High fevers.  My poor little babies!  They got flu tested today, and they don't have it.  They also got whooping cough tested, and we're waiting on the results.  (Yes, Jake, they've been vaccinated.)  Apparently, good old H-Town is a hotbed of it right now, so chances are good that's what's going on, and if that's what it is we get to quarantine for five, count them f-i-v-e days.  With our tallish, handsome man in another state.

So we'll see.  Chicken noodle soup and orange juice all around.  Spiked for yours truly.  And most importantly, get those babies better!

vices

So... long story short, Eva has a "leaky gut".  She (woot-woot!!) isn't allergic to corn after-all.  Just sensitive to it because her stomach is literally leaking toxins into her bloodstream and causing her asthmatic symptoms.  Dr. Amazing helped us figure it out.  She has to take some vitamins and avoid all dairy, egg, and peanuts for the next three months.  Along with the usual avoidance of all gluten.

That's quite a tall order for a 9-year-old.  Especially one who doesn't eat much meat.  Ditto times a million for her 29-year-old mama.  But I'm going egg and dairy-free with her because it just seems like she shouldn't have to go at it alone.

Its hard.  Hard hard hard.  Stupid hard.

We are at the end of summer and I'm tired and wiped out.  And boy, do I love to eat.  I love the garden vegetables, I really do.  But I also love CHEESE.  Oh for the love of all things delish, I love my cheese.

Said in my best whine: I know its hard for her - good God, she's the one with the LEAKY GUT - but it's hard for me too.  Largely because meeting her food needs on top of her, dare I say it, seriously exhausting emotional needs is no walk in the park.

So let's talk about coping....

There might or might not be a stash of these hidden in the basement.  They might or might not have milk in them.  I might or might not once or twice eaten them by the handful.

 

I've been swimming when Ryan comes home for lunch for a year now.  But the outdoor pool is open now for noon-hour swim.  Its like chlorinated, watery, cool, sunny, blue therapy.  Upping my swim time and laps gives me a great mid-day break, and [BONUS!] feels like I might be doing something good for this skin I'm in with the dairy and egg free life too.

 

And more than anything, I've taken to lighting a candle frequently in my office (read: kitchen windowsill).  It reminds me that this mom gig is hard.  That I'm not alone.  That I hold my crabby, hard-working, mama self to the Light and all will be well.

schoooooools out for the summah!

School starts in 86 days!!

Just kidding.  Mostly.

Let's do this!!!

egg hunt

I love these three days.  The melancholy-ness, the waiting.  That we get to do it in sunshine is the greatest gift.  Its like we get to go through the exercise of remembering death and resurrection, but in the sweet warmth of bright days and bare feet.

A few weeks ago when our Colorado cousins visited, we egg-hunted.  Look at McCage's face.  I just adore the innocence of it.  In her memory, its her first time and she's listening so intently to those rules.

Each child got their own color.  This could be most important trick ever for a happy hunt!  This way there aren't races to the eggs, kids take their time because they are confident others won't take theirs, and you can hide the eggs harder for the bigger kids and easier for the littles.

The girls totally cracked me up!  Look how serious they are about supervising.  Like little librarians.

Then they popped open their eggs to find puzzle pieces inside.  On the puzzle was a map to their Easter basket.  Like a treasure hunt.  (All Auntie Lisa's idea, of course!)

I embrace how the secular and the holy get all jumbled up together in these traditions.  Because the big message should be that there is fun to be had, being with family is good times, we treat each other kindly, God is big big big big love, and this holiday is worth giving time to.

More on these sunny days after they've been had!

this gig

"Time, and showing up, turn most messes to compost, and something surprising may grow."

A few of you extremely nice people have asked where I've gone and hid myself....since this blog has gone MIA for the last bit.

The truth of it is simple:

I do not have my shit together enough to do this grown-up gig.

I'm seriously underqualified and underfunded and understaffed for the chaos that has overtaken this Weaver street abode.  No bones broken, no house fires, marriage still intact, supper still on the table (we are SO counting espinaca dip as supper, supper, and supper), and world still spinning.

There is a newly crumpled mini-van hood around here somewhere.  But no love lost.  Truly.  Its the other driver's fault and I never pretended to have anything but a functional relationship with that thing anyway.

Its just felt so much more full than usual.

See how I'm carefully avoiding using the word "busy"?  Because that's a choice right?  And I miiiight have posted repeatedly on this space about how much we shouldn't lean on the term or the concept.

Let's just go with full.  And generally underequipped.  And it's Lent, so you know that I'm also far up in my head.

So here's my shout-out to say all is so very well.  There's even pockets of awesomeness.  Like this...

I checked out Plan B from the library because I need Anne to come along lately.  Today I read the compost quote and its so true right?...

Give us time
Keep showing up
Keep on turning the mess
Something surprising - and beautiful - is growing!

Ok, in closing, here.....because if they make you smile like they do me, then Happy Monday one and all!!....

for sale

There are things big sisters do to their brothers...

Eva has been "pricing" things all over our house for some imaginary garage sale.  Books, dishes, toys, etc.  They will cost you anywhere from 50 cents to 50 bucks.  I just noticed she priced her brother too.

The sticker on his door says "best offer".

vaseline fancy

Remember that thing about Go Big or Go Home?

It's reached the youngest member of my clan.

Sage McCage and her friend came down the stairs a few days ago to tell me they were "verrrry fancy and allllll ready for the dance party."  Also known as "we covered our hair in vaseline".  I didn't know we even had vaseline!

Sorry for the quality of these pictures, but they were taken with various cell phones over the following 4 days...

Immediately after they got fancy.  Look at the globs in there!

This look is Exhibit A: titled Dance Party Fancy...

When you google how to get it out, you get a long list, of which we tried 5.  Here's after soaking in dry baking soda ("Oooooh!  Cookie powder!  Yummmmmm!" said the fancy girls), and three washes.  It was absolutely coated still.

Exhibit B: We Will Make Mama Proud When We Go On Tour With Pink...

Here's the next morning after Dawn dishwashing soap and then shampoo.  A few times.  

We'll call this look Exhibit C: You Think I Have Wet Hair But Psych Its Not!

Here's the next day, coated in cornstarch.  

Exhibit D: Does It Creep You Out That I Have Gray Hair And All My Baby Teeth?

After the cornstarch was washed out.  Still slimy and you can hardly comb through it.

Exhibits E & F:  Let's Get Craaaaaaaazy.

The best bet ended up being coating it in baby oil, wrapping it in a bag to soak, and then washing it with shampoo a few times.  It still looks like she hasn't bathed in a few days, but we're done putting funky things on her hair  Let the fancy girl rock it for a few days, and this too shall pass.

Oh Sage, despite using up all the shampoo in the house and the water in the county, I'm so glad you went big!

Sorry Buzz, but I have no idea what I'm doing here.

Saturday was River's first wrestling tournament.  He loves to wrestle more than he loves monster trucks.  And that's a lot.  He likes the moves, the physical contact, the something to work hard for.
But.

But.

Oh sigh, I do not know how to be a parent.  Case in point:

River wrestled a boy who weighed 4 pounds more than him, which is like 10% his body weight, which is a lot.  And the boy had wrestled for 2 years.  The Buzz was a freaking rockstar.  The kid had him down and was trying to pin him, and he cried and cried because it hurt, but he wouldn't let his shoulder down and powered through til the bell despite his pain.  I was kneeling by the mat and was a confused cluster of a mess. Under what circumstances would we mamas let a big kid hold our kid down and make him cry while we sit at the sidelines and cheer?! It took every last every every everything in me to sit there.

I think the pain freaked Riv out.  When the match was over, he wanted to be hugged and held and then wanted nothing to do with me and didn't want to speak to anyone and only wanted to eat his peanut butter sandwich in silence.

Then he seemed to get better and went to play with his teammates.

I ate lunch with another family and we talked about the horrible parenting we had witnessed all day - people being too hard on their kids, getting too into it, someone actually telling their kid to "sit your ass down".

Then it was Riv's turn to wrestle and he insisted that he wasn't doing it.  I bribed him with toys and candy and angry birds and dogs and world domination.  No go.  I told him he didn't have a choice.  No go.  I finally carried him - crying - to the mat.  Ryan, who is head coaching, walked calmly to the table and scratched Riv from the match.  He said it's not a thing, we are not putting him out there like that, period, now get over it.

I was mad.  I was embarrassed.  Mostly mad.

Pride check.  Please and thank you.  Add my name to the shitlist of parents.

He wrestled his third match, because it was with his teammate.  No tears, and he wrestled like a champ.  The scrappy little Buzz knows his stuff, and he's strong too.

Then he had two more matches to go, more tears, no no no no no go. I skipped the bribes, took him to the car and drove home.  He was asleep before we were 5 miles down the road.  Duh mom, this is the middle of the afternoon, and every other day of the year, you insist on me napping at this time.

Navigating this sports thing is seriously exhausting and oh so humbling.  I do not know how to make these decisions.  I'm not an athlete, but I am very competitive.  I want him to win.every.time.dammit.  But my gut says scoop up my baby and run far far far away.  Yet I get a big lump of pride in my throat when he gets out there and wrestles like a superstar.  He begs to wrestle, and loves it.  He's also shy.  Do we make him finish what he starts?  Do we insist on him going back out even when he's scared?  Yes we do.  No we don't.  Yes we do.  No we don't.  He is barely five.  Five!!

So I'm just naming that I don't know how to do this.  I guess its about doing the next right thing in each moment?  Even if that next right thing is a contradiction to the last right thing?

Oh Humility.  There you are again, in no uncertain terms.  I suppose I should say thank you.

a boy and his apple

Its here!!  

River's apple tree's first apple!  And look how proud he is.

Actually its the tree's second apple because two days ago he and Ryan picked the first one and ate it before I could get my camera out so we're going to say this is the first apple ever and everyone is happy to oblige because that's how we roll around here in this chaos.

My pregnancy with the Buzz was higher risk than any of the other three.  We thought we lost him at 11 weeks gestation.  I was on bedrest in and out of the hospital for three months.  We cooked him until 3 weeks early, when the doctor said we couldn't wait any longer.

He was just under 6 pounds, and the sweetest little fighter of a man I had ever ever met.  We came home and planted an apple tree in his honor.  We had poured every last emotional reserve into growing our teeny baby and we just sort of wanted to acknowledge that we were ready to put ourselves into watching him grow and make fruit on his own.

My mama-ness is sentimental today.  All about a boy and his apple.

Yes, Buzz, I'll take one of you and your remote control monster truck too.....

My cup runneth over.

fact...

Finally - we are having about the right amount of both.  Finally.
Thank you thank you thank you.

caulking

A friend's daughter took these the other day when she wasn't supposed to have her mama's camera.  I love them because they are SO who they really are.

"It is a violation of trust to use your kids as caulking for the cracks in you." - Lamott

Yes.  To let them be them.  To celebrate them.  To be filled to overflowing by their uniqueness.  To not suck them dry trying to turn them into something I need them to be.

Tonight when I was putting The Buzz to bed, we were talking about how crazy it is that he'll be a dad someday, and he started talking about when he would marry Eva.  I said he can't marry his sisters, and it made him cry.  First just the twitching lower lip, and eventually big time sobs.  The sweetest, funniest thing ever.  Then when I said he could marry another girl, he cried again, saying "I don't like girls!"  Then when I said he could still be a Dad and adopt, he cried again, saying "I don't want to be alone!"  We left it at that and didn't get into other marrying options because next he talked about marrying me and living here forever and I just didn't have the heart to break his yet another time.

So innocent.  So sweet and raw.  This mama job of mine is so tiring and so hard and just plain so awesome!