Be Still

"In the midst of movement 

and chaos, 

keep stillness 

inside of you."

~Deepak Chopra

Haven

Home ... a haven from the storms of life, a place where kind words are spoken, stress evaporates and love abounds.  Right?  Right?  

Well, that's what I want it to be, but too often stress abounds, order evaporates and frustration is spoken and the house looks like it's been hit by all the storms of life at once.

I have been sick for days.  No mommy temp. has shown up to deal with the back-log.  My amazing husband has stepped into the breach and is doing all he can, but the debris of life accumulates at a pace that simply can't be managed in a few hours after work.  

So here I sit, getting better by the minute, but very conscious that I had better not do too much too fast.  The  road behind me leads to a very ugly place and I don't want to go back there any time soon.  

I know, I know, tackle the elephant one bite at a time.  I hate one bite at a time.  I want a sparkling, Donna Reed like masterpiece of a home.  But, I don't have that.  And I won't have that for ... let's be honest the flu isn't the only problem here, it's adjusting to baby #4 too ... so that means I may have a semi-handle on a few things by August and Donna Read may be attemptable in 2032.

In the meantime, even if I can't serve up a three course breakfast with a fresh pressed apron and perfectly coiffed hair, I want to do what I can with kind words and smiles.  

Maybe I can start by creating an emotional haven - a happy place - for my family.  

Wish me luck.  The swirling flotsam tends to madden me.  

Oh, oh, my blood pressure is rising.  I have been trying to write this to the background noise of Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, high pitched shrieking and nine requests for snacks.  Child #2 just started singing a loud made up song about potty subjects (a no-no and he knows it) and now he wants to invite friends over ... and more squealing ... and here comes the complaining.  

And I am re-committing to making this a happy place.

The trouble with genetics

The trouble with being part Italian is that I occasionally fly into passionate fits of rage.  Honestly, it feels like dragon fire comes broiling up out of nowhere.  And I don't have quite enough of the endearing Italian personality to pull it off.  

However, I do have enough of the sensible Dane in me to know I am doing it and I feel very sorry afterward and try to make everything better.

Well, last night what should send me off into a tirade, but a darling newsletter, complete with digital scrapbook effects sent from an elementary school teacher I adore.  Now, to be clear, I find no fault with the newsletter or the teacher.  What has me enraged is a concept.

You see, child #1 arrives home around 3:40 every afternoon.  After getting changed, having a snack and doing her daily chore it's about 4:00.  Two days of the week she has planned activities after school (dance etc.). Those activities notwithstanding, I like for her to have lots of playtime after school.  This is her run in the sunshine, imagine and develop friendships and social skills time.  Well I am being thwarted.  She has come home with two pages of math homework every day since kindergarten.  There is a 1 minute nightly reading assessment.  There are weekly spelling words.  There is a 15 minute nightly reading requirement.  And the latest newsletter says that she is to be working on a habitat report at home AND doing an additional online reading program AND doing an additional online spelling program.  These may be termed "optional", but I know from experience that I will be hearing about it at parent teacher conferences if she does not do them.

Well, the online reading program is the most uninspiring, sorry excuse for literature I have ever seen.  The spelling site thinks that "fill-in-the-blank" is a delightful child's game and if there is not time during the EIGHT HOURS my child is in school for her to draw a penguin then WHAT IN BLAZES IS SHE DOING THERE ALL DAY LONG!!!!!

The sister of one of my friends tells her children's teachers that their family does not do ANY homework after Memorial Day - and then they don't.  That is their play time.  That is brilliant.  Way to take control of her children's lives and education.  Sunshine and play are the best education at this age. 

When I have my life and health a bit more in place (sleeping through the night being the biggest part of that) I intend to begin homeschool for her.  Until then, I need to come up with a plan.  I am thinking of giving her ten minutes every afternoon for homework which she may devote as she chooses and telling the powers that be that they can lump the rest.

One should be able to get an education and sunshine.

Important

It is tough to suss out the important parts of life from all the urgent ones.  I live in the land of urgent.  At any given moment there are three or more things that all NEED doing NOW.

Take this morning for example.  Twenty minutes before my hair-cut appointment, I jumped in the shower.  Before the soap on my pouf had lathered the baby started screaming, the phone rang and child #2 and #3 began squabbling.

I looked at my legs.  They looked urgent, in a foresty sort of way, but not important, so no shaving.  A quick shampoo and towel dry later I turned on the television, which stalled my chidren's "fighting and quarreling one with another."  Great parenting, no?  I then picked up the squalling one, who had been fed, changed, burped and snuggled, and I realized that he could go to my appointment screaming, but I could not go naked.  So, for the moment, clothing trumped crying.  And voila!  We have a winner.  Getting dressed was the most important way for me to spend that particular five minutes.

Life, however is not always so clear.  Sometimes the important things start to compete too, and then I have to figure out which ones are importanter and importantest while holding my finger in the dike of the urgent.

And sometimes I get it wrong.  Really wrong.

I was hoping that some pithy bit of wisdom would come to me at this point, but ... I've got nothin'.

When in doubt, turn to 1930's British political propaganda.  The motto "Keep Calm and Carry On" was written to raise morale in event of a Nazi invasion, but I think it applies to every day of this crazy ride.

Ahhhhhh.  This was a nice moment of calm.  Now, to close the computer and carry on ... calmly of course.

Gifts

When I had baby #4, my life exploded.  I am still unsure how all the pieces will fit back together and that stresses me out.  I see the immense load that needs lifting and I begin to loose heart.  

This weekend God gave me a gift.  He gave me the ability to see my efforts as gifts to the people I love.  When precious child #3 brings me a foot tall stack of books to read and I read her two - that is a gift.  When I make child #2 yet another snack because he has apparently not been full for more than 10 minutes at any point in the last five months - that is a gift.  When child #4 goes down for a nap and I can choose to fold laundry or help child #1 with her homework it doesn't matter what I choose because they are both gifts from me and I get to choose which one to give.

This perspective has also made me realize that I am not Santa Clause.  Well, of course I am Santa at my house, but I don't have a magic sack that appears at the foot of the bed every morning.  I have a limit to the number of gifts I can give.  Somehow that was news to me.  You mean I can't do eveything and I still haven't learned that lesson?!?!  No, Virginia.  You are not Santa Clause.

I am loving this idea.  I especially loved it on Sunday afternoon everyone when everyone needed me (even my amazing husband.)  And they all managed to needed me at the same time for much of the afternoon.  For the first time in forever, I thought about what gifts I wanted to give.  I met the needs I could with all the love I could and then I went and took a nap, because I get to give gifts to me too.  

When I view my life as an attempt to dig my way through a mountain of "to dos" armed only with toothpicks I feel powerless.  When I see my day as a series of gifts I feel powerful.

I'm still not making a whole lot of progress.  
But, maybe the progress isn't the point.  
Maybe I am.  

Pinky Promise

I think my children got together up in heaven and solemnly promised to do certain things while here on Earth.  Here are just a few:

If it is gross, I will lick it.

If something is put away, I will put it on the floor and stand on it.  I will not play with it, but I will pull it out and stand on it as many times as it takes to get mom to say those funny words.

If it is wet, it should be wrung out on the floor.

I will only make messes in clean rooms.  Why should I make messes in messy rooms?  That would be silly.

I will be fabulously cute and precocious until the camera turns on or until out of town relatives arrive.

If it is flat it needs to be colored on.

I will curb the family's  attachment to material goods by targeting expensive items.

If mom doesn't respond right away I will take that as a cue to repeat myself continuously.  Having a phone on her ear often impedes her hearing and she will need help.  Volume plus repetition equals help.

If a movie has even one inappropriate line I will memorize it and quote it in public.  (i.e. While You were Sleeping:  "Nice underwears.")

I look forward to finding out what their future children have up their sleeves.  It  had better be good.